In My Head

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic


A famous writer leaves behind a journal written during the darkest time of his life.

Submitted: October 05, 2017

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Submitted: October 05, 2017

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Bang! … Bang!

I can stay in here all day. It won’t change anything.

They’ve locked me in this isolated room, no food, no water unless they decide to keep me alive. I won’t…no I can’t serve a purpose to them in this “state,” apparently. Makes me feel useless. But, I don’t worry about things like that, especially because I know they’re going to regret locking me up in this prison.

They think they know everything. Perhaps they suppose I’m going to off myself. Cut my arm down to the bone, maybe? They know nothing. And guess who me into this mess? My sorry, sympathetic girlfriend? The government? Myself? Yeah, that’s right …This is definitely my fault. I lusted the metallic scent of blood. I longed for just a little understanding from my girlfriend…I wanted those idiot manifestations to hear me! And this is what I get in return?

ARGHHHHHHHHHHH!

Bang! Bang!

The guards came in and stuck a needle in my arm to calm me down. I’m not sure if it actually worked though, not that I ever notice. God, how do they expect me to know what’s going on in the world? If an asteroid or a bomb was ever heading towards this place, I’d never see it coming! Screw those doctors. They’re a god-damn threat to “society”.

I don’t even know what I look like anymore. They keep me from seeing myself. From seeing anyone…

I miss people. Crowds, and the Social Room. I long for others to hear me, to understand me when I speak. Then I wouldn’t have had to kill.

I sit in this white room, everything so puffy that if you launched yourself at the walls, you wouldn’t even get a bruise. They’re like little square marshmallows that you can’t eat. Just there to surround you and make sure you don’t hurt yourself. No blood unless you’re dead.

They trusted me enough to give me a table and a chair. Only if you won’t try to kill yourself, they’ll give you stuff. I used the table to write and I ended up writing all over it. I like to write. It’s helpful. It does things that most people can’t.

But then… I didn’t like writing so much. I’d accidentally, in the middle of the table, wrote a poem about my girlfriend:

 

What I thought could not be taken from me

Was stolen by you somehow.

The words right out of my mouth,

The empty space in my heart,

The hate.

And though I want to,

I cannot feel to forgive.

I cannot anything.

 

Bang!… Bang! My forehead smashed into the table. I heard movement the first few times, though nobody walked in. I continued to bang and bang my head until I found blood, but no wound. A guard came in after maybe an hour or so.

“Come on, Kalvin. You have a visitor,” he said to me while I was laying on the soft floor by the chair, blood leaking through my ears and down my temples.

I didn’t quite hear what he said actually, and I’m surprised that my brain had the energy to try to clear the words in a way that I might understand. When he saw that I couldn’t move, he stuck his head out the doorway and waved his hand. Another guard came in, as if he were waiting right outside the door, and they helped me up and carried me to a room I’d never seen before.

I sat down in the chair opposite the girl. She had a worried expression on her face… like my girlfriend.

“…So…how are you?” she asked me, rubbing the sides of her arms as if it were cold in the quiet room. I didn’t even answer. I just looked away to a crack in the wall by the ceiling.

“Can you hear me? There’s blood all over your face.”

Now I looked at her.

“What blood?” I retorted, causing her to sigh heavily.

“…You’ve been banging your head again… Why do you do that to yourself?”

“Why did you leave me here to die?”

This time, she was silent. But soon, she talked again.

“You need help, Lacer. Ever since I stopped asking what you’re talking about, you just started…drifting away.”

“Drifting away?” She nodded slightly, but seemed unsatisfied with my reply. I continued, “Everything I say to you means something very important. I shared all of my thoughts with you and when you asked me what I meant every time, it let me know that you actually wanted to understand. And you stopped… When you didn’t bother to ask me anymore, do you know what I was thinking?”

“No… I-I don’t know…”

“That you would never understand, even relate to me. Ever. I could never see myself discussing anything with you on equal terms.”

“Look, this is not why I came. I just wanted—”

What was she going to say? She just wanted to make sure I was okay? Okay?

“Well, I am okay! I’m fine! See? Just dandy! So now you can leave and stop making sure I’m o-freaking-kay!” I exclaimed.

Though it wasn’t intentionally supposed to come out so happy. Am I happy? Am I really? I got up and walked to the corner of the room where the crack in the ceiling was. Maybe because the paint was as broken as me.

