The Padded Room

December 14, 2009
As I stood over her lifeless body, I regained my own consciousness. The dark, black room began fading as the blood, splattered and slung, came into view. I looked at my hands, on them were bloody latex gloves, and I could feel the sweat making the rubber cling to my skin. My once white sweatshirt was now red, blood red. My knees were wet and muddy and at my feet there was a knife, it glittered in the moonlight coming through the window of the two story abandoned house. This was the first time I had found myself in this house since last year in October. I was standing in my room, the same room it had all started in. I looked down at the body, she looked quite familiar than I realized it was the lady my dad had taken out the night before. I started having flashbacks, they ran through my head in slow motion, the night I slaughtered my mother. You see, last October was really hectic. My mother was an alcoholic and my dad was always working. On Halloween night, she told me that I wasn’t allowed to go trick-or-treating and that didn’t go over to well with my inner child, and now she’s dead. It turns out that I’ve ended up murdering everyone my dad dates. I fell to the ground in tears, and I knew this was only the beginning.

When I walked in the front door I was trying to be quiet, but immediately I bumped into the coat rack, kicked the metal umbrella holder, and the wind blowing through the house slammed the door shut. My father raced down the stairs, bat in hand. I couldn’t help myself, and I busted out laughing. He glared at me and asked why I hadn’t been home. I told him that I had snuck out to go to the store and get some chips, but I had forgotten to bring my money, so I just walked around for a bit. He let me off with “If you’re going to go some place tell me, so I know when to go looking for you.” You know the regular “parent talk.” Then I realized that I had just taken away a person’s life, someone who’s family would be looking for her, but they wouldn’t find her…they would never find her. I know why I killed her, I don’t have to try and figure that one out, but I don’t know why I’m starting to kill again. .

As I walked down the stairs to my room, I couldn’t help but wonder why I had started again, and what had actually happened while I was in the deep, dark spaces of my own mind. I fell asleep slowly, dreading my dreams and, like every night, I went to the horrible place inside my head, murdering my mother over and over again. Sometimes even in slow motion. I woke up in a sweat, my pillow drenched by the tears of my restless night. I heard voices in the kitchen at the top of the stairs, there was my father’s voice, but there was another…. A woman’s voice, sweet and innocent, and I knew right away that she would be next. Of course I killed her, but that was the least of my problems, I was caught that night, dragging the motionless body bag inside the abandoned house. Now I’m locked up, not in jail for murder, but in the Denver County Mental Institution. In the case I confessed that I had murdered the women, but they never found the body of the first one. I also pleaded insanity, and everyone ran with it, I guess I have schizophrenia, double personality disorder…and it’s going to be real fun in this padded room.

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