White Walls

They all call me insane. Mentally disturbed, a threat to society, mentally disoriented, it’s all the same. They think of me as insane but I’m not! I’m just the only one with my eyes open, seeing the world in something other than black and white. And just because I was different from them they stuck me in this prison. I do not belong here, it’s not a prison, they all told me. It’s a place for you to get better. But I am not sick! I am not a broken toy they think they can put back together. I’m not broken! But they believe me to be insane.

I raked my nails against their perfect white walls, peeling the white paint off, revealing the gray cement underneath. At least now it looks a little less perfect, I thought. I had destroyed my room to the best of my abilities. I tossed the sheets that lay on my bed that was bolted to the floor of the room everywhere. I broke the small six inch wide, two feet long window and with the wounds that caused smeared my blood on their perfectly white iron door and there whites walls. Feels just like home now, I thought to myself as I laughed cruelly and without amusement, while a cruel smile played upon my lips.

I knew I was being monitored, the small video camera high up in the right corner, out of reach told me such. I wanted them to see that I didn’t belong here, that they had made a mistake; I wanted them to regret that they ever placed me in this hell.

I raked my nails across the wall again, splitting them, and making them bleed. White paint accumulated underneath the worn down, bloody nail. I repeated the process over and over until I was forced to stop because I had worn down my fingernails too much.

“Let me out!” I screamed, “I don’t belong in here, let me out!”

People have always disliked my scream, it’s so high pitched it makes people’s ears wish to bleed. It’s almost inhuman.

I started to pound my small fists against the iron door while I continued to scream. With each punch my hits became harder and harder until I heard and definitely felt a loud snap!

I stopped my assault on the door imminently and fell against it screaming in pain. My right hand felt as if it were on fire, the pain currently brought to the forefront of my mind. I sat against the iron door for I could not tell you how long. Time seemed unmoving. The pain in my hand gradually subsided, but I still felt a sharp, but bearable pain in my pinky and ring fingers. I had definitely broken them.

I got up and walked across the room to the wall that was opposite to the iron door that held me prisoner. I sunk against it, my knees in front of me. All of a sudden I felt all the anger and fight drain out of me and in its place a slow creeping sadness replaced it. In that moment I found myself doing the most unexpected thing, I cried.