So Some of You May Have Noticed…

That there hasn’t been any new post for When There Is No More Room…. and basically after this one there won’t be… Some shit came up… but unlike the last year or so… this shit was all positive… It also has kind of hindered a lot of my plans for the rest of the year… but I’m excited about it so that is something… I started working on my next novel… because I have started writing my next novel… I lost interest in finishing a failed one…

For those of you who really enjoyed When There Is No More Room... I am sorry… I wanted to finish it… I fought the last couple of weeks to get it done… but honestly my heart isn’t there… I’m sure many of you could feel it on the last couple of post I did for it… if you didn’t I am glad… I wasn’t trying to phone anything I wrote in… in my head though it felt like I was… the plan was to just push through it… get it done… and on the next project… have it all fully written and fleshed out… something I didn’t do for When There Is No More Room

Well kind of… I had doctor parts from a failed third book from years ago… but that was it… even they had to be rewritten and worked… the rest was just me sitting down at the computer… thinking how do I kill people?… pulling stories from my ass… and I thought that would last until the end… turns out I didn’t have anything more to pull out of my ass… by about mid way… I didn’t hate No More Room… I felt like I came up with some pretty great stuff in the beginning… maybe some stuff I’d like to go back to at a later date… but for the most part it did what it needed to do for me… and that was get me writing again… get me interested in writing stories again… which it has…

Many… if not all… of you are writers… not all are novelist or have any interest in writing a novel… there are a lot of ups and downs… a fuck ton of false starts… and a million ideas that don’t lead to no where… then you have to write the fucking thing… don’t even get me started on editing… I hate editing… takes too god damn long… and if you do it right… by the time you are done editing… you are pretty much at the point of fuck this piece of shit… why did I ever think that I could write in the first place??… maybe that last part is me… : )

So I am excited to get that going… but I am also bummed that I didn’t finish No More Room… I will however post the original ending… how it was meant to end… I did have that written from before… I will drop that below this excuse… I also have some fun facts to share about the project… I will post that at the end as well… again I apologies that I didn’t finish the story properly… and I thank those of you who stuck with it…

Layne Ambrose


I Think We Are Alone Now

“I’m scared Chris do we really have to be here so late? Couldn’t we have come earlier in the day?” She asks pressing against me. I’m scared too, but I don’t let her know that. “Don’t be scared baby. I just wanted to show you around that’s all,” I tell her. “You’ve been here before this late?” She asks. “Of course I have,” I tell her as we sneak up the dilapidated stairs. “Don’t give me that look,” I don’t even look at her, but even in the dark I can tell she has one on her face. “Well who were you here with last?” She asks rather loud. She stops in her tracks. “Are you serious right now?” I whisper. “I just want to know who you were here with last? What’s her name?” She asks even louder. “Baby, I wasn’t here with only one person. My friends and I used to come here all the time. I told you that before,” I whisper. The sound of shuffling feet comes from nowhere. We grab each other tight. “What was that? Is this place really haunted? Didn’t something happen in the 50’s?” she whispers in fear.

I listen for any more sounds and I don’t hear anything. I pull on her gently to continue going up the stairs, “Some people say they hear voices of past patients, but I’ve never heard anything like voices here.” We climb one more flight of stairs and I slowly open the door at the top. We sneak our way into the hallway. “Can we just go already? I don’t like it here at all. It feels really cold for some reason,” she whines. “We already climbed the stairs and the really cool stuff is up here. Stand closer to me and you will warm up. This building is super old and it is a cold night. Imagine being one of the patients?” I ask her. She doesn’t say anything. “There is only a few things I want you to see and then we can go?” I kiss her on the cheek. “There wasn’t anything cool you could have shown me on the first floor?” She asks in a worried voice. “No, the really good stuff is on this floor. This is where they had some of the patients and the shock treatment equipment,” I can’t hide my excitement.

