Madison

Insanity is something many writers admire in a person. They see the world in a different point of veiw and won't let anyone tell them what is wrong or right.

Amy watched as a little girl rode past her eyes in a bright red tricycle. The child’s feet pedaled like egg beaters the way she struggled up the small hill of sidewalk. The face of the girl looked so familiar, like a person met from a dream. Amy knew she should have at least recognized the girl, but her long-term memory wasn’t working as it used to. She watched as the blond, curly-haired girl seemed to disappear as she dipped down below the hill of concrete and under the bright glare of sun. The child was gone, and now for some odd reason, Amy felt a part of herself had gone with her.

            Amy looked up into the sky where the blue ceiling was still of any movement. She felt trapped under that dome, like there was no way of escape, like there was something else out there that offered more than the ground did. When Amy was a small girl she always wanted to be an astronaut or a scientist. As if memories of her childhood opened an invisible door, she suddenly remembered the name of the girl on the tricycle.

 

           

            It was another Sunday, the fourth Sunday since Amy was brought to the camp for crazy people. She didn’t consider herself insane, in fact she knew she wasn’t, but yet there she was. Amy heard footsteps coming her way and knew it was Dr. Kimbet because of the way he always dragged his bad foot. Soon his head appeared into her line of vision as he entered her privet room. It was a nice open looking space with large windows and on all the walls there were paintings of galaxies and stars. Soon Dr. Kimbet began talking to her but she was only half listening.

            “Amy? Did you hear me?”

            “I’m sorry Doc, but I can’t help but wonder why you’re here. I was hoping that you would explain that before asking me a bunch of intimidating questions,” she answered honestly.

            “Alright Amy, I’ll try to remember that. The reason I’m here is because we want to know how you are doing. We want to know if you’ve seen anything odd lately or simply if you are comfortable in this room. We just need to ask you some simple questions and then we’ll know more clearly what condition you have.”

            “Whose ‘we’?” Amy interrupted.

            “Well the psychology department; other doctors who are on your case,” Dr. Kimbet replied.

            “I was not aware that I had a case,” she said bluntly. This conversation was boring her; she knew why the doctor was here. She knew that he thought she was ‘unstable’ but she couldn’t stand it when he asked all those questions. She tried stalling but eventually he got back onto the topic, which irked her. Yes, she was comfortable; yes, she was eating regularly; yes, she was bored; yes she slept solidly! How many irrelevant questions can a person answer before getting annoyed? Finally the doctor got to the question he always asked on regular visits: Have you been noticing anything unusual lately?

            “How am I supposed to answer that question if I can’t even define the difference between normal and not normal?!” Amy finally yelled in frustration. “Every day I see the same things as I did the last day. How do I know that what I see every day is normal? People don’t exactly give you guidelines to these sorts of things!”

            The doctor didn’t look the least bit shocked as he scribbled away on the yellow notepad that he always brought. The scratching noises from the expensive looking pen always made Amy a little nervous. That soft sound that was usually hardly noticeable in any other circumstance made her feel like she was some kind of patient who had a terrible disease; her life and symptoms being copied onto a thin piece of paper.

            Amy did see strange things though, and she did know what normal was. She was just annoyed with all the doctors always asking questions and pretending to be considerate, so she often lied. She would only see one strange thing, a hallucination that she couldn’t quite classify as a hallucination. It was more of a ghost that seemed to spy on her every move. And while Amy was certainly a little worried about it, she was also fine with it, comfortable even. She liked its presence.

 

           

            When Amy was about eight, she and her little sister Madison would always play outside in the humid air until the sun began to set. Amy was always the hero or the villain in their pretend games, and Madison was always the sidekick. It was during one of these games of “humans and aliens” when the accident happened.

             The children were playing out in the street where Madison would come over from the far off world of ‘neighbor’s yard’ and cross the starry highway to earth in her ‘spaceship’. Amy had dressed Madison in a green blanket from the laundry hamper and had her cross the street in her tricycle from the neighbor’s yard. Madison was just halfway, making silly alien noises when the car came.

            The next thing Amy knew were her parents running out shouting for Madison. Amy didn’t know any better but soon she was in an ambulance wailing because her mother was. She was asked many questions but she couldn’t answer any of them because she was so scared. The sirens blared in her vision like red hot pokers, stabbing at her senses. She wanted to run away to some far off place where there would be no crying or sirens.

