The Short Story of a Mental Patient

Tara Pierce

"Hello, mother!" the girl sitting on the floor in the corner of the room said, as she smiled brightly. Her hair was tangled, and laid around her face, like a messy curtain. Her eyes dull, but full of a light that made others uneasy. The white straight jacket constricted her arms to her back and chest. Her mother, a woman around her early to mid thirties, smiled slightly, almost nervously, and sat in a chair in front of the girl.

"Mother, what did you bring me this time?" the girl smiling still, tilted her head to the side, giving her a slightly eerie look.

"A... necklace, sweetie..." the mother said, trying to keep a smile plastered on, and not let fear show on her face. As she rummaged through her bag it was silent. The only sounds were her rummaging, and the dull buzz of the bright lights on the ceiling.

"H-here you go, Tara... sweetie," her mother said as she showed her daughter a necklace. Tara made an ooo sound as she leaned forward and grinned.

"Put it on me, mother. I want to wear it," Tara said with a wide grin, that made her mother shiver slightly. She reached over with the necklace and put it over Tara's head. Tara grinned again, then lunged at her mother, biting her hand. A shrill scream pierced the air as Tara held on tightly to her mother's hand.

Four nurses ran in to get Tara off. Three of the nurses held Tara down, while the fourth one got a tranquilliser ready, and injected the needle into the back of Tara's neck. Tara slowly released her mother's hand, her eyes drooping, and she got weaker as the drug spread through her. She slumped over, asleep. The three nurses brought her out of the room and into another, more secured and secluded one. The fourth nurse, a lady around her early forties, with hair done up into a curly bun and black rimmed glasses, led Ms. Pierce, Tara Pierce's mother, to a small office that smelled of hand sanitiser and wipes.

The nurse sighed, "I apologise, Ms. Pierce..." she sat down in an office chair behind the desk, and motioned her guest to sit as well. Ms. Pierce's eyes went to the desk surface that had paper spread across it. Some in yellow folders with names labeled on. A name plate sat at the front of the desk. 'C. Greenwood' was engraved on the bronze plating, meaning that was this lady's name.

"I suggest it would be safer to leave, Ms. Pierce. We will handle Tara," Nurse Greenwood stated, making eye contact with Tara's mother. She nodded looking at her hand. It had a bite shaped bruise, purplish green, but luckily, the skin was not broken. Another nurse came in and escorted her to the entrance of the building.

~~a few hours later~~

Tara was in a different room, the straight jacket she used to be wearing, was off. She was in a giggling fit, as she stared at the small, shiny object in her hand. It was a key. The key that unlocked all the doors in the building. She giggled again as the key glinted off the bright lights.

"I'm coming home, mother..." Tara giggled again as she continued to talk to herself. She suddenly hid the key, and started humming to herself. A few seconds after she hid the small, precious object, the door opened. Nurse Greenwood, her usual nurse, came in with a small tray of crackers, cheese, and a juice box.

"Tara, here is your snack. When you finish put it by the door, then go to bed," Nurse Greenwood said, as she handed the tray to Tara and pointed to the bed in the corner.

"But I don't like that bed, Greeny," Tara whined flopping over onto her side dramatically, saying her nurse's nickname.

"I know dear, but you need to sleep there. None of the other patients complain," she replied, sighing slightly in annoyance. Tara grumbled sitting up, but Nurse Greenwood decided to ignore whatever was mumbled, and left the room.

Tara ate the food, giggling a few times and humming as she played with the key again. She then finished her juice box and pushed the empty tray towards the door. She fiddled with the key while she trudged over to the uncomfortable, grey bed. She flopped onto her stomach, and stared at the key.

She hid it under the pillow, and laid on her side, with the scratchy blanket covering her, while waiting for the lights to go out, meaning it was time to sleep. A large smile crept onto her face as she thought about the small, silver key, just under her head.

Then, the lights went out. She giggled, and laid still for minutes, making sure that no one would catch her. She heard footsteps go past her room, knowing that the maintenance worker was cleaning the halls outside. The footsteps faded, leaving silence, except for the slight giggle every few minutes.

The giggling, of course coming from Tara, who after another few minutes passing by, sat up. She reached for the key under her pillow, but didn't feel it there. Her smile fell, as she tore the pillow from its place, and seeing no key. The pillow, sheets, and blanket were thrown across the room as she searched, and searched for the key to her freedom.

She looked under the bed, and saw it near the wall. She reached and grasped it, but fell off the bed, landing on her back, onto the cement flooring. She did not care though, as she giggled and held the key tightly in her hand. She jumped up and tiptoed to the door. She put the key in the small keyhole and turned left.

She tried the handle, but it was still locked. She growled quietly and jiggled it, but it didn't budge. Then she slapped herself, and turned the key to the right. It opened silently with ease when she tried the handle again. She closed the door after herself, and started walking down the dark, empty halls. She had been in this psychiatric ward for just about two years, three next July, so she knew just about where everything was.

She saw the waiting room/entrance lobby, and giggled loudly. She is so close. She took another step forward when a blaring alarm sounded. The lights all turned on at once, momentarily blinding her. She dashed towards the door, shoving it open and running outside. The door slamming loudly behind her, echoing through the still, night air.

Tara glanced behind her and saw the security guards that the ward hired running towards the door, their hands on their sides reaching for the guns they carried. She swung her head back around, her hair slapping her face, and continued running. Small rocks stabbing into her bare feet, but she kept going and ignored them.

The sound of gunfire started flying throughout the air meaning the guard duo pulled the guns out. Tara ran into a field, the dry grass slapping against her bare legs as she ran, the gown she wore not being able to cover her legs. Then, she felt a searing pain on the right side of her chest, starting from her back. She coughed and wheezed. The pain was too much, and she fell forward, down to the ground. Her head slamming into the dirt. She soon saw nothing but blackness.

"She's gone," one of the security guards, a man around his late forties, said as he took his hand away from Tara's neck.

"Should we bring her back?" The second guard, younger, in his twenties, questioned, feeling guilt and pity for the dead girl on the ground.

"No. First thing in the morning, we will," the first replied, and the two went back into the building, leaving Tara laying on the ground, covered by the dry, yellow grass. But Tara would not be there the next morning...