Murder Riddles

intermission

Diagnosis

(trigger warning)

"I am sane!" he screamed at the walls which will now become his home for the next few years.

He stood and pounded his fists against the wall until his knuckles left red stains on the dirty white. He sank to the floor and sobbed into his grubby hands, the mental pain worse than the physical.

Meanwhile, behind the glass, a group of therapists scribbled down some notes. They looked back through the one-way mirror to observe his actions, their fingers itching to diagnose him with more illnesses.

The one spoke to the others, "Patient number 2386. Exciting!"

"There's nothing wrong with me!" the patient choked.

"Denial! Classic," said the therapist on the left while the other two muttered in agreement, writing their findings down on the crisp paper.

The client turned to look at the glass. Even though the therapists knew he couldn't see them, they still felt shaken to the core. The look of hatred and disgust burnt like acid. The therapist on the right glanced at the other two.

"Please," he begged, his knuckles still scarlet with blood, "Please, let me out."

The therapist in the middle said, "Bargaining. The third stage of the five stages of acceptance."

"Two more to go," said the one on the right.

"Depression then acceptance. The depression stage will be interesting to observe," said the one on the left.

The other two agreed. The client on the other hand, did not, now with his forehead kissing the marble floor, muttering an abundance of prayers.

"That's odd." Said the first.

"Psychopaths are usually atheists." agreed the second.

"Atheism encourages psychopathic traits, such as manipulation," the third said, regurgitating his university textbook.

The client rose and stumbled over to his non-descript psych-ward bed and collapsed onto it, staring down at his bleeding hands.

"Acceptance?" asked the third.

"Not yet," muttered the second.

"I have a family! I have a life! You can't just take that away from me!" the client screamed.

"Back to bargaining," complained the first, writing this development down.

The others sighed and looked down at their pages with disinterested expressions.

Patient 2386 began to cry once more, the sobs echoing throughout his new prison. His hands clenching knots of hair, as if threatening to tear them out. His chest heaved with every shallow breath the patient took. He started to slowly rock back and forth and he brought his hands down to his eyes, covering them as if he could attempt to erase this illusion.

"Ah, finally. Depression." The first smiled, leaning back in his chair.

"This will be interesting," the third said, correcting his posture.

Sobbing, crying and weeping were the only actions the client undertook for the next few hours. The therapists eventually became bored with this repetitive process. They chewed on their pens, drew on their papers. After a while, two started playing noughts-and-crosses with one another. The other balanced his pen on his nose and wondered what he was going to have for supper. They didn't even notice the patient grabbing the blade he had received with his plain breakfast and running it across his pale wrists, the new blood joining the old. The third therapist had started to snore and the other two had gotten into an argument on who would get their PhD before the other. None of them noticed as the client's blood flowed and stained the clean floors or when his last shaky breaths filled the room. 

***

This is a short story I wrote for a school project and I thought it somewhat fits with the theme of this book. I thought it would suit all you psychopaths' taste.  I will write a riddle sometime later during this week. I am just quite busy at the moment. Sorry, for the inconvenience! Love you all! Stay hydrated xxx