Graphica

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: January 04, 2018

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Submitted: January 04, 2018

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The sky was crisp and clear, as the moonlight howled at the lawns of the Asylum. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, and the trees residing within the vicinity gave out a distinctively battered look. It was as if they had been tortured, every inch of life sucked out of them. They stood there hopelessly, with a sea of dry brown leaves engulfing them. It wasn’t even autumn. The air around was heavy, with an eerie chill about it. It wasn’t the weather. It was just the aura that the area built, and the brick and mortar structure only added to it.

It was old fashioned. Old fashioned and haunting. The walls had a tinge of gray, with falling plaster and disfigured cement. The windows had lost all their elegance, and now it was difficult to come across one that was not cracked. Every now and then a shadowy figure would walk passed the windows, most likely a doctor, to check up on one of the patients.

The Asylum walls were electrocuted and heavily guarded. There had been more than one case of an attempted escape, and almost every attempt had been foiled barring the one where Joey Drano somehow managed to flee. No one really knows what happened there, though rumor has it that it was an inside job. The circular boundary of the Asylum had around 50 guards, each standing at a 100 feet radius from each other, and carrying guns. Carrying arms was uncommon at other mental asylums, since it was always risky, but keeping in mind the class of patients within the building, guns were only a small cog in the big anti-madness machine.

It was almost 1 in the morning, and there was only one window amongst around 250 others, which still carried light. All others lights had been turned off. The only ones still functional were the ones in the hallway, and they did not have windows. That one window carrying light had two people. My patient, and I. He was a novelist, and a convicted murder that killed his own son, but he was let off the hook due to his mental condition. Insanity will get you out of anything.

I was carrying out a scheduled checkup, the last of the three I had to carry out everyday. Unlike others, I believed in engaging in friendly banter with my patients. For them to be normal again, they had to be treated normally.

“Had a good day?”

No reply.

I fixed my glasses, and looked into his steel gray eyes.

“You know Jake… If you tell me about your day, I’ll tell you about mine”

Still no reply.

"as you wish - i was actually going to tell you about a book i read today.."

His eyes blinked for the very first time, and he looked at me.

“What book?”  Was the question. He sounded interested, but the cold demeanor surrounding him gave out an indifferent vibe.

“Just a book…do you enjoy reading?”

There was a short pause. It seemed pointless, since his expressions remained stagnant. It was like watching time stand still. He finally spoke.

"No”

I scribbled something on my file, and then looked at him.

“Then how come you looked so interested when I told you that I read a book?”

He observed me carefully. He had the signature look of someone who did not like being asked questions.

“I used to write novels” he replied slowly.

I had already known this, but I just wanted to make him talk. The book trick worked.

“What did you write about?” I asked, wanting to continue the conversation.

“Why are you so interested?”  He shot back instantly. I had become accustomed to him taking his time in replying, so the sudden answer took me by surprise

“I’m just curious. That’s it,” I replied meekly.

His eyes darted away from my face, and focused on my hands. He had noticed the pen and file.

“What are you writing?” he asked, and his tone wasn’t friendly.

I looked at him in silence. The subtle anger in his tone was chilling.

“I asked you a question…. he asked again, this time sounding more menacing. He had not raised his voice, but the way he gently grinded his teeth spoke volumes of his intent.

“Ok now Jake...you have to relax, Ok?” I spoke gently. A convicted murderer losing his temper was not a pretty sight.

“Tell me what you’re writing, …” he asked for the third time.

“It’s just a file I have to maintain on a day…” I started nervously, and then the door opened.

A female warden stood there. She checked something on a page, and then looked at me directly with her fake, plastic smile.

“It’s time for your medicine, Jake Rudolph..”

 

 

 

 

 

 

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