The Fall

creative writing story, set in the late 1800's. A doctor at a mental institude gets locked in his own asylum.

White walls. They had been my idea. White paint was cheapest and more came in a can than any other color. I regret it now, as I lay face up on my cot, restrained...tied down wrist and ankle to prevent my escape. My skin is raw and red from struggling.

In such a dull room, anyone would be grappling at any excuse to be descriptive, on a desperate search for something to look at. Cracks in the paint. Black stains on the hardwood floor. Analyzing the crooked angle of the unskilled painting that hangs crookedly on the wall. There is one window, probably the only cell in the building that had one. My wealth made sure of that.

As I shift my weight I feel wet stains in the rough fabric of my pillow where my tears have trickled down my cheeks. I feel hopeless...every aspiration I ever had in life...gone.

Every man has his desires. Mine were fairly simple. I wanted a family, a wife who loved me, and laughing grandchildren sprawling around my yard. It wouldn't have been hard. I was wealthy, handsome so I thought. My life was nearly perfect. So close...

I feel my eyes begin to water again as I recall every happiness I once had...intelligence, employment, wealth, charm to be effective on any woman...I had a future. Lost from me. And now, as I trace the jagged pattern of cracks in the ceiling, I plan my own death...it can't be hard...humans are mortal, so fragile, so easily killed. It's more difficult, though, when tied down to a bed.

I pull back my lips and scream�"I cannot help myself!�"arching my back and pulling, causing only pain. I thrash back and forth like a madman�"which I swear I am not�"and scream like a child!

“Thomas!” cries a nurse who had once been my assistant, sweet Nancy, as she pushes open the door to my room. No, it's not a room, it is a cell. A prison. A cage. “Thomas, calm down. You'll only hurt yourself worse.”

Trying to sit upright, I turn my head to glare at her. “Go away!” I growl at the woman who was once my friend, and the sound frightens me. It sounds more animal than human. Nancy continues to speak to me, but I cannot comprehend what she says...In my mind, I can see the day I met her, how adorable I found her upon first sight. My best friend, full of secrets, and wonder, and humor.

The owner of the institute, Joseph Greene, had introduced her to me during my first week of employment there. She was to be my assistant of sorts, paired with me from the start. We were quite a team, Nancy and I, not only coworkers but absolute best friends. She understood me perfectly, and knew everything about me, like the slight mental disability I'd been born with that had elevated into something much worse...that I was once a doctor of psychology...and how those two just clashed...

I had always been cursed with minor delusions, since birth I saw and heard strange things occasionally that I had just dismissed as stress or lack of sleep. They were nothing. My two sisters Emily and Anna had agreed, as did my mother, the wisest person I'd ever known (none of whom cared for me anymore, I was an outcast to humanity). The visual delusions had just been seemingly normal things...thinking there were insects on the walls that weren't there...thinking I saw an alley cat lurking around...seeing people out of the corner of my eye that turned out to be large pieces of furniture...

They didn't get bad until I started working here at the institute...

The treatment of the patients was cruel. It wasn't an opinion, it was a fact. It was violent, painful, and disturbing. Of course, I didn't think anything of it until I myself was a patient. I was helping them, or so I thought. They should be grateful for the pain. They were being cured of their freakish insanity.

And now, as I narrate my past in my dysfunctional mind, I fear the treatment that I once gave, for it will soon be mine.

I can remember a little girl, no older than fifteen, was here two months ago, with such a mental impairment. Her parents were good Christian folks, but their child was less than that. Her interest in other religions and sinful acts had them worries, they feared it was due to harsh delusions.

I remember that the medics had tethered her to her cot in her cell, just as I am now.

“Hello, miss,” I said to her as I entered the room. She was thrashing about helplessly, and these actions only further led us all to believe that she was a lunatic, a medical danger to herself and the public. Foolish.

She glared at me through teary eyes, and I smiled sadly. I'm not heartless, I did feel sorrow for her, and seeing her sorrow did provoke sympathy from me.

