Madness & Morrison

This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago - and just found on my computer. I rather like the way it starts out, but I'm not 100% pleased with the ending. I think I can justify this by making it clear that I wrote this at age 13 though, can't I??


6. #6

I sprinted towards the square, and reached it fast. I stopped, staring at the monument in the middle. My dad had talked about this earlier, this was where the guillotine had stood during the French Revolution, and after too. I looked around the square for the metro, but instead of finding the station, I saw people. Many people, all staring at me as intently as the little girl had. They were all dressed differently, but with a recurring weird fashion. Like from another time. A family stood quite close to me, the man holding on to his wife and children, and they were all dressed in fancy clothes, looking like they were straight out of the 1800’s. I decided to ask them what was going on, why everyone was dressed up in the middle of the night. I expected they were part of some weird cult that met in the night-time dressed in old fashioned clothing. I made my way towards them, but they backed away from me, and the woman had to hold her daughters mouth to stop her from screaming. They backed away, and disappeared. My heart was racing as I glanced around at all the people staring at me, and as I neared some others they backed away and disappeared as well. My eyes were wide with panic, and I was clutching the tote bag tightly. They knew - I was sure. They all knew what I had done, and they wanted me to understand my action. They just didn’t understand why I did it, and if they let me explain they would agree. I stared around at them, trying not to be broken by their interested yet demeaning glances, and made my way towards the metro. I was almost at the steps, when I turned around to look at them one last time. They had followed me, and were now standing in a crowd close behind me, watching my every move, watching me disappear down to the station. I watched the crowd part, and the little girl who had screamed at me came into view, her blue dress blowing in the wind, shoulders back, her arms by her sides. She moved towards me, standing directly in front of me, her empty brown eyes searching mine. She knew. And she wanted me to pay for what I’d done. Then she reached out, and pushed me. I fell down the stairs, holding the bag close to my chest, letting out a scream. As I toppled down the steps, the people in the weird dressing closed in on me, their eager faces staring over the banister, their eyes emotionless, watching me fall down, down, down. I kept falling for what seemed like ages, I was falling for minutes on end, their faces looming over me becoming further away, yet they seemed to grow above me, their patronizing faces staring into mine, their dark eyes frowning at me. Then they started laughing, their teeth spiked, their eyes crinkling up in an emotionless mess.


I wake up in an unknown place. My body feels heavy, and I try to move my arms but they are locked to my body in a metal brace, holding my whole body in place. I look around in panic, and my father is sitting beside me, jumping up and embracing my face with his palms. He is warm, and I can feel his pulse throbbing. “You’re in the institute, son. The mental institute and you will most probably be staying here. I wish you would have told me, I had no idea…. I don’t understand…. I didn’t know you’d gone mad.”

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