Crazy In Love
Kind of a strange story, it explores mordern day asylums. Not too graphic and completely fictional.
My shrieks echoed off the sides of the walls in the solitary room. I'd bitten the doctor, who'd been trying to prep me for an un-needed operation, and I'd been thrown in here.
“Shut up!” the guard yelled, banging on the door.
“Make me.” I said and shrieked again. He came in, his eyes burning with rage, and pulled me up by one of the straps on the back of the straightjacket and I smirked at I felt it loosening. Soon the strap opened and fell out of his grasp. His hands swiped for it as the ground neared my head. It hit with a thud and pushed myself up, despite the pain, and swiped his feet from under him. He fell quickly and landed with a huge thunk and I kicked him in the head. I removed my arms from the jacket and worked at the rest of the straps quickly, this wasn't my first time getting out of solitary and a straightjacket.
Once out of the jacket I ran as quickly and quietly as I could, avoiding any guards, to the door leading outside. I just had to make it past the outdoor guards at the gate. I made it out the door without getting caught, but barely, and was about half way to the gate when I was grabbed and taken back inside. I put down on a bed surprisingly gently.
“What the hell were you thinking?” the man said. I examined his face and noticed something familiar about it, a kindness, and then I noticed he wasn't a guard, just a regular inmate.
“Who are you?” I asked, still searching.
“The guy that saved your life,” he said, waiting for an answer.
“No, I know you.” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“What's your name?” I asked.
“Lance.”
“Full name.”
“Lance O'Keefe.”
“I knew you. When I was fourteen, you kept a dog from attacking me.”
“I don't remember you.”
“I'm Alison Peterson.”
“Oh! I remember now. Why are you in here? You seemed perfectly sane.”
“My parents got tired of me. Why are you here?”
“Framed for a murder,” he said simply.
“Wouldn't you be in jail?”
“No, not in my case. They thought I'd gone insane because I hadn't done anything remotely wrong previously.”
“Oh,” I said. I studied his face longer, trying to recall what he’d looked like seven years ago. He’d developed a few wrinkles since last I’d seen him, probably from the stress of life as a permanent patient. Back then I’d have guessed he couldn’t have been older than eighteen, now he looked to be thirty.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-three,” he said. So, he’d been sixteen when he’d saved me. I nodded and got up.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my room to pretend nothing ever happened,”
“No, you can’t go back, you need to hide until they forget about this, follow me,” he said, taking my hand. There was a small spark and I wondered if it was just me, of if he’d felt it, too. By the way he hadn’t even hesitated; I assumed that it was just me. He took me to a regular room.
“During the day when the guards are coming in and out you’re going to have to stay hidden, but at night you can come out, stretch your legs,” he said, shoving me in and looking down the hall, “Go, go, under the bed, it’ll be just an hour or so.”
I crawled under and a voice came over the intercom.
Alert, inmate 504 has escaped. Keep your eyes out, I repeat, inmate 504 had escaped.
“That’s me,” I murmured, looking at the mark on my arm. Living here was something like living in an a German concentration camp, maybe less harsh, but being marked, your every move being watch and recorded. If they didn’t find me by tomorrow, it was sheer luck.
The thing about asylums is that people think they all shut down years ago. There are secret ones, though, disguised as corporate work buildings and boarding schools. No one questions the guards or gates; no one wants to know the truth. At least, that’s my assumption. Really, no one knows why anyone kept these going, hardly anyone who was legitimately insane was ever here, it was the people in society who didn’t belong. It was the lepers, the poor, the people who committed first-time crimes, and once in a while, someone like me, a child that’s unwanted, is here. There are maybe three or four people that actually belong here, and they’re rarely seen because they’re all in where I was just moments earlier, solitary.
Solitary was the most terrifying place ever, period. In the seven years I’d been here I’d spent a lot of my time in there, probably at least three and a half years. It’s dark, it’s cold, and it’s the most terrifying thing in the world. Normally people don’t think of solitary as a completely noiseless place, but it is. It’s not filled with your screams; it’s filled with complete and utter nothingness. One noise from you and it’s a beating. Even if you so much a sneeze, it’s a beating.
“Allison, you can come out,” Lance said. I rolled out from under the bed and stood up, brushing off the dust bunnies off the already spotted and torn ‘gown’ they’d assigned to me. He picked one out of my hair and I smiled in thanks. There was a tray of food sitting on his bed.
“That wasn’t yours, was it?” I asked, if it was his I wasn’t going to eat it. I’d gone without meals plenty of times, I would live.
“No, one of the patients died a few moments ago, they were heading to give him food and found he died and left the food in the hall, very conveniently, might I add.” Lance explained. I nodded and picked at the food a little before sitting on the floor.
“I don’t like having to hide, I want to get out of here. I’m twenty-one for God’s sake! I should be out there finishing my education and building my life,” I said, looking at him. His eyes showed sympathy and he sat down beside me.
“I feel the same way, we should pretty much be in the same place right now, you’ve been in here about three years longer than I have, though. I’m really sorry,” he said. I nodded and laid back on the ground.
“It just sucks. I don’t care what happens, I’m gonna get out of here, even if it does happen to kill me,” I said stubbornly.
“You can’t get killed,” he said, sounding genuinely concerned.
“If it’s the only way to get out of here I’ll do it. I don’t want to die, but really, anything is better than being stuck here.”
“I’ll give you that, but come on, you dying has to affect someone,” he said.
“Nah, I’ve been pretty anti-social in the time I’ve been stranded here. You’re really the only person I’ve talk to here other than the guards. Anyway, so, if I don’t make it out of here alive and you do, promise me that you’ll expose these places. No one deserves to have to be here.”
