Where do you draw the line on madness? How do we truly know when one is insane? I was normal once. I went to school, I went to parties, I fell in and out of love, I lived life to the fullest, but now I’m trapped. Trapped in this room, alone. Nothing but four pale walls surround me.

I sit on a clean bed with cream sheets, along with a pillow and a blanket neatly displayed upon it. A faucet stands before me. As I drink the cold water, accompanied by my medication, I feel a chill run down my spine. Such a disgusting taste.

The usual smell of stew brewing lingers in the damp air. It’s the same meal every day, so bland. The nurse arrives a 4pm sharp every day to give me my shot. After all this time, it still hurts. They say it is supposed to help me, but it always makes me feel worse.

I’d feel better if I could move around more, but the icy chains that bind me to my bed don’t allow me. They told me the stay was only temporary. They lied. I’ve been in this prison for three years.

Every night I lie in bed. I fall asleep to the hysterical laughter of The Others. The others like me. Their screams taunt me, slowly pushing me further into insanity. I was 14 when I was put into this god-forsaken place. Now I feel as though I am drowning, struggling to breathe. The more I struggle, the further down I go. I’m living in my worst nightmare.

Three years ago I was put into Heaven’s Stay Asylum for the Mentally Disturbed. They told me that three years ago I murdered my family.

My name is Veronica and I am a murderer. I belong with The Others.

© 2018 by Stacey-Leigh Laycock. All Rights Reserved.