Sane s Insane

Lucy's POV

Lunch time. Oh joy. I get to get out of this room for once. Don’t get me wrong, I like being alone and by myself, but I do need to eat once in a while

The door opens and a medical worker steps in, cautiously. When she moves, her white lab coat presses against one of her legs and I can see the outline of a syringe. Meds, just in case I get… rowdy. I wonder why they even bother to bring one with them when the come to get me. I almost never misbehave.

And the only times when I do happen to misbehave, it’s for a perfectly legit reason. On reflex I shrink away from her when she comes close to me, reaching out a hand.

“It’s ok sweetheart, come here, I’m not going to hurt you, it’s lunch time.” She says in her usual calming tone. The word is that this woman is the best there is, to get mute kids to talk, fix their problems, and things like that. That she was the best in the country, world even. Also that she’s fixed every kid/adult/teenager that’s come her way.

Except for me.

She was just hired a week ago, because of me, and she keeps trying to make me come out of my room, and a few times she almost used force.

As you can probably already tell, I don’t talk. A lot of people have been hired to try to help me, with all my problems, but none of them work.

I guess I’m permanently broken.

Giving the lady a glare, I stand up on my own and move towards the door. People know I don’t like physical contact. Actually, I despise it. I’ll go crazy if someone touches me, I’ll totally flip out.

Just one of the reasons why they’re keeping me here in this place.

“This way dear.” She leads me down the hall, as if I don’t know where I’m going. But, nevertheless, I follow her obediently into the medium sized room that they call a cafeteria. It’s got a few tables and chairs, and a food line. Right now the kids are lining up with plates to get their selection of the food of the day. I’m the last one, as usual, since I’m on the top floor of this building, in a hallway, in a room all by myself.

No one but a few of the doctors and psychiatrists dare to come up there. I’ve never figured out why that is exactly, but I probably don’t want to know.

Taking a plate off of the rack, I follow the rest of the kids down the line, not even looking at what’s being put on my plate. It’s not like it matters anyway, I’m only going to eat a few bites.

Stalking over to my regular table in the corner away from everyone, I sit down, dropping my tray in front of me. Looking down at the plate, I pick up my fork and start picking at the Mac n’ Cheese in front of me, not at all hungry.

Hey, I could be anorexic, but I haven’t been diagnosed with it yet. I can feel people watching me, so I look up through my bangs and see a few of the doctors that come to see me, staring at me. I hate being stared at like I’m a freak.

Standing up swiftly, I grab my plate and dump it in the trash, before walking out of the room. My actions made the room go quiet, since this was sort of unusual behavior for me. I’m usually quiet and calm, things like that, and I only have my freak outs later or earlier in the day, sometimes both.

I know no one is going to follow me, since they know I won’t go anywhere else besides my room, because there are cameras everywhere. Adjusting the nightgown thing I have on, I start up the stairs slowly.

Very slowly.

I bet you’re wondering why.

Well, it’s because I’m going back to my cell.

My padded cell.

Why do I need a padded cell?

Where am I located?

I’m in a mental institution, otherwise called an insane asylum by most, the best in the country, and I need it because I’m insane, of course.

Or so they tell me everyday.

I can’t ever go through a day without having some doctor talking to me then going and whispering to his colleagues ‘ she’s crazy’ or ‘something is deeply wrong in that girl’s brain.’ I’ve also had people saying, ‘why hasn’t she talked in so long? Is she slow?’ and things like that.

So what if I’m crazy?

I don’t even know how I’ve been placed in that category.

But, I guess when you watch your whole family and all your friends and town get massacred in front of your eyes, or if you sometimes hear voices in your head, or any more of the problems that have accumulated in me, you would be counted as crazy.

~Flashback 5 years ago~

After my shower, I go back into my room in a new white asylum issued gown. I stand in the corner and lean against the padded wall, then for no reason at all I start dragging my nails against the slightly rough surface, snagging my short nails.

They don’t let us keep our nails long, something about clawing our faces. Whatever, I hope they know that just because they keep our nails short doesn’t mean we can’t cause damage.

Still dragging my hands down, I sink to the floor. Without realizing it, I had gotten small cuts on my fingers from where one of my nails slipped and caught my skin instead of the fabric. It had left bloody trails on the walls and I look, at them, watching as the blood sinks into the wall, staining it a dark red. It’s only 5 blurred lines on either wall next to me plus 2 handprints, but still, the effect is creepy.