“I don’t think we should be messing with that stuff,” she pleads. “Oh, don’t worry no one’s around so, no one is going to care. It will be fun I promise. Plus you said you wanted to see it,” I remind her. “Really starting to regret agreeing to any of this. I hope we don’t hear anything scary up here,” she says. “Why afraid you’ll scream and wake everyone up?” I ask jokingly. “Haha, like I care about that,” she says mockingly. “Well you should,” I say in a creepy voice. “They kept some serious freaks here. Nearly anyone in this region the state thought were to broken to put in jail,” I tell her. “Why didn’t they just kill them then?” She asks. “You shouldn’t talk like that. What if you piss one of them off?” I ask. “What if I do? It’s not like they can do anything about it?” She states. “Can we just go a little bit faster? I’m only being cautious because this building is pretty old,” I tell her. “So this place isn’t safe?” She asks surprised.

“Great so you’re putting my life at risk? This is one hell of a date,” she whines. “This is a date?” I ask confused. “Seriously?” she shakes her head. “At this rate you’d be lucky if I even admit to knowing who you are after this,” she warns. “Sorry, I thought we were only hanging out. I didn’t realize it was a date. I didn’t even think you were really that in to me,” I stop to tell her. “And if you had known?” She asks. “Well I wouldn’t be trying to impress you right now with how brave I am. I would have taken you to a much more romantic place then this shit hole,” I tell her. “Well how about we get out of here and do just that?” She asks staring into my eyes. I lean in to kiss her on the lips. With my eyes close I hear her words. “Do you smell that?”

I stop leaning and smell around us, “All I smell is you.” A look of horror comes across her face, “It smells like fresh cigarettes. I think someone is up here.” I put my hands on her shoulders, “Didn’t you see all that dust and ash coming up here? It has been sometime since anyone has been up here.” She starts shaking. “You shouldn’t be here,” a voice says from behind us. “What the fuck,” she screams as she runs back down the hall way. I turned to see where the voice is coming from. “There’s no one there,” I say out loud. “I know,” she screams behind me. “But there is no one there,” I say to myself to paralyzed to move. The smell of cigarette smoke washes over me, “I said you shouldn’t be here.” The sound of shuffling feet fills the hall way, but no one is there. “Do you have an appointment?” the voice asks as I black out.

This was a long ass post… probably should have made an appointment for your time… yeah that was bad… so as promised fun facts about this story… some lose ends tied up as well…

Fun Fact... The title of this story comes from the tagline of my favorite movie of all time… “When there is no more room in hell the dead shall walk the earth”... Any guesses?… hopefully none… but it is from Dawn of the Dead (1978)… If you caught that early one… you might have guessed the ending… if not then it was just something fun for me…

Lose end… So originally this whole thing was going to be my third book… doctor… patient… back and forth… I tried to do a smaller version here on the website… basically everything that the doctor was saying was after they all died because he was trapped in “hell”… reliving every day he had to work at the shit box asylum… the patient stories all took place before the fire… or before they all died…

Fun Fact… the doctor bitching about the facility was the real killer… not him… he honestly wanted to help them… fought to keep the place up and running… tried to get them the help he believed he could provided… but the state was like fuck’em… so we was waging a war on all fronts… which broke his mind… then he died… because the shit building fell apart somehow… I didn’t have that part worked out yet… that’s a twofer…

Lose end… the doctor and his brother… that plot thread was an add on from the beginning… so years ago… I believe I hinted at it here in the smaller story… I was going to take it out… but just as I did then… I liked the idea that the doctor had a reason for being a doctor… also the back and forth between him and his brother was interesting to me… something I needed to work out… didn’t… and now it is like what the fuck?… it had a bigger overall theme in the original…

I think that was it… Did you catch all the weird 50’s or earlier references in the patient’s stories?… if you have any questions?… are pissed that I didn’t finish it?… don’t give a shit?… or just want to say hi?… leave a comment at the bottom… for those of you who cared… I hope this was at least something to put an end to the story for you…

When There Is No More Room… Part 10…

Don’t Stand So Close To Me

I like to keep my things in jars. I have many jars all around my room. I used to as a child go out in the woods behind my house and collected bugs. I had so many in my collection. Water bugs, butterflies, lightning bugs, and all sorts of beetles. I used to watch them crawl or fly around their jars. Each one or type I guess had their own jar to call their own. Little worlds that they could live in. Live in until they died. They always died. Why did they always die on me? Everything always dies on me. Mother, sister, and the bugs. I used to label them and everything.  It would drive my mother crazy. All the jars filled with dead bugs under my bed. I couldn’t stop collecting them though. No matter how many died or how upset my mother got.