“Are you kidding me? Hell, if you’re going out there I’m coming with you,” he said. I smiled at the fact that he said what he had. I’d managed to make a friend in less than an hour, a new record.
“Shut up!” the guard yelled, banging on the door.
“Make me.” I said and shrieked again. He came in, his eyes burning with rage, and pulled me up by one of the straps on the back of the straightjacket and I smirked at I felt it loosening. Soon the strap opened and fell out of his grasp. His hands swiped for it as the ground neared my head. It hit with a thud and pushed myself up, despite the pain, and swiped his feet from under him. He fell quickly and landed with a huge thunk and I kicked him in the head. I removed my arms from the jacket and worked at the rest of the straps quickly, this wasn't my first time getting out of solitary and a straightjacket.
Once out of the jacket I ran as quickly and quietly as I could, avoiding any guards, to the door leading outside. I just had to make it past the outdoor guards at the gate. I made it out the door without getting caught, but barely, and was about half way to the gate when I was grabbed and taken back inside. I put down on a bed surprisingly gently.
“What the hell were you thinking?” the man said. I examined his face and noticed something familiar about it, a kindness, and then I noticed he wasn't a guard, just a regular inmate.
“Who are you?” I asked, still searching.
“The guy that saved your life,” he said, waiting for an answer.
“No, I know you.” I said.
“Uh-huh.”
“What's your name?” I asked.
“Lance.”
“Full name.”
“Lance O'Keefe.”
“I knew you. When I was fourteen, you kept a dog from attacking me.”
“I don't remember you.”
“I'm Alison Peterson.”
“Oh! I remember now. Why are you in here? You seemed perfectly sane.”
“My parents got tired of me. Why are you here?”
“Framed for a murder,” he said simply.
“Wouldn't you be in jail?”
“No, not in my case. They thought I'd gone insane because I hadn't done anything remotely wrong previously.”
“Oh,” I said. I studied his face longer, trying to recall what he’d looked like seven years ago. He’d developed a few wrinkles since last I’d seen him, probably from the stress of life as a permanent patient. Back then I’d have guessed he couldn’t have been older than eighteen, now he looked to be thirty.
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Twenty-three,” he said. So, he’d been sixteen when he’d saved me. I nodded and got up.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to my room to pretend nothing ever happened,”
“No, you can’t go back, you need to hide until they forget about this, follow me,” he said, taking my hand. There was a small spark and I wondered if it was just me, of if he’d felt it, too. By the way he hadn’t even hesitated; I assumed that it was just me. He took me to a regular room.
“During the day when the guards are coming in and out you’re going to have to stay hidden, but at night you can come out, stretch your legs,” he said, shoving me in and looking down the hall, “Go, go, under the bed, it’ll be just an hour or so.”
I crawled under and a voice came over the intercom.
Alert, inmate 504 has escaped. Keep your eyes out, I repeat, inmate 504 had escaped.
“That’s me,” I murmured, looking at the mark on my arm. Living here was something like living in an a German concentration camp, maybe less harsh, but being marked, your every move being watch and recorded. If they didn’t find me by tomorrow, it was sheer luck.
The thing about asylums is that people think they all shut down years ago. There are secret ones, though, disguised as corporate work buildings and boarding schools. No one questions the guards or gates; no one wants to know the truth. At least, that’s my assumption. Really, no one knows why anyone kept these going, hardly anyone who was legitimately insane was ever here, it was the people in society who didn’t belong. It was the lepers, the poor, the people who committed first-time crimes, and once in a while, someone like me, a child that’s unwanted, is here. There are maybe three or four people that actually belong here, and they’re rarely seen because they’re all in where I was just moments earlier, solitary.
Solitary was the most terrifying place ever, period. In the seven years I’d been here I’d spent a lot of my time in there, probably at least three and a half years. It’s dark, it’s cold, and it’s the most terrifying thing in the world. Normally people don’t think of solitary as a completely noiseless place, but it is. It’s not filled with your screams; it’s filled with complete and utter nothingness. One noise from you and it’s a beating. Even if you so much a sneeze, it’s a beating.
“Allison, you can come out,” Lance said. I rolled out from under the bed and stood up, brushing off the dust bunnies off the already spotted and torn ‘gown’ they’d assigned to me. He picked one out of my hair and I smiled in thanks. There was a tray of food sitting on his bed.
“That wasn’t yours, was it?” I asked, if it was his I wasn’t going to eat it. I’d gone without meals plenty of times, I would live.
“No, one of the patients died a few moments ago, they were heading to give him food and found he died and left the food in the hall, very conveniently, might I add.” Lance explained. I nodded and picked at the food a little before sitting on the floor.
“I don’t like having to hide, I want to get out of here. I’m twenty-one for God’s sake! I should be out there finishing my education and building my life,” I said, looking at him. His eyes showed sympathy and he sat down beside me.
“I feel the same way, we should pretty much be in the same place right now, you’ve been in here about three years longer than I have, though. I’m really sorry,” he said. I nodded and laid back on the ground.
“It just sucks. I don’t care what happens, I’m gonna get out of here, even if it does happen to kill me,” I said stubbornly.
“You can’t get killed,” he said, sounding genuinely concerned.
“If it’s the only way to get out of here I’ll do it. I don’t want to die, but really, anything is better than being stuck here.”
“I’ll give you that, but come on, you dying has to affect someone,” he said.
“Nah, I’ve been pretty anti-social in the time I’ve been stranded here. You’re really the only person I’ve talk to here other than the guards. Anyway, so, if I don’t make it out of here alive and you do, promise me that you’ll expose these places. No one deserves to have to be here.”
“Are you kidding me? Hell, if you’re going out there I’m coming with you,” he said. I smiled at the fact that he said what he had. I’d managed to make a friend in less than an hour, a new record.
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