Label of Insanity

     They’re so quick to bestow upon me the label of insanity. So quick in spiriting me away from all I’ve ever known. From the warm cream colored walls, gleaming in the soft amber light from the lambs. From the supple carpets and warm wood floors. They brought me into a world of harsh light. A world of stark white paint and dulled linoleum the disgusting color of nausea green. The brought me to my sepulcher for I know I’m destined to die here. I’ll probably die in that narrow little bed with the squeaky springs and sheets made of coarse cloth. If I don’t die in the bed maybe I’ll choke on the pretty pills they dispense like so many colorful beads. If I die that way my blue-tinted face would be a welcome sight. A new color that stands out amongst the painful white and sick green. When I die I hope it’s that way. I’d like to give something back to my fellow prisoners and the deathly blue would be the perfect gift.

     Ah, I speak of death so calmly. You must be shocked. The thing to realize is I’ve lived my whole life entirely aware of the fact that it can and will be snuffed out eventually. I think that belief is another reason they put me in here. My family did it. The ones I loved. My loved ones. Oh, how ironic that those who I willingly gave my heart to put me in this place. My closest neighbor is the clock on the wall. My only confidante. It speaks to me in a language of eternity. A language that no one understands but me. Hours I’ve spent just listening to the soothing sound of its voice. Sometimes the clock sings to me. Songs of times past. Hymns of the present. Psalms of the future. These keep me preoccupied. They help me forget that I’m in this tomb. When I listen to the songs it’s as if I’m floating calmly in the very stream of time. I pass events. I see Napoleon on his conquests. I watch the pen as Orwell scrolls his great works which shape the future. A short stop to listen to the raven speak forevermore and then onto Cleopatra and her lovers. My friends are those who built the pyramids. I’m acquainted with great warriors and kings. I avoid the present, finding it pointless. The future I flee from. The future is sinister. Black. There is nothing to look forward to.

     I choose to live for now. I don’t rush towards death yet I neither flee from it. Instead I live in a different world entirely. When I’m not with my friend the clock, I find companionship with words. Adjectives. Nouns. Predicates. These are my lovers. I caress them softly with my eyes. My tongue rolls around and over them with utmost adoration. These are my gods. My saviors. My saints. These are the things that make me want to live. These are also the very reasons I’ve ended up in this dingy building that’s a prison for so many.

     I guess I’ve never really lived in reality. I chose at a young age to take myself out of it. When I was little, before the words that would become my friends made sense to me when written out, I preferred the worlds my imagination offered me. For hours I would sit in the utmost silence, perfectly still. I’d stare blankly at whatever happened to be in my line of vision. And I’d disappear. I’d disappear from the outside world and would go into my own. The worlds of my creation were, and still are, better than “real” one. There was no yelling, no anger. Anything could happen. By the time I started school, I could already read the words. They quickly became my only friends. Everyone else in the school thought I was odd. Bizarre. A freak is what they called me. I ignored them and worked my way through increasingly harder books. When a book wasn’t present or when the teacher made me put them away, I‘d go back into my own world. The only reason I was able to do this without getting in trouble was that I was such a good student. The teacher’s for the first part of my life thought I was paying attention to them and the blank look on my face was actually a sign of deep understanding. Fools all of them.

     They say I killed that man with the husky voice and leering eyes. I’m sure I didn’t. I’ve always been a pacifist. And murder is violence even if it is the killing of a pig. I don’t remember much from that day. I do remember him coming to the house though. He was a friend of the families. Someone who had been around since I was a little girl. I’d never liked him. He was an illiterate imbecile. He enjoyed teasing me because I was always reading. According to his life’s philosophy “Books are a waste of paper. Paper that could be used to print more money.”  He was irritating. So much anger flared up in me when he was around. It was a murderous rage. But I didn’t kill him.

     It was believed that I did because when law enforcement found the body, they also found me. I was sitting there with my sketchpad, drawing the peculiar angel the knife made in his body. It didn’t help matters that when they asked me what had happened all I managed to do was laugh. They just couldn’t see the funny little patterns rapid decay had left. Some people have no sense of humor. My parents said they believed me but then they locked me up.

     I was just sitting on the porch, reading another one of my books when the burly men, in their immaculate white coats came. It appeared they expected a fight because as soon as they saw me, they pumped me full of some amber colored liquid. The needle felt lovely as it slipped into my flesh. The rest was a bit of a monochromatic blur. They bound my arms at my side and another man, in a white coat like everyone else, hovered over me for a while taking note on a clip board. I found out later he was to be my doctor. That poor man. He gets so frustrated when I refuse to speak to him. His life’s philosophy isn’t that great either. He looks down on me and the other patients. If only I wasn’t opposed to murder.

 

Reviews

[David]

"And I�d disappear. I�d disappear from the outside world and would go into my own."

"I avoid the present, finding it pointless. The future I flee from."

I dig the ideas of those two paragraphs but it might flow better if you don't repeat the same word. Like, "And I'd disappear from the outside world and go into my own." Or, "I avoid the present, finding it pointless. I flee from it."
Besides little things like that, I really enjoyed this. I can't wait to read more of your stuff. Hope to hear from you soon.

[Eriqe Mangum]

You call me twisted, yet you write such writes. I do not understand such hypocrisy. But nonetheless, as I am sure this is no surprise for you, you are the trully twisted one my dear.

Tabatha, I will be completely honest with you, and tell you that I am jealous beyond reason for your ability to portray such dark and sinister realities. You have a way of using words, so unique that I think it would be impossible to duplicate. That is a nice trait to have.

Sorry, this review is all over the place. How bout we get to business.

Like always, there are the minor mistakes, but I will not go into them. Then there are a few spots where the placing of words are confusing, where maybe you had to many thoughts fumble together while you write. Yet, all that would take to fix is reading it outloud to yourself a couple times.

When I�m not with my friend the clock, I find companionship with words. Adjectives. Nouns. Predicates. These are my lovers.

This is one of my favorit lines...because I am a writer, and a twisted one at that. This just tickles my fancy. Brilliant work. I love it. Keep it up.

[Dan Divine]

My tongue rolls around and over them with utmost adoration. Great line. And when we get to,"Fools all of them" thats where I got the real chill. Very Very Cool. Good damn job Tabatha P.

[Alyssa Sta. Cruz]

I had some difficulty reading, partly because the paragraphs were really long and the spacing was cramped. However, I wonder now if that was the intention--to create a mood of suffocation, the imprisonment that the speaker might feel. Still, I know some people are the type who don't read if a story isn't properly formatted, and just one huge chunk of text.

Once I got past that, however, I enjoyed this story. Your descriptive power is top-notch, and I was easily able to slip into her head.

So who killed the man?

[Maddie]

I loved this story it kept you on your toes the entire time wondering "Did she really do it" I also think your imagery was marvolous and I could picture the puke green walls and the white rooms with no troubles.

Much love, Maddie.