“No, you’re not fine. You’re hostile.” I didn’t look at her.

“How hostile am I compared to you? Did you forget what you did to me, Mya? I might as well be dead! DEAD!

I started banging my head on the wall and after five loud ones, I turned and saw that she was standing up now. More frightened than I’ve ever seen her, with tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Lace…” Her voice was trembling, like a child when they’ve just woken up from a bad dream.

“Why? Why don’t you get me, Mya?” I turned to her, my hands in my pockets, sure that my black hair was soaked with blood as it streamed down my neck. I waited for her to leave. But she stayed still and realized before I did, that my tears…

Were red.

 

I sat in the middle of the white room, alone as usual. They took my table, but they said they’d return it in a month or so if I behaved.

The meeting with my girlfriend was supposed to be pleasant and comforting, though it wasn’t. It was just…sad. And this sadness overwhelmed me.

Hmm, I do wonder though, what it would be like to see the outside world once again. To see actual people besides the talking, white squares around me. Puffy. They’re all so puffy and soft. I would have been better off in a spiked room. Then instead of my forehead bouncing off of what’s basically a pillow, a spike would pierce my brain. Then I could probably think like everyone else. So simple-mindedly.

I was let out of my straightjacket the next morning, but something was still missing. The room remained empty and I was still alone. My fists smacked against the door until a guard finally opened it.

“What is it?” His mouth was stuffed with honey bun.

“I want a roommate.”

They let a dude named Stavv stay in my room for a day, to see how we’d get along. For the first few hours, the guy just sat in the left corner by the door and rocked. Back and forth, back and forth he kept rocking and I got a little dizzy. Then, derived from observations, I constructed this plan.

I sat diagonal from him and stared, but he just stared back. Then I rocked at the same pace.

That made him talk.

“You don’t look crazy. Why’d they put you in here?” he asked me, never hesitating the back and forth.

“My girlfriend put me in here after I got out of jail.”

“What’d you do?”

I hesitated.

“I killed a few people. And her entire family.”

I thought for sure this would get him, but he didn’t even twitch.

“And you’re here because?”

“Because people are stupid.” Forward and back, forward and back.

“Mhmm… Should really stop banging your head, man. You could die.”

I stopped rocking. I don’t know what happened but I think his words triggered something in me that wasn’t anger or sadness. Just a reaction to the first reasonable statement I’ve heard since I don’t even know when. Bang!

“They won’t let me die!” Bang! “THEY WON’T LET ME DIE!”

 

It’s been almost a year since Stavv left, but I’ve got my table back and it’s all cleaned up.

Even my poem is gone.

The guard gave me a book this time so that I wouldn’t mess up the table. It was empty and white like the pitiful room I lived in.

I wrote plenty of poems this time. They were all mixed up, short and long. Here’s maybe two, though they’re jumbled so take a good look before you start reading:

 

My beautiful world

How fantastic it would be

If there were only me and a glass.

My only friend who understands

The me that I don’t.

 

What would a life be

Without emotions and pain?

Would it be swollen?

Thick with blood

Wanting to burst?

To be free?

And if you let them go,

How could they be sealed up

The very same way they’ve escaped?

 

I like the second one because if it weren’t for emotions, this world wouldn’t be so screwed up, but then again… I would have nothing to think about.

The guard came in after a few days to check on me. But what I didn’t expect was his rude actions. The fat bastard actually snatched up my journal, flipped a few pages, and started reading. I didn’t know what he was thinking, but then I noticed his very interested facial expression.

He couldn’t have been thinking about my poems…because that’s all that was in there. Poems. And after maybe a half an hour, he glanced at me, placed the book on the table in its exact spot and left.

Another few days past and the same guard comes in with some dude in a blue suit, holding a briefcase. I didn’t want to go back to jail, or to the hospital… My house wasn’t even a safe place to go anymore.

“What’re you, a lawyer?” I asked the guy in the suit. He reached his hand out to me, but I made no effort to shake it.

“Nope. I’m a publisher. Mind if I take a look at your work?”

I’m not trapped in my room anymore, but I still can’t see outside.

No windows. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this asylum was no different than jail. But then again, jail has windows.

I walked around for a little bit, feeling a little freedom being that I was no longer contained in a giant square. And I found that other life forms existed besides myself.

Everywhere I looked, people were strolling by in the same white clothes as me, kind of zoned out actually. Come to think of it, I’d never seen these things before. All that I ever knew was The Cheater, The Cheater’s Family, and myself. And of course, Stavv. I know him, too.