Growing older I became more and more fascinated with the bugs I kept in my jars. Though I never had the passion to really understand what it was that I was collecting. I wasn’t book smart my mother used to say. I just liked the way they looked in their jars. One day while exploring in the woods I heard this odd noise cut through the singing birds. It sounded like nothing I had ever heard in the woods before. It sounded as though a small child was crying. Was my sister lost in the woods? Over and over I heard the noise. The closer I got the louder the noise became. I knew I was on the right path. Frantically I searched for the noise until I came across a small deer. Not quite a baby but not yet an adult. It was just there lying in the open grass between some trees. It saw me before I saw it, but it kept crying. Figured it would run away when I got close enough and between me and you it tried, but the little deer had broken its leg. As I got closer it struggled to get away. Dragging the broken leg behind it. Leaving a trail of blood. I had never seen so much blood before. It looked so odd, so out of place amongst the green of the grass. I got so close to the deer that I could reach out and touch it. The cry it was making was so loud by then. The sound was almost unbearable. I studied the hurt animal as it tried to get away. I watched it for so long that after a while I couldn’t even hear the sound it was making. I couldn’t hear anything.  

It must have grown tired because after some time the deer stopped trying to get away. It laid its head down in the grass, its mouth moving, and its chest moving up and down rapidly. Cried and cried as I watched. In that moment in time it was only me and it in the whole world. The deer’s rapid breathes become slow and shallow breathes. We locked eyes for what felt like a life time. I placed my right hand on the back of its head and it went silent. Silent like it knew what was going to happen next. I tried to make it quick. Grabbing the top of its muzzle with my left hand I gave it everything my little body had a twist. Its neck snapped. I know I heard it or maybe I only felt it, but it wasn’t enough. Its body flopped around in the grass as I tried to hang onto its head. I tried twisting its head again, but it just kept shaking my hand lose. I could barely keep a hold of the deer. So I jumped onto its back like anyone would I suppose and tried to wrestle it still. It was all happening so fast until everything seemed to stop around me. I was so frustrated, so angry that I lost control of everything. I seemed to have gone to another place within myself. By the time I came back to reality there I was holding this deer’s head in my hands. I no longer cared about bugs. Not when there was so many things out in the woods that needed my help and attention. I find that people are much the same as that deer or the birds or the rabbits of the world. They all need my help and attention.

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

When There Is No More Room… Part 9…

Only a Matter of Time

“Hello Liam,” I say as I enter the room. “Doctor,” he smiles in his own sinister way. “How’s everything today?” I ask him. “Oh you know can’t really complain. Got to sleep in late, watched as the birds played in the trees while I enjoyed my very nutritious breakfast, and afterword I went for a nice walk around town,” he deadpans. “Cute, I’m sure it is easy to get around town in that straight jacket,” I say to him. “It is a tad bit constraining, but you know the ladies love a man who knows how to dress for the occasion,” he laughs. “And I’m sure the ladies love you. It is only too bad that you are a danger to yourself and everyone else,” I say as I open the file in front of me. “A danger to myself?” he gasps. “Tell me is that your medical opinion or your personal opinion? Because I will have you know that there isn’t one person out there who would back up your claim,” he shifts in his chair. “That’s because beside me there is no one left who really knows you Liam. You made sure of that didn’t you?” I ask. He tries to lean his chair back but it is bolted to the floor. “There’s no use scratching at the scars of the past now is there Doctor?”

