Sage

A psychotic rampage could throw her over the edge, or is she just psychotic? Does she even know who she is? What she has done? Who is Sage?

Throughout my many years, the plague of guilt has overrun my body. I am confined to my home, an apparition, never to see the outside. My husband left me, flew away out into the world. My guilt and shame come to visit me every month. I sit on this concrete couch, dreaming that I will hold him again. I fail to even find that much comfort. I believe that the love we once had, it wasn’t true. I wait and wait, dream full dreams, wishing…

The year was 1995, day was lively, but the house was gloomy. The coal grey walls were just a reminder of what had become of me. I recall that one day, oh his magnificent azure eyes. The glorious sun and roses in bloom. The lake water swaying in the gentle breeze. My fiance walked ahead, gleaming. I came soon after; white sheets lay upon the spot. The jewels sparkled and the mountains on my feet tried to sink. Oh what a day that was.

I still sit here, emotionless and alone. I am drawn to this place, my home. I have no companions; no one comes to see my pastel face. I stare at the walls; the stories tell on. My livestock has already gone wild. 

My life really did not matter, it was cold and shaken. The shackles of death rattle in my home. These walls, just three, a small box, alone. I have set my heart to find my husband. I wish to count more walls, more than three.

I daydream of our first kiss. We were young, 16 and 17, so marvelous. It was fall, the autumn of desire. The yellow and ginger leaves were crunching by that time. He held my small hand and my world was built, the joy in it, the patience. It was all there, every moment. Our first kiss, leading us along the journey of life and soon to marriage.

All I guess is my life is a blur. Some reminiscences are a lot clearer than others. I just wish to have my husband. These shackles of death, iron rods of hate, and three walls of confinement. Why just me? I thought my husband loved me. I start to beat on a wall. I hope that it would fall, showing me my husband. The failure was all real, the jacket of anger then held me, kept me tied. The failure of not finding my husband has imprisoned me within these walls. The misery and guilt of losing his soul at my hands was beyond me. These three walls hold me and prevent me from finding him.

All I wanted was my husband, for him to comfort me. All my love is just a shadowy cover. I want my husband; he warmed me and loved me. I have only a bracelet to tell me what I am, the only confirmation of my existence.

The bracelet called me Sage McCay and stated an age of 26. This must be me, but do I believe? I couldn’t tell if this was real, but aren’t I? All I have is my three walls to piece it all together. My home of dark walls, one room, cold floor. No sharp objects to save me, nothing to save me. 

What is my house? A dreamy asylum, which is all I could even think about or even bare to say. My eyes, my lips, my mind, is it any too true. It seems as if my life is in this dreamy asylum. I just want my husband, my loving dear. I wait in the grey walls, hoping and dreaming.

Another memory floats in, our first dance. The blue night and bright moon, cool and open. His eyes sparkled blue and grey. My lilac sheet covered me while we swayed in the moonlight. It was all the dance I dreamed of. The world seemed to stop, it froze, but not for us. I loved him, my husband.

That day was so true and dreamy. Yet, I still wait for when I shall be sentenced. I look at my home’s door, waiting to catch a glimpse of my husband’s face. I all so well know the pain of a million thorns, the loving, and the sweetness of my husband. He is all true, but I want to hold him in my arms again. 

That one day turns to yet another day. I just stare at my three walls, dreaming of my old home. Its walls had color until it faded. The darkness in my mind. I want it all back. I want everything to return to the same. 

The life I live is lonely and cold, but just waiting is sinister. The evil time in another, and darkness is there. I all but see what is actually happening. I need to see that I am always going to be alone.

I walk out of the room of my mind and I am seated in a navy chair, behind a large golden wood table. A room full of chairs behind me was divided by a wooden border. A line of seats encased in a wood border sits over to my right. The large podium in front is now taken. A great man seats himself, calling an order.

I sit and observe, then as the sounds play out… I notice something. This is all real, I am not alone. I am sentenced. In the court room I am set, the line of people calls, “Guilty.” I cry.

It all flies back to me. I am sentenced to life, yes life, in prison. Not for being crazy in illusions, but murder. I murdered the one I love, and I forget all meanings to why. 

“Sage McCay is sentenced to life in prison. She 

  will serve this time in a psychological institution. This 

  26-year-old allegedly murdered her 

  boyfriend of 8 years, fiancé of 2 years, and 

  husband of 1 year. She was diagnosed with an

  emotional illness, but her husband will remain in 

remembrance.”

It was posted everywhere, bold black letters, but they didn’t know the truth! I read that one article over and over again. They called me “crazy” and “insane” in many articles. They didn’t understand anything! I did not murder my husband; his death wasn’t my fault. I loved him to my hearts extent and I would never hurt him. I would jump in front of a bullet for him, take my life to save his, or give him whatever he needed. They were mistaken with my sentence; they didn’t know the significance of “guilty.” They are confused or mixed in cases, I was not the killer of my husband, I was not this insane, psychotic person. I LOVED him!!! 

I climbed onto the concrete platform and looked over. Is this the end? Is this what has come to me? Is this what I am meant to do? Where is my husband? What happened to him? What has happened to me? 

Author's Note

Please excuse any grammar issues. This story was written for a contest and it was one of my favorites, due to the confusing nature of it. It is suppose to confuse you...

Reviews

[Stan Lee]

It's scary. But I like the way you reiterated that she loved her husband. It makes us see through the veil of madness to the human being. Nicely done.

[Starr]

Thanks you so much. This was a delicate story that took forever to get right. I wanted to play off her insanity with the sense that she is just going insane in her home but she acts like she is waiting for someone. This was one of my most delicate stories I have ever written. Thanks once again!