I must warn you...
Beware, read at your own risk. These stories may seem suggestive, and not suitable for young readers. Rated PG-13
Beware, read at your own risk. These stories may seem suggestive, and not suitable for young readers. Rated PG-13
Not that it mattered to anyone in particular, especially those who have so affectionately referred to themselves as sane. They will never know what goes through the mind of a diagnosed schizophrenic-paranoid-delusional patient; so long ago forgotten in the edges of some orderly's mind. To them--in a bizarre universe--a woman lives there, no more interesting than a stale painting nailed permanently to a drab wall.
The smell in the lounge was that of wet linoleum, musky dust,--humid from the recent rain--stale wood, lastly that of old vomit mixed with faint traces of a popular pine scented varnish. The air was stiff, yet much more pleasant than the stuffy, seemingly urine soaked confinement cells. The 'normies'--those doomed never to endure the trivial complexities of insanity, the hypocrisy of it all--would refer to it as a 'padded' cell. Images of crisp white mattresses lining grey walls, dim paneled ceilings, perhaps a window to let in just enough light. Bars covering the windows are obvious, a reminder that there's no way out. Oh, how the normies do not know, they will never know.
Fall in the Rockies is usually mild. Higher elevations accumulate quite a bit of snow this time of year, however, as a result, the lower elevations are likely to receive days of rain.A weak mind would snap, or what would be commonly known as cabin fever, is what the pressures of being indoors will do to a person stuck inside. A shame isn't it?
Now, seeing as you have some sort of understanding, let us continue. Back to the woman with long, shaggy, curled, brown hair. A beautiful olive complexion so devoid of sunlight, when she sits under bright fluorescents or the sun, she looks severely jaundiced as if ill beyond repair. What is most attractive about this being, well besides the obvious would be her eyes. When you stare deep into them, you almost forget about her pail, thin, cold features. The near-almond shape gives off a unique, kind, soft beauty. The warm, honey-brown mixes sweetly with the autumn greens and golds, you could say that they were the only warm part about her.
Those eyes would see more than just the obvious. At first, the visions would come as flashes, nondescript and vague. The sensible part would forget what she had seen, yet it was the voices that ruined her life. They were soft at first, tiny whispers, inaudible at the best of times. They didn't stop there, for soon they were tormenting her, the mumbling driving a spike into the inner confines of thought. Those voices began bending her mind to their will, soon they would be the cause of the ending. Soon after her twenty-fifth birthday, she was institutionalized because of the strange way she would seem to talk to herself. Going suddenly from happy, not so go lucky to a violent and hostile creature. What a shame for such a lovely, caring, even intelligent person from before.
"Abigail." It was faint, seemingly so far away, as if coming from a radio or television. A woman's voice, soft, mellow and unfamiliar to someone who would recognize it, "Abigail." A bit louder now, more authority beyond the first initial calling. "Abigail!" For a moment, you could have sworn a bomb went off, some of the other patients jumped suddenly at the name. It was as if someone shrieked in terror, yet the woman was talking to herself. The same painting, a depressing portrait of a seaworthy ship, caught in a horrendous storm was in front of her. An orderly from nearby, unaware of Abigail's prognosis comes near her. At first, the man began to think she had a bad visitation earlier, suffering from some delusional fantasy, he would be sorely mistaken.
What came next my friends, only the truth can tell. Low, angry, frustrated she again spoke to herself. No, that's not the worst part, what was more unnerving than the mellow, crisp, harsh tone to Abigail's voice, was the action that took place after words. "Look at me when I talk to you!" Unfortunately for the orderly, he reacted too slowly. He had reached out, tried to grab hold of her, if only he hadn't hesitated before. Brace yourselves for impact. Lurching forward, a split second was all it took, Abigail drove her face into the framed painting. The thump was unnaturally loud, a car driving through the wall would have made the same sort of crashing noise. That hadn't been the worst, the crunch was even louder, amplified some would have said. Imagine the sound of heavy, steel-toed boots stepping onto a massive pile of broke glass, muffled by flesh. Only the boot was the grey wall, the glass had been her nose.
When the orderly had managed to take hold of the woman, grasping her shoulders tighter than he would have wished to, it was as if he went to catch a lumpy sack of pure dead weight. Some blood washed up onto the ship's bow, it looked much like a magnificent explosion from a torpedo, exaggerated by an artist to show how deadly it had been. Reality would set in as you followed the trail of blood to the cause of the explosion. Blood oozed out of Abigail's nose, she had not only broken it, but had fractured both cheek bones and suffered from a concussion after the ill attempt to bash her head into the wall.
A portly nurse came out of the nearby station. "Luke?!" She looked harried, almost ready to cry, most of all, frightened out of her wits. The scene reasserted itself into the mind. "Just what the hell happened?!" Two eyes stared back, the fear was present, this was a low security institution, things like this usually didn't happen in this part of the facility, more than that, it never happened. In an instant, there was a shriek from Abigail's limp body, as if she had woken, the pain clear. How could she not be in pain? The woman's face was covered in her blood, everything beneath that turning black. It was amazing that most of her teeth stayed nearly intact. Luke gazed back swiftly, eyes widening, as her head fell back. Looking back up, shock setting in now, the words he spoke cracked a little as they came from his lips, "I don't know."
