A dream… a lucid dream was it? Keep me in check with the high dosage of heavy insomnia as my opened dead eyes watch the world from a different perspective. Tick tock as the clock turns itself into a time warping; slowly shaping around the world to it’s own enigma. But I’m awake? Pulling myself together as I try tying in loose ends of reality with my mind. The cool temperature rises my paranoia in the twisting changes of the world. No music, No sleep. Just me and my near death hallucinations.
The doctor glares at my face from down the rusty steel bed. Very queer-eyed in observation as if waiting for me to breathe, or at least breathe normally. “ Oh you’re finally awake and living.” I continue to breathe heavily as the surgical mask melts itself onto my mouth due to my hot breath. The man reaches his arms towards me as my blurred vision brightens, reaching the mask and pulling it off my face. “ There, much better now for ya’ kid.” His voice was very husky as for his features, snow leopard anthropomorphic. Go figure, they have one of those furries be the doctor here. I squint my eyes as I finally narrow down to normal eyesight. “ Need a minute for some time?”, he says to me effortlessly. Getting ready was the last thing on my mind right now. All I wanted was to sleep. Sleep and get laid. But of course, one thing at a time.
I sit up and stretch my cold chilled blueberry arms. My eyes are pigmented black and the color being red just points them out for death. Long eyelashes. Black licorice lips and nails. Last to touch with small black horns and pearly white fangs. Hair was dyed purple at the top from what I remembered but it probably faded back to black sure enough. Psh, if you haven’t gotten by now.. I’m not exactly what you call ‘human’. I begin to look at the Leopard man as if disgusted before I speak with my angsty voice, “ Shouldn’t I be dead?” He looks at me surprised and looks down at the ground for a minute as if to be disappointed. I’m unsure why. In my view of everything, no one would ever want me to live. Ever since I was born I was reminded how much of a mistake I was. But that’s another subject to get into. Finally, after gaining the courage he says to me, “ Damien, don’t ever say that. Now I’m going to forget you did and put you back on some opioid and prozac.” My face goes from pestered to irritable as I remain quiet before he adds whatever drugs to ‘improve’ me. He writes on his little stupid clipboard to assign it with no hesitance. “ Now; your clothes your family gave you should be in the closet to your right. When you’re ready to go home, see me in the lobby.” He walks out the room shutting the door.
Slowly breathing for a few minutes as I get up mumbling in that same angsty tone with a spice of frustration. ‘ Ugh, fuck.. I thought it would’ve worked this time.’, I say to myself as I walk to the closet, opening it to change out of these smelly old scrubs. The wood from the handle gives me a splinter but I’m not complaining. It squeaks as opening; revealing the wardrobe of the choice: a black hoodie with my horoscope sign on it (aquarius), maroon shirt, ruffled casual skinny jeans in my size, and some converses. ‘ Well it’s obvious that dumb bitch Cherry chose my outfit. Buy me the most emo of all outfits …...’ I chuckle in missing her ridiculous amount of stereotypes.
God I miss that bitch, I begin to smile a little as a grab the clothes given to me and walk to the right, towards the bathroom door. Small room for a decent wash of course. Slowly I start removing my little remaining scrubs and throw them on the ground immediately. Stepping into the shower, cleansing my entire body from all the stains and shaving my bits of goatee I grew. Almost an entire hour it took, just to merely get the scrape of smudge off my body. It puzzles me how long I was out. After a couple more I finally dry myself off, brush my teeth and add some cheap deodorant and get dressed. I smell my average candy scent. Too bad my boyfriend isn’t here to smell me. But he would probably shoo me off with his other ‘priorities’ knowing him. I begin to stop for a moment and think about him, his body, his hair, his face, lips, and tongue-’ Great, just fucking great. I’m now ‘up.’ I try to shrug it off as I finally walk out of both rooms with hands in my pockets. Walking down the hallway; ‘God I feel like we’re in a horror movie here…’
The wallpapers are ripped with stained blood, black paint smearing across the floor. The length itself screams eeriness in it’s premise. My footsteps pat louder with each step, getting closer to the lobby at last. There goes the doc and a few other patients in the area:crazy eyes, dirty teeth, and fungus smile. How disgusting .... they glare at each other as dirty teeth tried eating his own flesh. But nobody but I notices? It’s an asylum alright. And I’m quite excited of that realization. My body wants to tremble in it’s own nightmare, but I remain calm. This place feeds off of any negative emotion made.
“Damien Lande”, the doctor calls my name as I turn my head to view him. He waves for me to come and I nod with agreement. Walking towards the man I could sense a lot of regression but it doesn’t bug me too much. He begins talking to me about my new medication and lecturing me: threatening me to ‘grow up’. I just sit tight and try to look as if I care. And soon enough, after thirty minutes of rambling he escorts me to the bus driving me home. I step on it, each step on the stair until I get on the platform. The bus driver was unrecognizable. Black robe and skeletal thin fingers… eyes so ghastly. And the hair, dead and thin cyber blue. Cold chills arose the air as he glared at me with that wicked smile. Quickly, I take my seat on the red deformed bus. I could tell this was going be a long ride.