Don't Be Afraid

 Don't be afraid, they said. They're just patients with an illness, they had said. But as I make my way towards the front doors of Mansville Asylum, I'm not so sure I believe those words. The asylum itself looks old and decaying as if it has its own dwelling illness it can't escape from. As I enter the asylum, the smell of stale food and different medicines fills my senses. (Highly disgusting).

"Hello, welcome to Mansville. How may I help you?" A dark-haired lady smiles as she says this. She looks about fifty and her face seems pale. Even the way she sits, all slumped over, reveals that she may have her own difficulties here.

"Hi. I'm Alex, the woman sent here for the journalism assignment. They gave me permission to come here and examine the place and procedures." I watch as this lady, her name is Debby according to her name tag, shifts in her chair and types on her computer. Do they not own laptops?

"Ah, yes. It says here that you'll be meeting with our head mistress in about ten minutes. In the meantime, please, make yourself at home." She turns her attention back to her notes and papers and the lobby goes silent except for the occasional rings of a phone.

Well, lovely. What to do for ten minutes until I meet the 'headmistress." To pass time, I head to the left wall where some photographs hang on the wall. They look severely outdated with their brown-ish tints and blotches on them. Though the photo seems depressing, the people in the photo look worse. All of their faces are stone cold or miserable. Is no one happy here? I remember when I was told to smile for a photo at my parent's house and I just glared at the photographer. I was five years old, which is much younger than these folks. I wonder if they're still here. Taking out my small but handy dandy camera, I begin to snap some pictures of these photos.

"Oh, Miss! We don't really like photography here. It tends to scare the patients." Debby states matter of fact-like. 

Oops. Well, I at least got some of the photos for later. I'll examine them in my free time. I wonder how my boss would feel if he saw these photos I just took. He doesn't exactly know about this assignment. However, I do think that whatever is going on inside these walls is valid information and could be useful. We can finally learn what goes on inside the mind of the mentally ill.

"Ah, Alex! I'm sorry to keep you waiting" A younger woman who's quite pretty stands in the doorway, smiling brightly. She seems to have no worries in the world.

Looking at her now, she seems at ease. Her body structure is healthy and her eyes bright with life. She's the complete opposite of those in the photos.

"Come, come. There is much to show you."

As the headmistress leads me into the main hallway, I can't help but wonder why she's the head mistress. She's the youngest woman I've seen here. I'm guessing she catches me watching her because she smiles and shakes her head.

"I'm so sorry for not introducing myself. Today's been busy. I'm Becky."

Becky. That's such a normal name for a woman here in an asylum. Above us as we walk, I read a sign in bold that says, "Mansville Asylum. People made better." Unintentionally, I shudder as the main hallway comes into view. Many people in gowns, some stained, some new, wander around and seem to be in their own worlds. As soon as some lay eyes on me, they reach out as though they're attempting to reach me.

"DON'T LEAVE ME! I SWEAR I DIDN'T DO IT!" A smaller elderly woman yells as she stares with widened eyes.

Cringing and removing my gaze from the forlorn woman, I walk faster and get beside Becky. More patients watch us closely with their blood shot eyes but none yell at me the way the old woman did. She sounded desperate as she yelled at me, her eyes wide. She looked, oh what's the word? Petrified.