May 27, 2010
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Two. Shiny. Handcuffs. Like bracelets tightly wrapped around the wrists of my hands and ankles, jingling with every movement I make. That’s the only thing I can bare to stare at, at least. As I walk down this endless hallway, I’m constantly reminded of how much I hate these walls. These walls, these dirty white walls, as if this place is trying to pretend to be something it’s not. They aren’t clean. They aren’t pure. Instead, they hide the layers and layers of truth from these people. The truth lies behind these walls, covered. This place, these walls, disgusts me.

Yet these walls don’t uncover the truth to everyone. Some people would think they’re walls and nothing more. But to others, others like me, it drives me to the point of insanity and I can never get away from these walls. I never will. Ever since they blamed me for killing that girl, I’ve been locked up. And it wasn’t until I started telling them the truth that they started to call me “crazy” and sent here to “get help.” Truth is I’m not crazy. I swear on my life I’m not. And whatever they tell you, don’t listen to them. Listen to me, I’m telling you the truth and the truth never leaves me.
Still I’ve learned to cope with this place. I even made some friends- Anthony and Chuck. And these friends are the people who accompany me past these white walls, linking onto each of my arms. Out of this place, these two guys are the only ones who understand me; the ones I could talk to about this place. They hate the white walls as much as I do.

We continue walking down the hall until we reach the single door that leads into a dark room. The lights turn on and my eyes adjust to the bright light. I notice that there aren’t any windows and the only way to come and go is through the door we come through. Yet in the middle of the room, sits an old rusty chair.

On the chair are two metal handlebars, each with leather straps. I figure they’re to strap your arms in; and on the front two legs of the chair is another pair of straps, which I figure are for your legs.
“Take a seat, Frank,” Anthony says.
As I step into the room and feel a shiver run down my shoulders and pass throughout my body. “It’s cold in here,” I think to myself. Yet I happily sit down, flattered by how polite they were to let me take a seat.
“Such gentlemen,” I say to myself as I sit.
As Anthony leaves the room, Chuck assists me to my seat and unlocks my handcuffs. “Finally,” I say to myself, “freedom.” But it wasn’t for too long.
“What are you doing?” I ask as Chuck begins tying the straps around my wrists. “What’s going on?”
“Everything will be fine Frank, you’ll be fine,” he answers.
And with Chuck’s words, I trust him. Instead I observe the room.
White walls. White tiled floors. White. And the lighting made this room even brighter. Dear God I can’t take this.
Just then, Anthony walks in along with three other guys, guys I don’t know. I begin to panic.
“Who are they? Who are you?!” I scream.
“Frank, everything is fine. They’re just here to help me. Don’t worry, they’re not here for you.”
“No! Who are they! Who are they!” I continue to scream, glaring at the three men.
“Shh Frank,” Anthony calmly says,” everything is fine. Trust me. Don’t you trust me? I thought we were friends.”
“Yeah,” Chuck chimed in, “we’re your friends, we’re not going to hurt you.”

As they both kneel and stand in front of me, eye-to-eye, I feel safer. Their dark eyes reassure me nothing is wrong. I grow silent, give a slight smile, and nod my head. They both smile back at me, which increases my trust in our friendship. They get up, go to the group of men and whisper something to them. My eyes keenly follow behind, trying to decode what they’re talking about. A minute later the three men leave the room and I figure that they were talking about me and my good ol’ buddies Chuck and Anthony told them to leave.
“See,” Anthony begins, “I told you everything is fine.”

I sigh in relief and I sink further into my seat, trying to make myself as comfortable as possible. Yet just as soon as I relax…
“Chuck what are you doing?” I asked.

My legs slowly pull closer and closer to the chair. The worn leather straps press past my bright, dirty orange attire, cutting into my skin. It’s too tight. I feel my blood circulation cutting off and I can’t help but yell a cold scream.
“Chuuuuckkk! What. are. you. doing!!”

I feel my insides screaming, my mind exploding, and the only thing I start to think is how I’m beginning to not trust Chuck. My mental camera begins flashing pictures of this room- the top left corner of the wall, the one cracked tile towards the old wooden door, the bronze handle for a doorknob. I look down and my mind takes a picture of Chuck aggressively pulling, ignoring the fact that I’m yelling at him or that I’m in pain. That warm friendly smile I saw earlier turning into something less friendly. I take a picture of Anthony walking over towards us, his eyes showing an unfamiliar emotion that he’s never shown to me- frustration. His eyes tell me he doesn’t want to waste time.
The looks in their faces and their white attire tell me I can no longer trust them and I become alarmed. Injections of questions rush into my mind.

What’s going on?

What’s happening?

Where am I?

Why am I here?

Who am I?
I’m overwhelmed. The shivers I felt earlier dissipate. Instead I strangely feel an overwhelming rush of heat rising, starting from my legs up to my body. Dear God. The heat rises and rises. Where is all this heat coming from? The room becomes unbearable. I can’t help but kick and scream, fighting to survive through this heat. I look down and I see where the heat’s coming from.

A fire. A fire? There’s a fire! I need to get out. Now. My mind goes into further chaos as I push, I tug, I pull my hardest at the only things that are keeping me from surviving- these stupid straps. I’m trying but the straps are too tight. I strive to survive until I realize I can’t. I let go in frustration. Fear glazes over my eyes as I watch the fire get bigger and bigger in front of me. I grow intimidated as I come face to face with the fire, a monster, a big dragon.

Like a whip, the dragon quickly wraps me around his endless tail and I’m surrounded by nothing but flames. No longer can I see Chuck or Anthony; it’s just me and the dragon. As I stare face to face with the dragon my eyes get wider as I watch him grow. The smoke and flames grow to be as high as the walls and slowly the walls deteriorate.

And while the dragon tears the walls down, the truth of the walls finally come out. No longer are these walls dirty, no longer do they lock away the untold truths from the people before me; no longer are these walls white. Instead they bear hues and shades of grays and blacks. The fear I once felt slowly disappears, as my eyes focus on the walls. I observe with curiosity. These black walls show me all the torture, the violence, the years and years of pain felt by the people before me, the ones like me, the ones who can see the truth. Yet their truths never expressed until now, right before my eyes. I could see it.

The dragon continues to rise higher and higher, and the truths, the walls, diminish until there’s nothing left. Nothing left but the wooden framing that once supported the structure of this room. Nothing left, no one left, but me.
With nothing else to look at, my mind focuses back onto the dragon. A rush of nervousness flows through my veins and my breathing gets heavier. I look up and find the dragon staring back at me; my face turns cold with fear. And I feel myself starting to shake. I can’t help but tremble. Deep into its eyes I see my reflection; I can see that I’m about to be its dessert.

“Frank! “
“What’d you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“I told you not to inject him yet!”
“He’s not even fully hooked up!”

The voices of Chuck and Anthony can be faintly heard in the back of my mind yet I continue to ignore them. They’re only in my thoughts. They can’t be here. I continue to stare the dragon deep into his dark eyes until I feel something grabbing me, shaking me.

“Another hallucination” they call it. It was just “another hallucination.” But like I told you before, I’m not crazy. They’re the ones who think I’m crazy. But the truth is they’re the ones who make me go crazy.

And to tell you the truth, I didn’t kill her. I didn’t kill anyone. It was them. They’re the ones who killed him. They’re the ones who pinned it on me. But no one knows that. No one will ever know that. My truth will never be told again. My truth will become nothing but another untold story in these locked up walls. And my truth will become no one else’s but my own.

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