Th Asylum
Sound and Secrets
2(Sound and Secrets)
The patients that I work with are basically considered incurable, so what I actually just do is close to interviewing as opposed to actually trying to help or fix them. They talk; I take notes; we do it again the next day.
The final three “inmates” are illogically intriguing to me. Honestly, I could pretty much care less about the others, but those three whom I save for last, keep me coming here. They always say something new, something odd and incorrect, something incredible. I’ll probably end up joining them, and then they’ll sterilize my mind and burn my reputation. Then I’ll relax on the same sinking ship as the other three do, watching the world fall to hell and torment, and I’ll know that in the end, we were better off.
It’s kind of hilarious, there’s something I hate about the little, sterile, stark-white rooms they sleep in - this one for example has a thin crack running the whole length of the left wall. It’s so close to perfect, so close to blank, but that slight irregularity throws it all off. I think it sort of fits the whole idea of this place. It’s a sterile environment, but each person is like a little smudge on the mirror, a little chip in the paint, the tiniest warping in the framework of the door. What a beautiful parallel…
He’s a black man, but I’ve never seen someone who was paler. His cheeks are sunken. On the rare occasions that he reveals his eyes, they are seen to be watery, listless orbs. His skin is papery and dried out. His complexion is blotchy and uneven; around his eyes are dark circles and around his hands is mottled whiteness. Today, his knees are up against his chest; his hands are on his knees, and his eyes are closed while his body faces the grimy mirror.
“Sound…
“Secrets.”
So begins the interview.
“Oh, the sounds! Oh, the information!”
They’ll all talk to me, but only to me. I think that’s because I’m almost like them. Almost.
“I’ve spent my life dedicated to learning. People like music. People love music. People fall in love with the world to music. That’s one of the great secrets. Why though? Why do subtle differences in tone, pitch, frequency, and rhythm affect us so greatly? Music is the fuel of the mind! I hear it in everything. You breathing, the generator humming, the doors creaking… They’re all singing to me!
“Oh, can’t you hear it? People would kill for music, to stop it! To become it! To create it… nothing happens now that hasn’t been around since long ago. There’s nothing new under the sun, yet, we try.
“There’s another secret: our drive to succeed, to create.
“I have traded everything for certain stories, and I know the darkest tale of them all, but the greatest mystery cannot be told, it must be discovered.
“I know who we are. I know why we are. It’s killing me. Please listen! It’s killing me.
“I know I scare people. Our intolerance, the one thing I know I’ll never understand. Einstein said, ‘Two things are infinite: The universe, and human stupidity. Though, I’m not certain about the universe.’
“How right he was. I don’t belong here. I hear the songs of creation. I know a glimmer of a fraction of the mysteries of God. I have too much power, too much knowledge. So they attempt to block it out with chemicals and pills and stunted logic. They are the fools. Their music stops and starts, and drives me to real madness. How can they live in such deafness and chaos? I’d be pushed over the brink. I am over the brink.”
He is a heavy-weight soap-boxer who holds the champion’s belt, but he is right.
Occasionally I catch it. The melody of birds is no warble; it’s a message, but only for a fraction of a second. Then I lose it in the white noise we purposefully drown ourselves in to escape this man’s fate. No one really wants to know the true secrets. I hate it more and more every second. Is there no flight other than to join these madmen?
The hallways have always reminded me of a throat…
The throat of some all-consuming monster which will not be denied…
The maw of a creature that will let leave no man who enters his realm.
I love the way you write. I makes you think and wonder. I think that this would really confuse the kids in my philosophy class. Wow so deep and insightful it made me wonder whether the crazy are sane and the sane crazy and ignorant. I thouroghly enjoyed it.
This is utterly, absolutely, and without a doubt on this Earth the best, most powerful, most beautiful, and most insightful work I've read on this website.
It leaves one to wonder.
lol you're welcome! I've always loved this sort of thing (even though I'm not particularly sure how to describe exactly what "this sort of thing" is....). I've read many things vaguely similar to this, but this, by far, was the best. All of your stuff is amazing, to be honest.
I especially love Robinson the Clown (both the original and the rewrite).
Even agreeing with CarrieAnn13 that the long dialogue made it a bit unrealistic, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. I think you should keep it exactly the way it is, because your message is really interesting. Nobody does ever know if they're 'mad'--that's just a term for someone who thinks differently than everyone else. If there were a favorite button for a novel, I would totally make this a favorite. It was kind of poetic, in a way, and I absolutely loved your diction. It was perfect. You des... (more »)
IncorrectlyWired
I enjoyed your story! Ever since I was old enough to read, I have enjoyed psychological thrillers. Getting to listen in on the thoughts of a man losing his mind is something that can only be experienced in fictionl, and you have done a swell job at representing it here. I thought this was a very dark, brooding novel and look forward to reading more of your work.
Cheers
Finchy
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