Asylum

Louis has been stuck in an insane asylum for a year. His parents put him there, believing he was, well, mental. But truth was, he kind of was. Depression is considered a mental disease. He told people the voices in his head were telling him he should die, and people then believed he was insane. When he escapes the asylum after a year of being there, he finds a city near by, where he finds a tall young man roaming around.

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1. Escape.

"How have you been, Louis?" my 'doctor' tells me. They tell me she's my doctor but I know she's just one of those stupid nurses that want to 'help me'.

"I'm fine," I simply say, lying in a way. I am fine, just not completely fine.

I got put into this place a year ago. They keep saying that I will never be cured. They say I'm mental. How am I mental anyways? I just had a crazy outburst because of depression. I cried harder than ever and kept screaming, the voice in my head being too powerful for me. My parents believed I had some mental disease and brought me to this asylum. My parents are honestly dumb. Depression is something you go to one of those special doctors that help cure it, not a fucking asylum.

"Are you sure?" she asks me, looking concerned. I look at her and she looks away quickly, staring down at her clipboard.

I chuckle. "Are you afraid of me, Pat?" I ask her, still chuckling. "I'm not going to attack you, I'm not fucking mental." Oh how she actually believes I am.

"I'm not afraid of you," she tells me, still not looking me in the eyes. Her feet tap on the tile floor and she moves a bit in her chair. She plays around with her pen, clicking it on and off nervously.

"Then look at me," I spat at her. I try to get up from the bed that I'm sat on, but get pulled back by the rope holding me down. I groan out of frustration. This is so stupid, it's not like I'm going to kill someone.

She gives me no reply. She just writes a few things on the paper on her clipboard, probably saying something about how I'm yelling at her. Probably saying that I am definantly mental.

"I'm not mental, ya know," I tell her, a small smile forming on my lips. "I just want to get the hell out of here and live a normal teenage life. Have boyfriends, friends, go to parties. Do you think that I'm mental, Pat?"

She looks at me. "I would tell you the truth," she says quietly. "But you might hate me afterwards."

I knew what that meant. She thinks I'm bloody mental.

-

They keep me in this room for the whole day. I've been in this fucking room for a year. I just want to go back to my parents house and sleep in a normal bed that doesn't give me back pains. And have normal food that tastes good. I want to go to school even if it makes me stressed. I want to be normal. But I'm not normal, am I? According to them, I'm not.

A food tray slides from under the door. I sigh of relief and quickly dive for it. I grab the tray and place it on the small table in the corner of the room.

The room's pretty small. White covers the walls, just a few paintings here and there. A bed is placed in one corner, it's sheets are plain white. It's always clean, even if it's dirty one day, I wake up the next day and it's clean. Then there's the table I'm at. There's nothing else in this room. It's like a fucking prison cell, only a bit nicer looking.

A turkey sandwich and a glass of water is on the tray. Second day I've had this stuff. It tastes like shit, but I have to eat it or I'll be hungry for the rest of my life.

I look up, seeing the camera staring down at me. They watch me 24/7, meaning I can't do much of anything in here without getting caught. But it only focuses in one area. The middle. They don't watch that area in the corner that has a window that I can jump out of. I'm on the first floor, so I can get out easily. I've thought of it before, but never got to it.

I take a sip of water and walk back to the bed. A sigh slips out of my mouth. I hate being in this place. I'm being watched all day and all night, I eat shitty food, and they constantly think I'll hurt someone. I'm not capable of hurting a person, I can't do that. I'm only capable of hurting myself. Those scars on my wrist are proof.

The door bursts open and I stare at it. It's one of those nurses again. Great.

"How are you, Louis?" he asks me. He has a weird smile on his face. Why would he be happy if he works at a building full of mental people?

"I'm fine," I say. "I already told Pat that."

"I know, Louis, we just need to check up on yo-"

"Because I might do something crazy," I finish for him. I roll my eyes and scoff. "I know already."

He sighs and checks his clipboard. His eyebrows raise slightly. "Louis," he asks me. "On my notes here from Dr. Malone, it says you threatened her." He looks at me. "Is this true?"

"Fuck no," I spat. "Pat's lying, I didn't do that, check the tapes, I swear."

"I believe you," he says, sounding unsure. "I'll just have to check in with her later."

A few moments later, he leaves. Finally.

-

I lay in bed, thinking. The window's right there. I should leave this hell hole finally. I don't want to be here for the rest of my life. They can't keep me here forever. They're making me more miserable that I already am.

I look up at the camera. It seems like it's still on, but I'm not sure if anyone can see me. I get up and walk slowly and quietly to the window in the corner. I look at the camera again. It can't see me, it's pointing the other way. A smile forms on my lips. Let's do this.

I open up the window, which was surprisingly really easy to open. It's like they didn't believe they should lock it. Idiots, I swear. I open it up enough so I can fit my body through. I look around and smile. I won't miss this place.

I squeeze out of the window and close it behind me. I look around and see no one around. All of the guards are gone already, it's 12 in the morning and they have all left. I guess their system is crap as well.

I run as fast as I can, not even knowing where the hell I'm going. I just run, looking for the nearest place to go. Flashing lights are seen in the distance. I run for my life, going as fast as my legs can go.

-

I get to the lights and see a city. Cars pass by and people are walking quickly side by side. Lights come from all of the buildings. I look around, taking in my surroundings. I then look at all the people. They're staring at me. I look down at myself and see the clothes I'm wearing. A white shirt with dirt covering about half of it and some white pants with dirt at the bottom. My shoes are covered with dirt and mud. I look homeless.

I touch my hair and feel how oily and dirty it is. I need to wash up. But where do you go in a city to wash up when you have no place to go?

I walk around, hoping to find a place. This wasn't a great, idea after all.

 

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