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 Posted: Mon Jul 30, 2007 4:30 pm
Numb
April 4, 2007
By: Amanda Seghi
The rhythmic knocks upon the walls around me lulled me to that place where you think you are asleep, but you are not. The knocks gradually ascended and turned to pounding as the insanes bashed their broken bodies at the cement walls. They thrashed around in their cells, screaming, scratching, bleeding about until someone tires of their act and silences the actor. A dull schedule, every night, every day, all year around the insane do this. I lay on my back, my body attempting to rest but the cold cement doesn't allow this. Stiff. Listening to the screams, I wonder how much longer it shall be me who dances wildly around in my prison will I am in need of medicine. I've held my own for so long, I've forgotten when I came here. The shouts die away as a new needle ejects the unknown liquid into the same skin of the one last night, the night before and the night before that. Sleepless nights take hold of the body, crippling it further, adding to the numbing solutions and chalky medicines. A mind withers away in this place, but mine only seems to come alive, to think on its own. I often think of how I could easily kill myself with the plate of food they give, and what foul food it is, the rats don’t even steal it. I imagine my hands wringing my own neck, nails digging into flesh, or even how to drown myself in that disgusting toilet. My mind plots of death, but my body stops in fear. Fear. Again, there is that word. The seed in me that I so thought I had not buried, but threw out. Still the seed had roots left behind, a seed of fear sprouts in my heart, entangling it. The vines squeeze as they grow more, become wider, stronger... harder. With The unending cycle continues with no hope of release. Could this place be tomb or liberation? I cannot tell. Who was I before this man with the deathly thoughts? I do not recall. I cannot remember, much like I cannot break free. There goes the last scream of fear. It reminds me that this place is an incubator of fear, a spawning pool. The footsteps of boots upon cement go past me, and then cut off; he is gone. My eyes drift to the ceiling where the monitor watches from its perch in the corner, a watchful eye. I wait for sleep, but it never comes, it leaves me unsatisfied, always.
Closing my eyes I see a light. I revisit my time here, remembering showers with shaky men, meals with deathly men, exercise with fragile men, my cell with a dying man. I can faintly remember the time I had pleasure, the feelings I shared with a woman, the happiness we felt. Who was she? I wince as I try to see. An oval face with mocha skin appears; two dazzling eyes of green and full lips below. Her smile illuminated her face; long black hair of silk that engulfed her when she lay on the bed. She was one of many lovers, I remember, but she was the one I fell for. With a sudden burst of energy encased with excitement, I whispered, “Rosa...” that was my Spanish Angel, unusual and exciting.
Knocking upon steel echoes in the dreary cell, I’m awake like always. You’d think they would learn that no one here gets sleep, but they don’t and they should know it. Another day, another time, another plan for death. The thumps of my neighbor begins again, the medication had worn off. Our routines have become us, our lives in sequence with the internal clock of insanity. The day begins, though we have no concept of time with these cemented prisons. We are taken after out horrible medicine for showers. Ice water that flushes over our bony bodies, encasing us inside running ice till the point we believe we are frozen solid, no longer masses of heat and life. We are dressed in our stiff, cloth white clothes, each the same, each used everyday by someone. Our meals of measly portions carry the taste of dried sardines, chalk, sand, or if we are lucky, no taste at all. It all goes to the same place in the end. The recreation period comes along, allowing the bodies to wander about, their minds dead.
I sit in my ‘home’ thinking of the daily routine and anticipating the guard to open my door in mere moments to begin my routine. The lock clicks out of place soon after I stand and the gruff voice of a hefty, pale man in a black guard suit tells me to come out. Without thinking, my feet carry me out the door and to my designated place in line, in front of my schizophrenic neighbor and behind my half ticking, half maniac neighbor. They’re all maniacs, truly.
The showers are still ice flowing from the Antarctic waters. Men shake violently, but I think it is more from their instability than it is from the water. The man beside me leans on my shoulder. Not shaking. His skin is blue and no breath escapes the icy lips. I let him fall to the hard, white tile covered in scum and fungus. The man’s body makes an unusual thump, not like the thuds of a broken body against a wall, willingly throwing itself. This is different. It makes a sound of a battered body finally falling away, falling into freedom, away from here. I stare at his grotesque body, pondering if the water set him free. Red runs the water, flowing to the drain. The guards shut the shower heads off and take us away from the scene. One takes the body. No questions, no accusations... no curiosity.
It seemed like punishment for not helping that man that today my food tasted like dried sardines, chalk and sand. I eat without complaint, not even a face of disgust. I finish the so called meal and wait for the guards to escort us to the next room.
