Image courtesy graveaddiction.com
Written by Ken Carman
Every night he tries to kill me.
Why won’t the orderlies stop him?
I know. I know. I probably deserve this after all the grief I’ve put my parents, my husband and my boys through. Maybe I am insane. I was so tired of it all: the daily humdrum; all the responsibility. That’s how I got here; taking all those pills, pitching another fit, trying to hurt myself. After the hospital warned me my condition was “delicate” and I decided to walk out anyway, Alex had me committed. That night I cried myself to sleep and woke up with… him… on top of me.
No, not what you think… I swear he doesn’t even know I’m here. If I’m crazy this guy’s a whole certified flock of loons in one body.
Do they call a group of loons a “flock?”
The first night he tried to pound the hell out of me with his fists. He must be as weak as tea made from a whole lake and one teabag, I couldn’t feel a thing… but he made a good show of his night long tantrum. Last night he somehow found a fork and kept poking himself with it until the orderlies took it away. He came damn close to poking me several times.
I saw Alex outside through the window in the door. I’ll bet they think with the bars and the colored glass on door I can’t see a thing. Is that glass? But I can see. He had come here to get my things. How thoughtful. Don’t need them here anyway. Does that mean I’m going home soon? I would have run to the window and cried out to him, but I swear they must have me tied to this bed: I can’t move.
Why can’t anyone hear me?
I hear them.
Why doesn’t anyone see me here and what I’m going through?
Are they running out of beds? Is that why there’s two of us in one bed?
The other day I swore I over heard orderlies talking, saying they thought this room might be haunted because some woman died in her sleep here.
Oh, great. Great. Now on top of all this other shit I have to put up with some goddamn ghost?
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Copyright 2010
Ken Carman
all rights reserved