Drifting

She awoke in a white room, the name Olive implanted in her mind. What's happening and Will she be able to escape the invisible forces terrorizing her?

White light, a pulsating pain coursing through my skull. My mouth takes on the rusty taste of blood. Where am I? My mind draws a blank. There's something there, facts, words, instructions on how to walk, talk, and breathe, no memories. Actually, there is one thing, Olive. My name is Olive.

I straighten, studying the area around me. It’s sterile, white as the thin gown that rolls baggily around my small figure. A small chair and table lazily attempt to make up for the cold atmosphere. No windows, no ability to confirm where I am or if I’m even in the world my mind quickly tries to describe to me. My eyes hungrily consume my surroundings, and catch themselves on a figure. Tall, slender, and scared, its a girl. I scream, she screams, it hurts my ears, I stop, she mimes me. I don’t like being mimicked. My small hand clenches into a fist and I throw it forward, the girl shatters. Glittering pieces of her fall to the ground, a dull ache runs it’s finger down my leg. I look down, there's blood, the same substance that roars through my ears. My body falls back, I’m laying against the small cot.

This blank room, what’s happening? There is a large door, a glimmering lock fastening it tight, mocking me. I can hear it, the laughter burns as much as the pain in my leg, which is finally realizing it's true potential. Its more of a gargle then a laugh now, I curl up into a ball, my hands are over my ears, trying to shut out the noise. I see more of the girl through my fingers, she’s split into many pieces, hiding, maybe from the lock's constant hacking.

“Help…” My mouth opens and I cringe, I don’t know that voice, is her’s? She glides out of her pieces, small wisps of her flying like ribbons through the air. She materializes, she is standing in front of me, her mouth opens,

“Help…” the sound is gentle, I hear it more now, It’s strangely familiar, it hurts to hear. The voice turns to poison, etching itself in my ears, I can’t take it. The girl falls back into shards, the laughter stops, like the choking source finally took its last breath. I can’t move, I don’t want too. The girl will come back, the laughter will restart itself like a broken record.

“Come out,” I cringe, the voice is soothing, lulling me away from idleness. Clearing my mind of fear yet still implanting it's own seed of terror beneath the surface. ¨Nothing can get you… Come out...¨ My body doesn't listen to my commands, I’m up. There’s no one else in the room, just me and the inanimate furniture. The voice won’t speak, I don’t want it too, I don’t want to be it's puppet. I move forward, the floor is icy and air moist, my body moves towards the door, I reach out to touch it. My brain brings up an array of facts and words, its wooden, smooth, not easily broken. I linger on the last thought, pinning it down before it can escape into the outer reaches of my mind, why would I take note of that?

¨Dear, come back, It’s much nicer over here.¨ I recoil from the door, the voice sounds like the purring of a cat or the coo of a new mother. ¨It’s warm, the floors much too cold in here,¨ It feels like someone has struck me in the back of the head, this voice isn't better than the others, it’s molten fire flowing through my skull. My vision blurs, and I’m on the ground. The voice is beckoning me up, guiding me towards the small chair in the center of my area, I don’t have control anymore. My, no her, arms and legs move methodically, keeping time with the swift beating of my heart. She wants me to come closer, closer still, I’m leaning against the chair in the center of the room, trying to regain control of myself. The walls twist, the blank slates fall to the floor, smoke twirls in ribbons through the air.

“Dear… Dear…” The voice metamorphoses into a snarl, it was a ploy, I can't move, her feet wouldn't let me, they want to be here, they wanted to be engulfed in the tendrils of gas making their way towards me. “Dear, you look tired… Go to sleep…” I’m given control, it doesn't do much to remedy my situation. I scurry towards the cot, almost flying into the thin sheets, I hide like a child terrorised by imaginary travesties. The gas is behind me. My eyes jam shut. I will take the voices advice for once, sleep will come. I want to go back to whatever was before this, whatever happened before I woke up with the name Olive in my head. I want to be gone. I want- no, need this to end, I just need it to end… I feel the smoke on my back, like hands, lifting me up and away from my hiding place. There is a slight prick on my shoulder, it becomes tender. I squirm, its futile, I’m done, it has me. I’m floating, feet dragging along the cold floor. My eyes open, the gas is gone. There are men in jackets as white as the walls, which have now regained their color. My eyes close again, and I feel myself drifting into oblivion…

***

I looked up from the floor, realizing just then that I’d retold my entire chronicle to it, as if my attentive therapist was actually the merrily dotted pattern on the worn pieces of slate below me. The stiff woman in front of me hurriedly scribbled notes onto her paper until she realized that I had ceased speaking,

“Okay, so the medicine worked well. I suppose thats a plus from this situation,” Miranda, as the therapist had identified herself, attempted a smile, she wasn’t an extremely empathetic person so it wasn’t as heartfelt as possible, “These are extremely vivid delusions, Olive, do you think that you may have overblown any of the events from an hour ago?” She looked at me imploringly, her cerulean eyes trying to breach my expression to see if she could extract the truth by simply studying me hard enough.