“Unfortunately that’s all you have any more. Tell me do you ever stop to think that may be the reason you are in here instead of out there?” I ask him. “Are you really asking me if I have time to think right now? Or are you simply trying to get through your checklist of nonsensical questions? Because I’m having a hard time telling the difference,” he fires back. I’m losing him. The nice guy, everything is a joke personality is starting to fade. I can see it in his eyes. The dark hollow orbs staring back at me. I write down my observation on the paper in front of me. “See something you like? Find something new? Care to discuss what new profound idea popped into your head?” I ignore his questions. Bait to fall into a trap. Liam likes words. Uses them to distract you, confuse you into doing exactly what he wants. A trait he must have possessed his whole life. “Stop looking at me like some sort of side show freak,” he growls. “Are you angry Liam?” I finally ask him. He tries to fake a smile but the real Liam has taken over, “No of course not.” His eyes never blink. Only if you are looking for it do you even notice that the skin around his eyes begin to tighten with every passing moment. No one the wiser would think he looks calm, cool, and collected, but I can see through his mask. He has the look of a mostly forgotten memory. “God, there is just so much of him left inside of you,” I say. The lines of his face form a most sinister smirk, “Do you mean our father?”

“Are you sure that I didn’t burn most of him out? Medically speaking.” Liam turns his head to show off his scars and what’s left of his left ear. “I’m very certain that no matter how much you hurt yourself you will always be like him,” I tell him. “Why don’t you take this straight jacket off and we can test that theory Doctor,” he says. His voice calm and his eyes like fire. “I’d prefer we didn’t. Medically speaking of course,” I smile. “I’m sure you do. Remember how you used to hide behind the living room curtains whenever he would come home? You were weak then and you are just as weak now. I never feared our father. Even as a child I could see what he was. Maybe I didn’t understand it completely but I knew what I wanted to be,” he muses. “Are you admitting that you were fully aware of your crimes?” I ask with my pen in my hand. He ignores my question. “You probably get off on the idea that your little brother is some kind of monster? But here is the thing brother. You can hide behind your little curtain. You can roam these halls pretending you are some educated healer, but we both know. I know that you aren’t. No, hidden away somewhere in that thick skull of yours he hides. It hides. You think you are better than me, but you are nothing more than the same,” he rants.

“I think that is enough for today,” I say uncomfortably. “Of course you do. You have no back bone. Never have. You can’t accept who you really are. What we are,” he taunts. Do not give in I think to myself. Don’t listen to his false words. “I can stand up for myself just fine. I know who I am and what I am,” I tell him. “Yeah and what is that Brother?” he asks me. “Sane, normal, a free man in this world. A man not strapped down by chains for sins committed.” I enlighten. He looks almost bored from my words. “I pity you brother I really do. You can hide behind your curtain, your title. The idea that you are sane. Free from the evils of this family, but in reality it is you that is in chains not me,” he taunts. “You can taunt me all you want Liam, but I am the one in control,” I say firmly. His eyes look as though they might jump from his skull, “You will never know the true meaning of control. You will never feel its true power for as long as you hide behind the curtain. Those victims as you call them were nothing more than stepping stones, martyrs to show me a better life. They showed me the truth of this world. Beyond our father. Beyond reason. So you can judge me all you want from behind your curtain or you can join me on the other side of it.” I signal for the orderlies to come in and take him away, “This meeting has been insightful as always. Can’t wait to see you in a few weeks to do it all over again Liam.” The orderlies place his muzzle around his face and left him up from the chair. “It is only a matter of time Brother. I can see it in your eyes,” he shouts as he exits the room. “Only a matter of time.”