I sit alone as usual, except for the casual man who passes me, double takes and tries to ‘hug’ me. My glare warns them otherwise and they slither away. I watch the ‘patients’ of the asylum, wondering why I came here. Was it for my mind that seems to expand every second here, or was it for my being? Perhaps I did something to another man. Perhaps killed him? I look around and all I see are shadows moving along in the infinite swirl of false colors. I close my eyes and see these people as they are, these men of once careers and families. What caused all of us to come here? We all have stories to tell, to keep... to hide. I dig deeper within, clawing past the hardened shadow, tearing back the warm flesh, peeling away the layer of lies. Then I reach a place of quiet solitude. I can see myself in a reflection. Instead of a ragged face with tangled hair and white smocks, I’m clean. Hair kept neatly, business suit and well to do. I reach forward with an unshaken hand till glad stops it. On the other side of my pressed hand I see my Spanish Angel, a worried look twisting her beautiful face. She fades away and I become apparent; I press my body closer to the glass wall that hinders me. My face is cynical, a twist in my eyes. I fear myself. Blood splatters across the invisible wall, running down in long drips of red fluid. I study harder and watch shadows move in primitive motions, thrusting upon each other. I watch the wild play of the shadows till more blood stream out to me and the dance ends. I press harder into the barrier until large cracks zigzag throughout the glass, shattering it in place. I take my index finger and gently touch the fragile mosaic. The glass falls to pieces; millions of small shards. I walk over the pile and to where the show had been. Upon the floor a mangled body lay and walking to me, myself; that sinister being passed through me. My body convulsed and as I collapsed, I saw the face of my Spanish Angel.
I was awoken by the shaking hand of a guard; I was relieved to find it all a nightmare. Sweat ran down my face and he seemed to notice it. He called out to a nurse to bring medicine, but I didn’t want it. Who did? When he was looking away, I got up and quickly blended myself into the line of men. The procession carried on and the guard lost track of me. His scowling eyes looking through the line, but never on me.
Back in my cell I thought about the events that corrupted my mind. Had that really happened or had this place finally taken over, making me believe I was an insane murderer? Could my Spanish Angel be gone... no, she is living. I wonder about my past as I look to the ceiling. My head pounds from the events that melted in my mind. Insanity’s probing claw gropes my being, squeezing and grasping me like a small mouse in a trap. I try to break free, but each struggle endangers my life. I lie still. Darkness ever crouching. My body heat continues to transfer to the cold cement, the chill concealing me in an icy blanket, forever lost within the frost of time. What were only a few minutes seemed so torturous. The unfamiliar darkness swept over me, my body shut down and I was lifeless to my cell. Sleep.
I did not wake to the accustomed pounding of my crazed neighbor. It was not usual for me to wake anyhow, I was normally in a trance, so to actually wake was different. My mind had awoken me from my slumber. Unlike myself, it did not like rest, it plotted always. I sat in my corner and remembered the plan. My mind thought of ways to escape, horrible and subtle ways. One way was to wait for the guard near the door, let him come in, after thinking I needed help, and then close the door. Either knock him out or strangle, depending on his size. Hope the guard watching doesn’t see while I change; maybe that was thinking too optimistically. Using my wits and disguise to get out of here, I had to try. This was subtle. If needed, I could hide out and kill the guards one by one. That was more fun. I pondered the situation, trying to remember how many guards would be outside the door and whose turn it was on watch. “Randy should be ‘watching’ our monitors, and if that’s true, he would be sleeping. Along with him would be the scowling guard, Harold.” I decided to throw the stiff, itchy blanket up on the camera; four tries was the charm. Hopefully Harold would see the camera had gone blank or saw me throwing the blanket. I pressed my back against the cold wall. I was not nervous, my heart was normal, if it was beating at all. I had a second thought and took my shirt off, wringing in it my hands.
The jangling of keys echoed outside my cell. I closed my eyes and waited, listening as the perfectly cut metal, that served as a locking and unlocking mechanism, was inserted into the lock of the door. The tumblers rang loudly through me, like an over emphasized click. The guard stepped in after the light leaked in; his body casting a giant shadow on the floor. His breath was steady. “Mr. Marcus, what’re you up to?” He stepped in, far enough for me to quickly close the door and lock it. The click made him turn around. “Mr. Marcus?” he said as I approached. He reached for something in his belt, but I lunged at his neck. Even though he was slightly bigger than me, he was out of shape and I felt empowered. I shoved my shirt into his mouth, cramming it further down his throat till red liquid dribbled from the corners of his mouth. His body flailed under mine and my hands grasped tighter. I enjoyed the scene. The excitement was over in a flash, when my mind decided it was bored. I had not intended to kill this guard, but my mind had. A thrill had swept over my death craving mind, the adrenaline from being chased. I was the predator though.