“I don’t think so. It was very real.” I added an innocent edge to my tone, eradicating any doubt lingering in my words. Miranda shook her head and let out a breath of annoyance, brushing wisps of chocolate hair from her forehead. The conversation lulled, and I let my eyes wander about the area that I was placed in. The area was warmer, a subtle orange spread along the walls, the small set of furniture we had claimed a deep purple, concealing itself in the heart of the circular room.

¨So, you have no memory of anything before this morning?¨ Miranda implored, a pencil in her slender hand, ready to write down as many things she could pry from me. I nodded quickly, focusing on the rims of her glasses to create the illusion I had been looking straight at her, a skill I had developed a ways into the interview, maybe a trick retained from the life I led before. ¨Okay, do you think you can still sleep in that room?¨ Miranda surrendered, I suspected due to my lack of cooperation for her ‘help’. I silently studied the table in front of me and my eyes landed on an outdated work laptop.

¨I suspect you have files on me?¨ I questioned, looking Miranda straight in the eyes, my voice brimming with a startling intensity. Miranda nodded calmly, her eyes betraying a battle to not shrink back. She had kept a distance between us the whole interview, not allowing me anywhere near her for reasons I cannot supply. I gestured to the laptop and kept my voice firm, ¨I’d like to see a file so I can understand what's going on.¨ Miranda’s eyes widened,

¨I can’t, it’s against-¨ I cut her off mid reply, causing a slight panic to breach her demeanor.

¨Show me.¨ I commanded, picking up the steel slab and handing it to her, raising my eyebrows ever so slightly. Miranda sighed, taking the laptop and opening the top. She hesitantly tapped out the password, wincing with every click of the keyboard. The laptop was turned over to me, I read the words quickly, begging for some kind of truth.

Moriarty, Olive:

Female

17

Mild Schizophrenia

Update: Head injury sustained after lashing out at a therapist, no damage suspected.

[Filed Yesterday]

¨Are you happy now?” Miranda’s voice was steely, snatching the laptop from me and closing it quickly. My eyes stayed on my lap, an array of facts and meanings swirled in my mind. They collected and disputed, fighting for my attention until one remained. I’m insane.

“Uh, yea…” My thoughts jumbled, mingling together and impairing my ability to form cohesive sentences. I got up and looked down at her, keeping my eyes on her head to avoid catching her sky blue gaze, “May I go back to my room?” I inquired, my voice cracking slightly.

“Okay. Lets go.” Miranda got up and kept her distance from me, walking over and opening to door. I stepped forward and started toward the exit, my head was spinning. Before long I was in the room, the door slamming shut behind me as I looked around. The mirror was gone, it’s place noticeably vacant and cold. I cringed, looking out at the outline of a dark smoke emanating from under the cot,

“Welcome back, darling...”

Author's Note

I feel like I messed something up with grammar, please tell me if I did. Otherwise I am open to any thoughts.
(Update: I can't figure out how to lessen the suddenness of the perspective change at the end, I would love some suggestions.)

Reviews

[Raven's Soul]

I have no clue what to say, other than...thank you. I have schizophrenia and what you've described here is pretty much what I go through on a near daily basis. I am grateful that at least one author seems to understand the difference between multiple personality disorder and actual schizophrenia and can portray the latter in a way that is damned accurate and, from my point of view, painful to read through. I've gone through hallucinations and hearing voices that no one other than me can see or hear more times than I care to even attempt to count. To be honest, I wasn't able to get through this piece in one sitting; it was that painful for me, which is a good thing because it shows that you're touching your readers in an emotional way, thus allowing them to connect to the story and characters in a deep and intimate way. Good job on this and thanks again for sharing this.

[DamnedCosmos]

Thank you so much for the feedback. You have just given me so much pride in this piece which has excelled from a odd, dysfunctional story too one that can allegedly touch the hearts of those with the disease. I'm so glad my research into the effects this has on a person's mind and body have paid off and turned this into something that you can thank me for writing correctly. I'm going to let out my inner child and say, "thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou." I'm so glad you took the time out of your day to read and enjoy this.