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

When There’s No More Room… Part 8…

A Pattern of Abuse

“Try again. Sound out the words,” his mother says holding back her frustration. “I know it can be difficult to read, but you have to learn.” She rubs the top of his head. The little boy looks over the page studying the images first and then the words. “The boy ex, escaped through the fa, fa,” he stops as a hand smacks him hard against his head. “Fire you dumb shit. It says fire,” his father barks. “Damn it James he was only trying to sound out the word,” his mother pleads. “Stupid doesn’t know how to read fire?” His father asks before taking another drink. “I ain’t raising no dumb illiterate asshole in this house. He ain’t going to add up to shit any way, but if he can’t read? Be even more worthless than he already is. Can’t be slow, fat, and stupid,” his father argues. “You are one to speak. You can barely,” his mother doesn’t finish the sentence as his father raises his hand. Tears begin to form in the boy’s eyes. “That’s right woman. Know your place,” his father says before finishing off his drink. The boy fights the urge to cry. He knows better than to show weakness. Fights even harder to not let his father see. “Are you crying?” His father asks. The boy tries even harder to make the emotions stop by looking down away from his father. His father grabs him by the back of the neck, “Those look like tears to me. I asked you a question. Are you crying?” Tears fall from the boy’s eyes. “No,” the boy yells. His father’s eyes light up. The spark that he needed. “James don’t. He didn’t mean it,” his mother pleads. “Bitch unless you want to be taught a lesson yourself I suggest you shut the fuck up and get me another drink.” His mother walks out of the room as the hand around his neck squeezes to the point he can barely breathe. “You don’t talk to me like that you little shit. Even got your mother acting stupid. Must be some kind of sickness going around here. Best to stomp this sickness right out before it spreads any further.”

James drags his son by the neck out of the room and down the basement stairs, “First you can’t even read. Now all of a sudden you the big man with the balls to talk to your father like that. You want to cry like a baby? We don’t cry in this family. You want to be a man? Act like one.” James throws his son against the cage across from the basement stairs. The boy’s body lands against the cage with a loud crash. Grabbing his side the boy cries harder as he lay against the dirt floor. “Get in the cage,” his father orders. Kicking the child in the back, “I said get in the cage. What are you deaf and dumb now? Don’t act like you don’t know what is happening.” The boy shakes in fear as he enters the cage. The cage door slams hard behind him as he falls to the dirty floor of the cage. Torn up bits of clothing and old rotten food surround him as he fights the pain in his side. Fights to breathe. Fight the urge to scream. He can no longer take it as he hears the familiar sound of his father picking up the old iron rod. He wails in pain and frustration as he knows what comes next.

“Strip,” his father orders. “I don’t want to,” the boy expels in broken words and snot. “Sorry what was that?” His father mocks. Striking the side of the cage with the iron rod, “Don’t you make me ask twice? No use in fucking up your clothes over your stupidity, but don’t think I won’t.” His father walks over to the furnace and opens the door. The boy does as he was told. The fire burning inside lights up the room. His father places the end of the rod in the fire before asking, “Are you sorry?” Too afraid to move, too afraid to see the boy lays there. “Are you or are you not sorry?” His father asks. “Yes,” the boy shouts. “I want to hear you say it,” his father demands. The iron rod heats up. The boy sits up and grabbing the side of the cage, “I’m sorry father.” His father stands there with his back facing him. Doesn’t even bother to look him. Only stares at the end of the iron bar in the fire,” I don’t believe you.”

“So this pattern of abuse went on for years?” The doctor asks. The young man nods to the question. “Why not report it to anyone?” The doctor asks. “To who?” He asks right back. Writing some notes down the doctor studies the young man’s body language. “Tell me Steven did it feel good doing what you did? Getting your revenge? Was it worth it?” The Doctor asks. “No, not really. It wasn’t worth it. I didn’t enjoy it the way that he did,” Steven says. “Odd because I don’t believe you,” the doctor smiles. Steven smiles back. “It did feel good shoving that hot iron rod right up his ass. Should have heard the way he screamed. The way he cried like a little baby until his last breathe. I didn’t enjoy the beginning but the end? It was too bad that it couldn’t have happened sooner. But we all learn a lesson in the end I suppose,” Steven rubs the scars on his side over his hospital gown.

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

When There’s No More Room… Part 7…

I noticed the way she looks at me again today. The look of a blank stare, but it is not a blank stare. It is as if she is trying to tell me something that words could never really say. I see it in her eyes. Those cold green eyes. They appear almost gray as though something is hidden in them. Ten years I have stared into these eyes. Ten years I have study this girls eyes. I have watched as she has gone from child to woman and it is as though nothing has ever changed. Ten years of failure. Ten years of silence. I’ve run every test possible. Everything in the book just to hear her speak. Electroshock therapy, two electrodes attached to her head and enough electricity to shock anyone awake. Not a god damn peep. If it wasn’t for her pulse and her eyes I would rule her dead. I fought tooth and nail to keep her after she turned eighteen. The state told me she had served her time. I argued that she still needs to server more, but like this? Was it worth it?

