My Sterile White Pillow Room

I was surrounded. Surrounded not by the people I loved, but by the famed plush walls of an asylunm. I'm so frustrated! Hah, understatement of the millenium. There wasn't silence in my small prison, it was always buzzing with music from the room next to mine. I'm guessing that "patient" was using music rehabilitation. I didn't get any rehabilitating because my kind of crazy was untreatable. My kind of crazy was contained in a fluffy marshmellow room. My kind of crazy was put in a straight jacket to protect the staff. Bulls***.


No one was allowed to get near me or talk to me except fo my "therapist". She would stand by the entrance of my door once a day and ask me what i was thinking or how I was feeling. My answer was always the same- I was thinking about freedom, or I was feeling slightly confined. Oh, and could you throw in a little more conspiracy in with my eggs tomorrow? Thanks, bye. Then she would nod her head and leave. My social life SUCKS.


I miss the taste of strawberries, the color orange, my parents, my friends, my LIFE. I am slowly wasting away in this hell hole. Suddenly I heard knocking on my prison door and when I turned around I saw three men and one woman walking into my sterile, white, pillow box.


"Jason. We have some... err... wonderful news. Your parents have signed some important papers stating that you will permanently live here. Aren't you excited?" Says the smallest man (who was bald) in a monotone voice. The others stood there with expressionless faces.


"I... I... I thought I was only staying for three months. THREE months. You lied to me!!!" I said angrily.


"Well your umm... condition... is too unstable for us to allow you to leave." Said the bushy haired woman.


"THE HELL IT IS!!"


"Jason, don't raise your voice!"


"Get out." I whispered. They just stood there looking at me blankly.


"I said get out!" They looked at eachother and walked back out the door.



Good riddance. I'm not crazy. I shouldn't be here. I'm just a regular teenager who happened to hear something not meant to be heard... You see, there are were-cows. A whole CLAN of them, and the president is one too. They didn't want me telling so they stuck me here. Those damn were-cows are getting me down.





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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

PJD17 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Apr. 2, 2011 at 1:42 pm
interesting work  keep it up  could you please chekc out and comment on my story Manso's Shame  i would really appreciate the feedback
 
EgyptianQueen711 replied...
Apr. 2, 2011 at 7:36 pm
Thanks! I tried looking for your sory but couldn't find it.
 
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