Condemned

October 10th, 2017

It was on days like this that the dark was almost friendly. It held me close and rocked me tenderly while I giggled and screamed; the jacket which was pulled tight against my limbs proventing me from pulling at my short hair.

I'd mumble softly to keep myself company, although even I didn't know what I was saying once I was that far gone. I'd mumble about my mother and ghost stories and cults and demons.

The giggling stopped about noon when the guards were to come and bring me back to my cell. Their footsteps were not as friendly as the dark.

I didn't at all like the slap of those white shoes on the tiles. It gave me a headache. It made me mad. But they insisted on wearing them. Said it was "the rules".

Who needs rules in an asylum~?! Us crazies just run around naked screeching anyways. You lock us up, you lock us away. Pray we don't go completely nuts and shove a spoon down your throat.

Oh but of course, it would go away and we would be as close to normal as we could get. Clutching stuffies or books, playing card games or curling up in a corner so no one could possibly be watching you from behind.

Oh but none of those things made me feel better than the dark. Yes. The dark was my friend. He was always there. When my mother went bye-bye, he was there. And when they carried her body away from me and called me dimented and sick, he was there.

The dark is my friend. The dark just wanted to play; you just weren't playing right, and neither are they. Locking me away isn't part of the game.