I quickly changed the limp body into my ragged pants. I took the soaked shirt from his mouth, it was now pink and red with some white patches. An interesting display of tye-dye. I noticed why this man had chosen a life of solitude in an insane asylum; he was rather lacking and not fit. The poor guy, it was all over for him now. I put his uniform on my own body; it was a bit loose, but nothing a few extra tucks would help. Wearing a dead man’s clothes, a life I had cut short, what an unusual thought.
I ripped the blanket off the camera and waved into it before pointing at the body in the bed. I turned my back and left my home for good without another thought. I felt good being the one to lock that damnable door.
I felt a bit nervous as I walked down that echoing hall; banging and moaning coming at me from either side. I wasn’t alone. A voice buzzed in my skull, telling me “Good job. Well done.” It was my own. I faintly even remember how I did it, how I killed the man in my cell. The voice keeps at it, like it wants me to remember something I had forgotten. I pause to think and it whispers,
“Remember those nights you thought you slept? Those plans your mind came up with? They were mine, not yours. I really should be in here, but it’s your body that suffers and my brilliance that expands. I am you, your other half, your completion. I am your strength, courage, nerve, your all.”
I am rather calm, piecing the puzzle together. It’s why I can’t remember things; it wasn’t truly me who had done them. I had to get out, before this place allowed this thing to win.
I walked at a quicker pace, the keys jangling at my side, hitting my hip to the beat of my steps. I used the security pass at the door; it opened without a second thought. But of course, why would a door think? I walked past the center with a guard’s, Randy’s, back to me. More than likely sleeping, I thought. I pulled me hat down, the visor covering my eyes, and mocked Harold’s gruff voice, “All taken care of, Mr. Marcus is out like a light, Randy.” He stirred, but kept his back to me and his legs up on the desk. Asleep.
I followed the corridors, remembering the ways from being marched to the cafeteria, showers and recreation room. It was set up like a prison; they intended to keep us here, not help.
Guards passed me without curious looks. Sweat glistened my face, I thought about the three “c’s”: calm, cool and collected. My eyes shifted back and forth as I looked down side halls and doors. No one. ‘They must be on break.’ I thought to myself. After more empty halls and closed doors filled with lifeless air, I realized that I was close to the main room. I walked at a brisker pace, listening to the rubber soles squeaking on the awful linoleum. The white walls reflected blinding light that coursed from industrial light fixtures. The glass doors were before me; black letters reading, “stneitaP” for it was reversed for me.
Sliding the card through the thin machine; waiting for the green light; anticipation freedom. I was allowed through the door and a sigh escaped my throat. I stopped by the desk with the cute receptionist. She had short, bouncy blonde hair that flipped out. She was petite throughout her whole body with a serene face. I told her I was going home to due to illness and started to leave. “Sir... Mr. Callaway...?” I turned reluctantly, wondering why she used Harold’s old name. “Yes?” I asked shakily. “You forgot your card.” She smiled as she held up the identification card. “Oh” was all that came in reply as I grabbed the card with a sweaty hand.
I ran the streets from memory; the sun burned my pallid skin and weak eyes. I didn’t feel the warmth. I ran six blocks without tiring, no one ever wondering. The voice didn’t buzz. Apple Street. I ran down to the blue house, seeing age had taken over and it was abandoned. How long?
My door was open, and when I went in, the voice came to me.
“The criminal returns to the scene of the crime.”
I trembled as images flashed.
“Scared? Shall I tell you? Tell you that you’re already dead?”
I felt my body leave or was it my soul? “How?”
“That night you killed yourself and I took over, but the body of yours was captured and your soul did not leave. Your body will be mine fully, I won’t have to take over for short amounts of time anymore. Your soul will leave and you will no longer exist, but I will have your body. I am your strength, your all.” I felt numb.
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Posted: Mon Jul 30, 2007 4:31 pm
I think this is my favorite that I have written and possibly the best? But who knows. ^^;
~Kita
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Posted: Wed Aug 01, 2007 10:35 am
Wow.... I love the description and the general language you used in this story. I was a little confused by the voice though (but that's just me, there was nothing worng with the way you wrote it), but overall, I really liked this story.
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Posted: Wed Aug 01, 2007 3:22 pm
Thank you ChrnosMiko. The voice was supposed to be some sort of alter ego, a demon if you will, of himself. When he killed himself, it took over, but like it explained, his soul was still intact allowing him to believe he was alive still. *shrugs* Might not make sense hehe, I really didn't think it through, just wrote it. ^^;
~Kita
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