“I'm sorry you're stuck in this dreadful place,” I told her gently, offering a soft smile. I heard soft footsteps as Nancy entered the room behind me, should I need assistance. “I'm going to ask you a few questions, dear, do your best to answer them truthfully and coherently. How long have you been delusional?”

“I'm not crazy!” the girl screeched, laying still. “How many times must I say this? I am not insane!”

“Of course you are!” Nancy argued with a sad smile. “If you weren't, then you wouldn't be here.” In her hands was a bottle of laudanum, and a metal rod. Who knew that something so simple could be so cruel.

“Miss, I need you to swallow a bit of this,” I said soothingly, taking the bottle from my dear friend.

“What is it?” the young patient asked suspiciously, eying the clear bottle and its amber liquid inside as if it were poison.

“This will make you sleep,” Nancy answered, holding up a spoon for the girl to ingest the sedative with. The tools Nancy had are the most commonly used, usually if not primarily for lobotomies. It's the way that doctors deal with their patients, damaging their brains to cure their insanity. As I think about it now, knowing that a lobotomy is where I am headed, I strongly disagree with that! I am NOT crazy!

“What are you going to do to me?” the frightened girl asked. I patted her hand comfortingly.

“Don't worry about a thing. We're curing you of your delusions, you'll wake up feeling better than ever. Do you trust me?” I smiled to show her that my previous words were the truth...so I thought at the time.

She seemed quite taken with me, something I was quite used to. I had been blessed with an attractive appearance, and though I was grateful for it, it was not my favorite thing about myself.

The young girl nodded slowly, though I could tell by the nervousness in her eyes that she was unsure. “But I'm not insane,” she persisted again. I sighed impatiently.

Nancy held up the metal rod, and the girl's face showed nervousness, fear even, definitely uncertainty. She knew what it was for; for breaking the skin above the eye to drive through the skull to the brain, to sever and damage it, causing certain pain. A lobotomy. A common treatment, which was though to be an effective way to “fix” utter insanity.

“Do you want to be sedated now?” Nancy asked firmly?

I know how that this treatment is to be mine...I don't want it...I want my mind to be whole, cleanly, perfect...it's fine, I'm fine! I'm not insane!

“Thomas?” Nancy's unmistakable voice calls me out of my memory. I look at her.

“Untie me,” I order softly. “I won't run, just please. My wrists ache.”

She sighs, knowing I am telling the truth�"I am a very unskilled liar anyway and she knew this�"and steps over to my cot, her leg brushing the rough, lumpy mattress.

Her small hands tug at the knots in the ropes, and I can feel them loosen and give as they fall away. I exhale deeply, lifting my shaking hands so that I can attempt to rub the pain in my wrists away. “Thank you,” I murmur softly.

“You're scheduled for a lobotomy,” Nancy tells me. “In case you didn't already figure.”

“I did,” I answer.

“We're out of laudanum,” she continues. As her words register in my sane mind, I sit up to stare at her in shock.

“How?” I ask sharply.

“We've run out of funds, and the government isn't supplying us anymore. We might declare bankruptcy soon, but the manager might use your money.”

“But that's thievery!” I exclaim. “You can't take my money!”

“You're dead to all of us, Tom,” Nancy sighs. “No one cares if you're actually dead or alive. You've been confined here, which might as well mean you're dead.”

I lay back down, internally seething. The rush of emotions makes my head swim and I see colored lights swirl in the air around me. Not crazy not crazy, I repeat my mantra.

“Anyway, you do understand that you will not be sedated later this afternoon, yes?” Nancy asks in a hushed tone.

My eyes widen, and all I can choke out is a strangled, “Um.”

“Sorry, Tom. We miss you, by the way. You were our best doctor, you really had a way with the patients...” she sighs, as if it were certain I would die here.

I refuse to die inside this building. I simply refuse.

The thought of a metal stake being driven into my skull, while I was fully conscious, makes my stomach twist and my heart beat faster. I can almost feel the cold metal penetrating my brain, by some idiot who has no idea what he was doing...playing God, just to experience the thrill of being in control of something, someone...I can feel the pain, the sting, the pressure...I want to scream...

