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Description
I want out.

They’re keeping me prisoner. They won’t let me out.

They won’t even listen. I talk. I whisper. I yell. I scream. But they won’t answer me.

“When can I get out?”

“When’s dinner?”

“Did I get any mail?”

“Do I have any visitors?”

“Can I have my meds now?”

All I want are answers. I don’t get any answers.

The people who run this place talk to me. They ask me questions.

“When did this start?”

“How do you feel?”

“Are the headaches painful?”

“Do you still hear it?”

“Why won’t you work with us?”

If they won’t give me answers then why should I answer them? I stay silent when they want me to talk. I’m noisy the rest of the time. I’m surrounded by noises. 24/7. No matter where I go. I can’t even escape through sleep. The talking no one else can hear is there.

But It never asks questions. No, It doesn’t want answers. It gives answers.

“You’re crazy.”

“Just give up.”

“You’re never getting out.”

“No on is listening to you.”

“I’m your only friend.”

But It’s not my friend. It’s the one keeping me here.

“No, I’m not. You are.”

Yes, It got me here. It made me do it. It told me what to do.

“It was the only way.”

I remember a lot of red. The black of night. The shine of steel. The steadiness of my hand. The tears falling to the ground. The sirens wailing. The rough hands shoving me. Yelling. Cursing. Angry.

“You should just forget it.”

The day before was almost as fuzzy. My husband had a mistress. No, not just one. Two. I had questioned my husband’s loyalty before. I tried to keep the doubt at bay. But it’s hard to doubt when you see it. When it’s staring you in the face. I came home that afternoon. I set my purse on the couch and went upstairs. I wanted to change out of my suit. Change into something more comfortable. As I opened my door, my room wasn’t empty. It didn’t contain my husband. Two figures lay in the bed.

“Women.”

I ran. I left the house. I don’t remember exactly where I went. The night passed. Empty tears filled the dark hours. The daylight found me awake. The daylight blinded me that morning.

And the daylight brought It.

“Kill him.”

“What?” My voice cracked. I was thirsty.

“He hurt you. Hurt him back.”

“Who... who are you?”

“I’m a friend. I’m just here to help.”

“He was cheating on me.”

“Yes. With two other women.”

“In our house.”

“In your bed.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“You know how long. You’ve felt it. You knew he was.”

“I didn’t... I don’t...”

“Kill him.”

It was very persistent. It kept on and on. The morning passed. The afternoon passed. Night began to fall. My mind gave.

I followed Its orders. I found my way home. I got the knife. My husband came to me in the kitchen. His face looked confused. He wanted to know what happened to me. My eyes were red from tears. My shoulders drooped from lack of sleep. My makeup ran down my face in clown like patterns. He tried to talk to me. His mouth moved in soothing patterns. But his voice did not drown out It.

“Don’t listen. He hurt you. He’ll do it again. Make him feel your hurt.”

It took over. I did what It wanted. I talked to many people after that. They told me I wouldn’t go to jail. I was special.

“Criminally insane.”

They put me here. Everything is white here. Everything is clean. They give me pills. Reheated food. Jell-O.

I want to leave. A piece of paper somewhere says I can never leave.

I spend time in the tiny bed in my room. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to will It into silence.

The florescent light always blinds me. It always speaks to me. I think I will always be here.

“That’s right, sweetie. You will never leave.”

Description
I want out.

They’re keeping me prisoner. They won’t let me out.

They won’t even listen. I talk. I whisper. I yell. I scream. But they won’t answer me.

“When can I get out?”

“When’s dinner?”

“Did I get any mail?”

“Do I have any visitors?”

“Can I have my meds now?”

All I want are answers. I don’t get any answers.

The people who run this place talk to me. They ask me questions.

“When did this start?”

“How do you feel?”

“Are the headaches painful?”

“Do you still hear it?”

“Why won’t you work with us?”

If they won’t give me answers then why should I answer them? I stay silent when they want me to talk. I’m noisy the rest of the time. I’m surrounded by noises. 24/7. No matter where I go. I can’t even escape through sleep. The talking no one else can hear is there.

But It never asks questions. No, It doesn’t want answers. It gives answers.

“You’re crazy.”

“Just give up.”

“You’re never getting out.”

“No on is listening to you.”

“I’m your only friend.”

But It’s not my friend. It’s the one keeping me here.

“No, I’m not. You are.”

Yes, It got me here. It made me do it. It told me what to do.

“It was the only way.”

I remember a lot of red. The black of night. The shine of steel. The steadiness of my hand. The tears falling to the ground. The sirens wailing. The rough hands shoving me. Yelling. Cursing. Angry.

“You should just forget it.”

The day before was almost as fuzzy. My husband had a mistress. No, not just one. Two. I had questioned my husband’s loyalty before. I tried to keep the doubt at bay. But it’s hard to doubt when you see it. When it’s staring you in the face. I came home that afternoon. I set my purse on the couch and went upstairs. I wanted to change out of my suit. Change into something more comfortable. As I opened my door, my room wasn’t empty. It didn’t contain my husband. Two figures lay in the bed.

“Women.”

I ran. I left the house. I don’t remember exactly where I went. The night passed. Empty tears filled the dark hours. The daylight found me awake. The daylight blinded me that morning.

And the daylight brought It.

“Kill him.”

“What?” My voice cracked. I was thirsty.

“He hurt you. Hurt him back.”

“Who... who are you?”

“I’m a friend. I’m just here to help.”

“He was cheating on me.”

“Yes. With two other women.”

“In our house.”

“In your bed.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“You know how long. You’ve felt it. You knew he was.”

“I didn’t... I don’t...”

“Kill him.”

It was very persistent. It kept on and on. The morning passed. The afternoon passed. Night began to fall. My mind gave.

I followed Its orders. I found my way home. I got the knife. My husband came to me in the kitchen. His face looked confused. He wanted to know what happened to me. My eyes were red from tears. My shoulders drooped from lack of sleep. My makeup ran down my face in clown like patterns. He tried to talk to me. His mouth moved in soothing patterns. But his voice did not drown out It.

“Don’t listen. He hurt you. He’ll do it again. Make him feel your hurt.”

It took over. I did what It wanted. I talked to many people after that. They told me I wouldn’t go to jail. I was special.

“Criminally insane.”

They put me here. Everything is white here. Everything is clean. They give me pills. Reheated food. Jell-O.

I want to leave. A piece of paper somewhere says I can never leave.

I spend time in the tiny bed in my room. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to will It into silence.

The florescent light always blinds me. It always speaks to me. I think I will always be here.

“That’s right, sweetie. You will never leave.”