"...And while the law has many penalties for the atrocities we inflict on others; there are no punishments for the terrors we inflict on ourselves." - Dr. Leonard Church





I caved. Cracked. Broke down and said fuck it. For my efforts, I got myself stuck in a mental asylum. Straight jacket and all, my life for the past 48 hours has revolved around staring at the projector aimed at the wall of this decrepit, cracked and moldy wall. Watching a sequence of swirling lines, white and black, at points forming together to make gray. An ever moving cyclical cycle, until the middle. From there, it twists and turns in the opposite direction to restart the cycle once more.

It is never broken. It is, always, and forever will be a cycle. Spinning and swirling, beginning and advancing, losing ground and retaking it. Never ending. An end is too simple. Much too simple.

"Very good! Five straight hours without incident!"

Opening the door to the padded cell, Dr. Philip Milgram waltzes into the room. The clipboard in his hand, once an object that drove fear into my heart assures me that progress has indeed been made. What progress it was, I had no idea. I felt no different than I had when I was admitted. I could feel them there. Waiting. Begging, pleading, searching high and low for an opportunity to escape. I knew none of them, but they knew me. They knew each other. To them, I'm nothing but a vessel. A vehicle to get them from point A to point B. And despite all my best efforts to remove them, the work of doctor Milgram, they were still here.

I gaze, my eyes pleading him to let me see the clipboard. Please, I have to know if this is real.

"No! I already told you; you can't see this!"

He straightens his coat before leaving through the door he entered from. Before it closes, I hear him say to the attendant, standing to his left.

"Yeah, restart the cycle."

No!

Please, no!

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME!"

The door slams shut, and the lock slides into place. I fall sideways, laying on my arms, the padded floor stiff and uncomfortable. This is where I lose it once more. Over the speakers, a calm, soothing voice starts to rattle off numbers. After a few are called, I follow its lead.

"One.

Three.

Six.

Nine.

Seven.

Zero.

Two.

Four.

Eight."

And so on, it repeats in that order.

For what feels like forever.

Each time, the voice increases in tone, the soothing sound becoming more and more aggressive.

"Jessie!"

A new voice, Anna's; breaks through the monotony. She calls my name, from nowhere, and yet everywhere all at once. It resonates across the barren room, trying to escape, but being forced back into my ear drums as it bounces off the walls.

"Please!"

"Shit, we're losing her! Jessie! Listen to the sound of my voice! You're hallucinating, she's not really there!"

Like Hell she isn't! I close my eyes as tight as I possibly can. Determined, hoping that when I opened them up once more; I would be free. Here we go.

3.......


2.............


1.

I open my eyes, to the sight of white walls, a white ceiling, and odor of illness coming from all directions. Looking to my left, I see Anna kneeling by the side of the bed. On her knees, looking up to the sky. In a quiet, defeated tone, I hear her cry out:

"Please, bring her back. Please..."

Tears well up and fall down her cheek. She closes her eyes, and wipes them away, although they come faster than she can stop them. I sit up straight, looking down at my own wrist to see an IV stuck firmly into my vein. From where she knelt, I hear a not only audibly, but incredibly loud gasp.

Not being able to help myself, I look back at her. Her jaw hung open, ready to fall to the floor. Floored by the surprisingly coincidental occurrence, no doubt. No doubt, she has hundreds of questions to ask; but those can hopefully wait. Waiting, something you would swear she didn't know how to do, I think as she takes my awakening as a queue to not only get up, but to come nearer and plant a kiss on my lips.

As she pulls away, only one thought crosses my mind.

Fuck. I needed that.