The smell in the lounge was that of wet linoleum, musky dust,--humid from the recent rain--stale wood, lastly that of old vomit mixed with faint traces of a popular pine scented varnish. The air was stiff, yet much more pleasant than the stuffy, seemingly urine soaked confinement cells. The 'normies'--those doomed never to endure the trivial complexities of insanity, the hypocrisy of it all--would refer to it as a 'padded' cell. Images of crisp white mattresses lining grey walls, dim paneled ceilings, perhaps a window to let in just enough light. Bars covering the windows are obvious, a reminder that there's no way out. Oh, how the normies do not know, they will never know.
Fall in the Rockies is usually mild. Higher elevations accumulate quite a bit of snow this time of year, however, as a result, the lower elevations are likely to receive days of rain.A weak mind would snap, or what would be commonly known as cabin fever, is what the pressures of being indoors will do to a person stuck inside. A shame isn't it?
Now, seeing as you have some sort of understanding, let us continue. Back to the woman with long, shaggy, curled, brown hair. A beautiful olive complexion so devoid of sunlight, when she sits under bright fluorescents or the sun, she looks severely jaundiced as if ill beyond repair. What is most attractive about this being, well besides the obvious would be her eyes. When you stare deep into them, you almost forget about her pail, thin, cold features. The near-almond shape gives off a unique, kind, soft beauty. The warm, honey-brown mixes sweetly with the autumn greens and golds, you could say that they were the only warm part about her.
Those eyes would see more than just the obvious. At first, the visions would come as flashes, nondescript and vague. The sensible part would forget what she had seen, yet it was the voices that ruined her life. They were soft at first, tiny whispers, inaudible at the best of times. They didn't stop there, for soon they were tormenting her, the mumbling driving a spike into the inner confines of thought. Those voices began bending her mind to their will, soon they would be the cause of the ending. Soon after her twenty-fifth birthday, she was institutionalized because of the strange way she would seem to talk to herself. Going suddenly from happy, not so go lucky to a violent and hostile creature. What a shame for such a lovely, caring, even intelligent person from before.
"Abigail." It was faint, seemingly so far away, as if coming from a radio or television. A woman's voice, soft, mellow and unfamiliar to someone who would recognize it, "Abigail." A bit louder now, more authority beyond the first initial calling. "Abigail!" For a moment, you could have sworn a bomb went off, some of the other patients jumped suddenly at the name. It was as if someone shrieked in terror, yet the woman was talking to herself. The same painting, a depressing portrait of a seaworthy ship, caught in a horrendous storm was in front of her. An orderly from nearby, unaware of Abigail's prognosis comes near her. At first, the man began to think she had a bad visitation earlier, suffering from some delusional fantasy, he would be sorely mistaken.
What came next my friends, only the truth can tell. Low, angry, frustrated she again spoke to herself. No, that's not the worst part, what was more unnerving than the mellow, crisp, harsh tone to Abigail's voice, was the action that took place after words. "Look at me when I talk to you!" Unfortunately for the orderly, he reacted too slowly. He had reached out, tried to grab hold of her, if only he hadn't hesitated before. Brace yourselves for impact. Lurching forward, a split second was all it took, Abigail drove her face into the framed painting. The thump was unnaturally loud, a car driving through the wall would have made the same sort of crashing noise. That hadn't been the worst, the crunch was even louder, amplified some would have said. Imagine the sound of heavy, steel-toed boots stepping onto a massive pile of broke glass, muffled by flesh. Only the boot was the grey wall, the glass had been her nose.
When the orderly had managed to take hold of the woman, grasping her shoulders tighter than he would have wished to, it was as if he went to catch a lumpy sack of pure dead weight. Some blood washed up onto the ship's bow, it looked much like a magnificent explosion from a torpedo, exaggerated by an artist to show how deadly it had been. Reality would set in as you followed the trail of blood to the cause of the explosion. Blood oozed out of Abigail's nose, she had not only broken it, but had fractured both cheek bones and suffered from a concussion after the ill attempt to bash her head into the wall.
A portly nurse came out of the nearby station. "Luke?!" She looked harried, almost ready to cry, most of all, frightened out of her wits. The scene reasserted itself into the mind. "Just what the hell happened?!" Two eyes stared back, the fear was present, this was a low security institution, things like this usually didn't happen in this part of the facility, more than that, it never happened. In an instant, there was a shriek from Abigail's limp body, as if she had woken, the pain clear. How could she not be in pain? The woman's face was covered in her blood, everything beneath that turning black. It was amazing that most of her teeth stayed nearly intact. Luke gazed back swiftly, eyes widening, as her head fell back. Looking back up, shock setting in now, the words he spoke cracked a little as they came from his lips, "I don't know."
To be continued...