Something tapped me on my shoulder and sure enough, it was Stavv. He even rocks when he’s standing up.

“So they let you out, huh?”

“Yeah…” I said, looking him up and down to make sure it was really him.

“I didn’t tell you why I’m here.”

“So tell me then.”

He glanced around all paranoid, before leaning closer.

“Well, I get these weird feelings, you know? Like I can tell right off the bat who’s a good person and who’s not. You’ve probably guessed that I like to stay away from people ‘cause they’re not usually friendly…or smart.”

“What about me?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I… I don’t really know.” He seemed pretty confused. I was bewildered, as well.

“You aren’t mental. You shouldn’t be here.” I said to him, calmly.

“You shouldn’t be here either.”

 

Maybe eight months passed and my girlfriend came again with a bottle of champagne for her and a cigarette for me. This time, my chair was positioned across from her and the cracked wall was behind me. I was calm, I guess. This time.

She didn’t seem as though she was too happy about seeing me, though. I don’t know why the hell she came.

“Need a light?” she asked.

No. I’m sure I might have one in a freaking mental institution.” She wasn’t amused by my sarcasm, but I was.

“All you had to say was ‘yes.’ I didn’t ask for the rest.”

“Well, aren’t you a boss bitch.”

She lit the white part of the cigarette and after one blow, I didn’t feel like smoking anymore. She opened the champagne and guzzled it straight from the bottle. Did she really get past security with that?

I just wanted her to go away. And then, it hit me like a bolt of lightning.

“Pass that to me,” I said to her. Hesitantly, she slid the bottle across the table. Some spilled out in a trail of light orange, leading to me. She started talking again.

“I ain’t coming to see you anymore.”

A little remorse in her big, brown eyes.

“Why? You leaving me for a black guy?”

“Cute. You’re right though.”

She took the cigarette right out my hand and blew smoke in my face.

“You know…” I said, chuckling a little. Then I went on,

“For a moment, I thought you were kidding. I mean, I killed your whole fucking family… Right in front of you! And you stood there helplessly as I slaughtered the witnesses! Now, do you really wanna break up with me?”

She had nothing to say about my dark response, as expected. I sat back in my chair and watched her with her empty expression, getting ready to cry, her luscious brown skin glowing in the light. After a long silence, she said with a low voice,

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep carrying the weight of both our mistakes.”

Rising slowly from my seat, I gently took the cigarette away from her. Then I took up the half-empty bottle of champagne and made my way to the door.

Mya didn’t turn around.

She didn’t even ask where I was going, as if it weren’t anywhere I already was. But before she got a heart attack or maybe thought that she was getting off the hook, I said to her,

“They’re letting me out. That illustrious poet, Laces Hostile? That’s me.” I heard her inhale deeply, but I didn’t let her speak. “All those charming poems were written about of you. The person who used to be my girlfriend.”

She immediately lowered her head in her arms, but I didn’t care if she was crying or not.

I splashed the rest of the champagne in her hair and under her chair. The bottle dropped along with the cigarette. The door swung open and I was out.

But she wasn’t coming out.

And to this day, I never held a cigarette again. After all, they’re bad for you.

A guard rushed over to me, flames waving in the only window of the door.

“Is someone in there? Who’s screaming?” It was a completely different guard this time, even less intelligent than the others.

“Screaming? I don’t hear anything.”

 

I’m no longer in that crappy mental institution, but I’m pretty famous in the outside world. People say “Hello” to me and want autographs, but they don’t ask me why I burned my girlfriend alive. They don’t ask me why I murdered anyone. Maybe because I’m supposed to have a mental problem.

I can see the world again and it’s not that great, but it’s not that bad either. Kind of like me, or at least Stavv’s idea of me. I found Mya’s new boyfriend too easily. He was at her funeral, and I splattered his brain all over the casket from her old apartment’s window. Sure ain’t hard to get a sniper in this country.

I bought Stavv his own house, wrote a few books, and made a lot more money. Until I couldn’t be convicted for murder anymore. You can buy anyone with enough money. And now that this journal is good and done, it’s gonna fly out this 18th Floor window, and take me with it. 

 

In Memory of Lacer Thanatos Kalvin

Pen name: Laces Hostile

A Dangerous Poet


© Copyright 2018 Quinlan Keranova. All rights reserved.

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