“Nancy?” I ask quietly.

“Yes?” she replies, stopping at the door.

“Can you open the window? I'm having difficulty breathing.” My voice is hoarse, my throat dry. I am making a decision, a hard one...but I rather this than the lobotomy.

“I suggest you get some rest,” Nancy tells me, tugging the wooden windowframe upwards, the glass panes shivering and squeaking. Sunlight, and cool air, filters in, clearing my head and sending a chill through me.

“I will,” I tell her, and it isn't a lie. She gives me a sad, soft smile, and I return the gesture. I wait until the door is shut tight and the sound of her footsteps fade away.

I roll off my cot, my bare feet hitting the rough wooden floor. Just by walking to the window, I'm sure to get several splinters.

I lean out the window, staring at the dying garden three stories below me. Beyond that is nothing but dry grass and, more distantly, the other half of the oddly-shaped building. I inhale, the sweet fresh air cleansing my thoughts, and I smile. Peacefully. Serenely.

I lean further, purposely angling my head downward, and I push myself out the window...

The fall is amazing. Exhilarating. It seems to last hours, long enough for tears to leak through my eyes. My perfect life, shattered. It doesn't matter anymore, the only thing I have to look forward to now, is the impact...I wait....

Reviews

[InnerSpirit]

Sharkapillar,

I must say you have blown me away. I am a forty year old woman... and have never seen a 15 year old write this way.

A: How do you know what the hell laudanum is?
B: How have you acquired such in depth information of lobotomies?

Not to mention, how you have captured the sights, smells, textures and emotional break-downs of a mental hospital of old... as well as being a patient headed for mal-treatment!

I just have to say incredible! I am searching for other words to come to mind, they elude me.

My forte' is dark writing, yet you will rarely see me post any due, in part, that I have been told it is possible for me to drive that person over the edge with my words. (tisk tisk). It is for this reason I am dying of envy right now - your story was radiating with curiosity and criminal thoughts. That devil Nancy!

I do have what appears to be ONE typo--- let me see:

"I can remember a little girl, no older than fifteen, was here two months ago, with such a mental impairment. Her parents were good Christian folks, but their child was less than that. Her interest in other religions and sinful acts had them worries, they feared it was due to harsh delusions."

The word WORRIES here, should be worried I think?

BRAVO BRAVE Rabbit!

Have a great day, thank you for sharing.

[Legacy]

Sharkapillar - aka Rabbit,

Hm~ Not sure where to begin? I feel your writing needs no introduction for starters. Review, a thing of the past- your writing speaks for itself.

Recalling the end (if truly it is), I was left with a continuance of sorts. Dragging Thomas from the window to administer the lobotomy, seemed to be the felling or understanding. Standing at the window... Real? Indeed. Falling to his death, experiences we have all wished into reality at some point or another (not so much death). Interesting how the mind works allowing us the ability to escape for an instance or drawn out depending on the severity of our situation in order to cope or evade. (Again, only my understanding)

Interesting insertion (long shot here) even for a brief moment (little girl, young patient) as if the author them-self were placed in the story. Brought more in-depth, an example of Thomas's work and what was to come.

A truly engaging piece - anticipating more...

Not sure if you have a published novel yet? If not, one is not far off in you horizon.

Possible...? Thomas mixed with an up and coming musician... LOL!

Wonderful read... Much Thanks.

We choose our own paths - nothing or no-one has the privilege to dictate/orchestrate our future.

Legacy

[InnerSpirit]

I will get back to you on this one, just needed to let you know that I am reading and re-reading because you have intrigued me greatly~

Thank you for sharing, I will be back with you ASAP!

This is a fantastic story. I dd notice a few typos in it. you have a set of quotes in the middle that don't belong and when you talk about the girls parents you wrote 'worries' I believe you meant 'worried'. Great story overall kept me going from the start. Did a great job keeping the first person perspective through out. should be an easy A!!

[zappy]

nice story its creative !!