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.

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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.”

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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.

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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…

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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.

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When There Is No More Room… Part 4…

Finding Peace in the Darkness

Scratching the walls with my nails. I want more. Another day or another night. I can’t resist the temptation of the kill. They said it would go away. It hasn’t. They said over time things would become normal. They haven’t. Everything they said never came true. Staring into the darkness around my bed. Dancing figures in my head. I want to kill now more than ever. Drinking a little bit more and think about something else. The thought won’t go away. What’s the difference if I do it for my country or for myself? Pacing again. Over and over with no place to go. I see them all outside my window. Staring back at me. Waiting. Always waiting. Becoming something more than myself. Twenty kills, thirty kills, they took more of me than I could ever give away. I can give it back. I know how. Ten inches made of steel. Sharped to a point. Carve them up. Take piece by piece until nothing is left. They will never know. Scatter the pieces. Too hard to find. Too hard to prove. The feelings will subside then. Take what I’m owed. I have all the reason to do what I want. Earned my place amongst them. What’s the difference?

Scratching at the walls with my knife. I know the reason but I can’t bring myself to the cause. I’m not weak. I’m not too weak to do what I need to do. Fuck you, I’m not scared. I can do it. I know I can because I have. Over there I did whatever they told me. What needed to be done. Their eyes burned into my mind. Life slowly draining. The relief of living another day surging inside of me. I am safe. I don’t need to do this. There is no reason to kill again. The power is fleeting. Underrated as they laugh. I hear them laughing. Look at the hero with nothing. In the shadows I watch. Pissing it all away. No more wars to fight. No more battles to be won. Cutting out their tongues.  Their eyes looking back at me. Like before. Before when no one laughed. Everything is so meaning less standing in place. I need a purpose. I know my purpose. I have no purpose. Take the blade to myself. End this suffering. Take away this pain digging in my head. No, I am not weak. I am not weak.

She scratches at the walls with her nails. They never did this before. Always fought back. Not the same. Fight me I shout at her. Nothing, weak, useless she cries. Kick her in the side again. One life to live. This is how you choose to leave it. Knife pressed against her throat. Noises and no words. Aren’t they all the same? Weak. Take her apart piece by piece. Going to need rope. She won’t sit still. Won’t fight. Barely a struggle. Just the tip. Let her know how it feels. Should have gotten a male. Spit in her face. Drag the tip across her skin. Arm swings. That’s what I need. Give me more I whisper into her ear. She shakes in fear. Hand around her throat. Enough playing. Go for the kill. My brain explodes. She goes quiet. Hacking away more and more. Take everything spread it around. Wear her blood on my skin. A war paint I don’t want to erase. Do you feel that? How does it feel? It went away. A calm wave washing over me. Peace at last. Peace at last.

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When There Is No More Room… Part 3…

“Doctor, I need you go speak with Stephanie. She still hasn’t got out of bed. It has been almost three days,” the nurse tells him. I don’t look up from my desk.  My pen digs deeper into the chart I’m working on. The nurse holds on to my office door to afraid to fully enter, “Doctor, did you hear me?” Pushing the pen the tip deeper into the chart. “Is there anything else?” I asks looking up to her with a fake smile. “No, I guess not,” she answers before closing the door and disappearing. The pen tip snaps spilling ink all over the chart, “What could the little psychopath possibly be up to now?”

I enter Stephanie’s room and the first thing to hit me is the smell. The smell of three day old shit and piss. Jesus Christ does no one do their job around here? Doesn’t matter I think as I rub my forehead in frustration. Lighting up a cigarette to try and mask the smell I fight the need to vomit. “Stephanie may I have a moment of your time?” I ask in the fakest version of myself I can. She only sits there on her bed with her knees to her chest staring at me. “The silent treatment for me as well. That’s fine I suppose. It won’t help you I’m afraid,” I take another step into the room. Her eyes burn with a furry. All of their eyes have this look. A look none of my medical books have ever been able to explain. The two orderlies I brought with me wait a few steps behind me. I can hear them as they try not to breathe. Unfortunately that isn’t much of an option at the moment.  

“Heard it has been over three days since you’ve attempted to get up. Moving around is good for your mind you know? A little outdoor time. Maybe some sun would make you feel better?” Still nothing only her burning eyes. “I also heard you are refusing to eat for the nurses but I see you have some of the plates there in your bed. That is good. That is positive. What isn’t so positive and judging by the smell in this room I have to believe is true? Is that you have been pissing and defecating the bed again. We’ve talked about this Stephanie. We can’t have you doing this. It isn’t healthy or sanitary. To be quite frank it isn’t really fair to the staff. That is beyond the point though. Stephanie you need to get out of bed.” My anger begins to rise as I stomp out my cigarette and light another one. Her eyes burning. Their eyes so dark. Sometimes I just want to grab them by the throat and watch the flames slowly smolder out. No, push it down. You are here to help them.

“Stephanie you need to get out of bed now,” I inform her unsympathetically. “Bring her back,” she screams at me. My ears ringing I fight the urge to scream along with her, “She doesn’t exist. We have been over this.” The fire rages in her eyes, “Bring her back.” Bits of dried shit fall off her arms as she screams. “She doesn’t exist therefore we can’t bring her back. We have been over this. You need to understand this Stephanie,” I shout threw her screams. “She does exist and you took her away from me,” her whole body shakes with every word. The orderlies rush to my side but I signal them to stay back. I can feel my own frustration and my own anger fighting to release itself. “Enough of this screaming Stephanie,” I say with a stern voice. “There is no reason to scream at me. I promise you we never took her away because she is not real.” She shakes her head no causing more dried shit to fall off her body. “You are a liar. You took her just to make me unhappy. Just to make me suffer. You are just like them. Just like everyone else,” she throws herself into her pillows.

I take a step closer, “Now why on earth would I do something like that? I’m here to help you get better. You are here to get better. So let me help you. Let us help you get there. Let’s get out of the bed and get you cleaned up.” Her face still buried in her shit covered pillow, “Not until you bring her back to me.” Standing just out of arms reach of her the smell is becoming too much to bare. “Stephanie this is no way to live. We need to get you out of this bed,” I say as calmly as one can in this situation. Staring at her I wonder where everything went wrong. How could such a beautiful girl turn into such a mess? If this were another life or if things had worked out differently I would have been staring at her up on a screen. Not in a room with her shit smeared on the walls. This world can be too much to take at times. Before I even have time to react. Stephanie springs from her bed and tackles me to the floor. With her hands around my throat she begins to scream, “Bring her back.”

Despite her small frame she has a strength I don’t understand. The two orderlies fight to get her off of me, but with every ounce of effort her hands grip tighter to my throat. Her screaming fills the tiny room with so much noise. My ears ring as I try to fight her. I try to find a place on her body that isn’t covered in shit as my hands slide off her skin. I just want to help them. I can’t understand what is happening. That’s all I ever wanted to do. But right now I just want to kill her. Gouge out her little eyes and watch her scream in pain. So disoriented as all my sense become over stimulated confusion sets in.  A nurse runs into the room and injects her with a syringe of diazepam. She fights the effects as I fight for air. Fight the urge to not kill the life from her. I feel the strength leave her hands and her weight off my chest. Inhaling deeply the smell of the room takes over as I vomit on to the floor. Staring into my own pool of vomit. I am left wondering why is it that any of this needs to exist.

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Look for part 4 next week… (3/20)… Hopefully you are all enjoying this… if not well it will only torture you for once a week from now on… : )

Hope all is well…