Not to me though. I wonder what a visitor would think if they went into the observatory and looked down upon me, with blood trails leading to the floor on either side of me. Maybe they would pity me, maybe they would feel disgusted. Hopefully they wouldn’t care, just pass me off as a crazy person.

The sight of that blood on the wall, brings flashes of memories to the front of my mind.

I was eight when it happened. I was coming home from school, on my own, swinging my Sailor Moon lunchbox on its handle, with my Pokemon bookbag slung over my shoulder.

Looking down, I see that my shoe’s untied, so I lean over and tie it up. As soon as I stand up though, I wish I had stayed down.

Because there was something in front of me that wasn’t there before. Walking closer like any inquisitive child my age would do, I look at the man lying at an odd angle before me.

The blood pools around his body, but I don’t know what it means. Is he doing something for Halloween? It’s October, but Halloween’s not for weeks.

Confused, I walk past him, taking one last glance at the scared expression on his face, eyes wide open, staring, blank.

All along the public sidewalk in the middle of the town, where I’m walking at now, has spatters of blood. How could this have happened so quickly?

I step up to my favorite candy shop and look inside, hoping that my friend Jessica is there as she usually is, deciding on whether to get skittles or gummy bears. Instead all I see is the dark red stain on the white and black tiled floor. At first I think that the shop owner spilled something, maybe a slushie. But no, when I get closer, it doesn’t smell like cherries or strawberries, but something like a new penny.

I start crying at what I see when I pass the M&M stand. Josie is lying on the floor, eyes wide open like the man before, bloody handprints streaking down the wall next to her.

“jessy? Jessy come on wake up! It’s not funny anymore!” I cry, shaking her shoulder.

Jessy doesn’t wake up though.

~ flashback over ~

Jerking up, shaking, my eyes wide and terrified, I stare around the room, expecting to see some indication of the past.

Nothing.

Still shaking violently, I take a few steps towards the button on the wall that I have to press whenever this happens. It automatically signals the person who gives me my meds, so they come up here and give them to me.

I collapse on the floor before I reach the button, and scoot forwards, reaching up towards it. Finally my fingers reach and the button is pushed.

Minutes later the door swings open and a girl rushes in. When she sees me lying there, convulsing, on the floor, she swiftly kneels next to me, taking the syringe out and wiping an alcohol swab over my arm.

I feel the prick, then everything fades into nothing.

When the meds wear off and I come back into consciousness, I realize that I’m still lying on the floor in an awkward position. Stretching out, I feel some bones in my back pop and crack, settling back into place. I stand up and make my way slowly back to my cot, stumbling slightly.

Usually, I take pills for those seizures, or convulsions, but I haven’t had any in a week, and for some reason, the doctors won’t give me any. And they have to know that if they don’t give me my pills I’ll die. Literally. The seizures will get worse until eventually I just go into a coma and die. They wouldn’t want that, right?

I hope.

Sitting back on the edge of my cot, I lie down and brace my back against the wall, folding my legs up under me. There’s really nothing to do in this room, and I can’t listen to music because electronics and things like that aren’t allowed. Whenever someone asks, the answer always revolves around the fact that it would be too easy to make something to hurt yourself or someone else if you had something to make it out of. We aren’t even allowed to have Ipods because you have to use headphones to listen to one, and that would be counted as a safety hazard.

While I’m thinking over all the unfairness of the rules applied at this place, my door opens and someone walks in. Jerking my head up, I stare at them with a questioning gaze. Wordlessly, the doctor who basically runs this place, motions for me to follow him. Getting out of my position on the bed, I follow after him, down the hall and to the stairs.

After going down about 3 flights of stairs, he stops at a door and opens it, leading me into a bare hallway. I can see the doors lining the walls, but I know they’re offices and not sleeping quarters for patients. The doctor takes me to the very last door, and opens it.

He steps in and I step in cautiously after him, examining the room. My eyes immediately land on the 3 people in the room, not including the doctor and myself. They are all examining me like I’m examining them, but I don’t care. Shifting my eyes from them, I analyze the space, taking in all the different photos and medical degrees in frames on the walls, the medical books on the large bookshelf and everything else that occupies the space in this room.