Her crimes though not as extensive as the others leave a lot to the imagine nation as to why. Why a child would commit such a crime? A silent hour every week for ten years and I am not any closer to finding out the answer. Her eyes dance as if she is trying to tell me something. Maybe it is a neurological condition? No, I’ve tested that and came up with nothing. She chooses not to say anything at all. Ten years and I have never heard her voice. Witness, the neighbors claim to have heard her scream awakening them from a dead sleep. A scream like a siren only to stop. Replaced with silence. Imagine my jealousy to these complete strangers. Her eyes tease me like a loaded gun. Her eyes so innocent, so green, could they really have comprehended what she had done? Could anyone?

Could anyone understand fully the act of killing their parents? Witness testified that she was often beaten. Appeared to have bruises, black eyes, cuts all over her body. Never enough to raise alarm, but enough to noticed. The scars though faint are still there. What all her parents have done is lost in her eyes, but what she did has been well documented. The simplest of them all murder. The more complex. The ones I want to know, to understand? Hidden behind those eyes. How does a child carefully remove the skin of a person? Let alone their own parents? I know surgeons.  Doctors paid to be precise every day and every time. Even they do not understand how a child could be so methodic. A pile of skin laid on the floor as she began the real work she had set out to do. As one police officer stated in their report, “The organs were laid out. Laid out on display like we had to do in basic training for our rifles. Laid there ready to be put back in if need be.”

No, a child could not understand what they have done? Or could they? The answers sit before me waiting to be discovered. No evil in sight only a blank stare. Yet she sits before me. A child capable of tearing apart her whole family. A child who shaped the bones of her parents to that of some kind of monster. A child who took the skin of her mother from the floor and wore it like a costume until the police arrived. What kind of evil truly lives behind those green eyes?  

Sorry for the late post… internet has been down… the real horror of this story if you ask me… up an running… hopefully I won’t be late on the next one…

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter...

When There’s No More Room… Part 6…

Slowly Dying Inside

“Why did it have to happen this way? Why did any of it have to happen this way?” I ask the steering wheel. “Could have been so much more. Something more than an orderly at a loony bin.” I tighten my hands around the steering wheel. Tighter and tighter, “You do it for her. You do everything for her. Remember that. We all have a price to pay. You do it it for her.” Tighter until my hands feel as if they are going to snap. “For her,” I say before letting go of the wheel.

I gather my things and take out one more cigarette out. Placing it too my lips I exit the car. It isn’t much to look at from the outside and it isn’t much better inside. A passer by, someone who doesn’t have to be here every day would think it was something. Sometimes I try to think it isn’t what it is. I tell her that it’s a castle. That was a mistake. No princesses in her. No god damn gold either. Only think to be found behind these walls is horror. Could have done more with myself had I focused. The thought depresses me. Most of my thoughts depress me as of late.

Odd how life turns out I think as I finish my cigarette and stomp it out. School seemed like such a waste of time. Now that she goes. I push her to take it seriously, but I can tell in her eyes. She already knows better. So smart. Need to stomp that out. Too afraid to push her away. So afraid to do what my old man did. Trying to fight something that I know all to well. Wonder if my father ever had that thought? Did what he did for a reason I guess. “Good morning Frank,” one of the nurses says to me as I enter the building. A smile washes over my face, “Good morning.” She smiles back at me, ” Have a great day.” I don’t say anything. I don’t have time for this. Always something to be done. No time for friends. Just want to get out of here already.

We are all like this place, falling apart. Even more so if actually want to help these monsters. Damn place isn’t worth the check. Check is all I need. Twelve hours of shit and then it all goes away for a time. Creeping back in as it always does. “For her,” I whisper under my breath. More greetings and niceties. More bull shit to shovel on top of the other shit. We pretend so well we might as be just as crazy as them. But we do as we are told so we are sane. That asshole doctor walking around here is the worst. No one is as good at pretending as him. Maybe maintenance. The thought brings an actual smile to my face. I’m not even sure I’ve ever seen them fix a damn thing around here. I light up another cigarette as my supervisor explains the goals for the day.