            By the time they got to the hospital it was too late. Madison was gone. Amy’s parents tried to explain to her clearly about Madison, tears streaking their already aging faces. Amy did not cry because she didn’t understand. She wasn’t dead; it wasn’t even possible for Madison to be dead, because kids didn’t die. It was only until later when her parents tucked her into bed, while the one next to her was empty, that she understood.

 

           

            It was the fifth Wednesday since Amy had been moved to the rehabilitation center. She was getting old. She was to turn into a fifty-year-old widow in a matter of slow torturous months, which she herself could hardly believe. The visits from Madison were becoming regular and Amy often saw her playing in the grass in someone else’s lawn, examining something so interesting that she never bothered to look up. Amy often wondered if the apparition was some sort of a sign, and often blamed herself for the visits. Never the less, Amy carried on her normal life.

            Amy’s husband died when she was 47 from another car crash. This of course made her devastated, and suicide seemed to become more and more realistic in her mind. In the following two or three years Amy constantly told herself that she was cursed. She always lived in fear that someone else she loved would be hit next, and eventually it would be her turn.

            Now the visits from her deceased sister were slightly comforting. It was as if she came to say that no one else would die, or that it would soon be time for Amy to join her in the everlasting life of death. Sometimes Amy would wave, but the ghost would pay no attention, as if Amy were simply not there.

            It was on the fifth Wednesday that it all changed. Amy was taking out the mail when Madison came riding by in her little tricycle, the wheels squeaking as if they were about to fall off.  Madison’s curly hair was all frizzy this afternoon, and Amy could hear her pant as she pedaled harder and harder down the new sidewalk. Amy carefully stepped aside as the ghost came towards her, and at this exact moment, as Madison was about to pass Amy, Madison spoke.

            “Hello,” she said in a voice so small and innocent, you would have thought her real. Amy said ‘Hello’ back, and as she did so Madison smiled. It was as if she had come back to life.

 

           

            The first time Amy saw Madison was about a year after her husband had died. At first she freaked out and chased after the little girl, calling her name over and over, but she had disappeared. Amy looked disappointed down the calm street where the sun scorched the shingled roofs of other houses. Amy forgot that she was about to run errands. All she could think of was the subtle appearance of her younger sister.

            Amy had asked all the neighbors if they had seen the girl. The neighbors were concerned for her and often gave her retirement home brochures. She didn’t want help though, Amy didn’t need it, and so by this time she was getting annoyed with the fretting mothers who told their children to keep away from her. She didn’t consider herself dangerous in any way. But it was too late; one of them had already called one of those psychiatrists.

 

           

           Amy was feeling very claustrophobic as the nurses and maids rushed to her side as she tried to escape. The rehabilitation centre wasn’t where she wanted to spend the rest of her life. She wanted to die happy out in the open, and if only the doctors would understand. She was perfectly sane, but they refused to believe it. First they thought she was taking pills, the next thing they think she is mentally unstable. If only they had tried to listen instead of asking so many questions!

            Amy struggled to break free of the horrid arms that beckoned her back to the place where people stayed insane, where people died. The nurses coaxed, pleaded and bribed Amy to come back, to stay for just one more game of bingo. Amy hated bingo; she hated being treated like the old woman her face showed, and not the young girl who just wanted to run away inside. She hated being called by her surname, and hated all the questions that everyone asked her. She just wanted to run away.

            As Amy struggled and persisted to the gate where she would be free of the awful prison, she noticed the birds in the sky and cursed them for their luck. The weather was like the day she had first seen Madison: clear as a bell, with no movement or noise whatsoever. She was almost to the gate, the nurses following her, finding every excuse for her to stay and thrusting it at her like a knife.

            As Amy got to the gate, she paused. There was Madison, in her little tricycle, in the middle of the road. Amy wanted to shout for her to move, but she knew what was coming when it happened. A car came, and just like that, she relived her nightmare. Madison disappeared in a cloud of dust and Amy could hear screaming in the back of her mind. She clenched her eyes shut as sirens wailed in her memory.

            Amy took one step, past the gate of the prison, and collapsed.

            Amy died smiling.

 

Author's Note

LOVE critique! Please be nice though because I was kind of rushed while writing it.