Drag after drag my brain shuts off. Same shit every day. Try to survive. I want to do something new. Something different, but all jobs are the same. They’ve all been the same. Only the uniform has changed. Should have listened after the war. Should have done something with myself. That’s the problem though isn’t it? I never listen. I need to do what I want to do. Almost got me killed then and now look at me. No one asked but I had dreams. I’m sure we all do. Before the war, before everything in my life really happened. I used to love to write. Tell myself stories with the toys I had. Dream of amazing landscapes filled with even more amazing characters. Fill the paper with all my ideas. Until my father found them. Told me to get my head out of the clouds. Told me with his hands. Do some real work. The one time I shouldn’t have listened. She loves my stories but that is all that they are, stories. Looking into their eyes. I’m sure even the crazy ones dream too.

They wander the halls. Some of them so out of it they walk right into the walls. Those are the ones to watch. They become frustrated by their inability to go where they want to go. Throwing themselves into the wall head first over and over again. It won’t do anything to them, but “We are here to look after them.” They are so far gone they don’t even feel the pain. Watched one snap their own nose. They are so out of it they don’t even notice the blood in their eyes. What are they giving them that they don’t even notice the blood in their eyes? They all have to be watched I remind myself. They are all matches waiting for a strike. One day this place will go off. How I pray that I am not here the day it does. None of it matters though. All of this is just another day that I’m slowly dying inside. The shift starts and all I can think about is that I do this for her. She will be better. She will be more than I was. Traded in my dreams and out she came. Somethings are bigger than ourselves. Somethings are worth sacrificing ourselves for.

Merch… Threadless… Books… Amazon… Broken Thoughts… Twitter

When There Is No More Room… Part 5…

It happened again today. One of the patients tried to escape. “Couldn’t take the devil for one more day,” she screamed over and over as she tried to squeeze herself between the broken shards of glass and the bars of her window. The hospital board will want to know what I’d call it. A suicide attempt? A condition of her psychosis? What can we file this under? “How doctor do you explain what is going on?” I can hear them asking me. Even as the staff rush to help her with her many wounds. Even as she is bleeding out all over the floor. How do I explain this?

How does one explain to someone who is not here to witness this behavior day in and day out? How does one justify this as a normal everyday occurrence? One doesn’t. That one who is me must lie. Make an excuse to how such a patient ended up with gashes all over her body. Because the truth in this matter is irrelevant. A broken brain, the devil made me, and feelings of sadness are not answers to the questions they will ask. The bleeding slows and the staff lift her up onto the gurney. She will have to spend sometime in the medical warded. Heavily sedated of course. Which is the only reason I have to even bother with any of these incestuous questions. Money is all the board cares about. Had she hit her head? Well who would have noticed the difference? I know I wouldn’t have.

Why is it always the low risk patients that cause the most problems? More restraints maybe? I have my own questions that need to be answered. When she heals up I will have to find time to ask them. Until then it is on to the next one and the next one after that. I’m locked in here with them. I know it seems as if I can leave the confines of this place but illusions often seem real. Every day is a repeat, a trap in which I can not break free. Each case, each patient, each dark secret of the mind only makes the nightmare that much worse.

A man of science is no more trapped than a man of faith.One in the same forced to go on two separate paths that no matter which is taken come to the same conclusion, death. They don’t teach you that in school. No life teaches you that over time. Holds your head down under the water and demands answers to questions you could not possibly understand. I envy the others here. The staff and the patients as they do not seem to notice the path they have chosen, or perhaps they have without ever really knowing? Too many questions. The mind is a locked box in which I am expected to pry open, expected to break, fix, and replace. Maybe in the end all I have broken is myself?

Still haven’t done a cool image for the story… working on it… I’m not though… I just believe that I will… and I am…

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