Schizophrenia - Book cover

Schizophrenia

Sxmmy

This Is Only Our Beginning

The dining hall in this institution held such an ominous vibe; it looked like a restaurant set up where round tables had chairs surrounding them, yet the overall energy in the room felt so heavy and dark.

Patients were all miserably eating what looked to be mashed potatoes and some sort of beef stew.

It was hard to grab onto the beef because of the plastic cutlery we were given; the ends of the fork would bend when I would try to pick up anything.

With the state of the food looking so unsettling and somewhat nauseating, I wasn’t even that hungry.

How do they expect us to eat food that isn’t even appetizing to the eye?

Even with the amount of patients in the dining hall with me, I was sitting alone on the outskirts of the room at my own table.

I didn’t even mind it that much; some of the patients looked sketchy and some were having outbursts of screaming which did scare me. In this situation, I’d rather be alone than mingle.

I glanced over to Deral who stood with his arms crossed against the wall. He had such a stern look on his face, it made me wonder if he has ever smiled before. Working at a place like this, I doubt he has.

I turned back to my food and tried small bits of the mashed potatoes. Mashed potatoes seems like one of those foods that’s hard to mess up; I mean, it’s just squishing a bunch of potatoes.

How hard can it be to screw that up? At least it was easier to handle and eat than the beef stew.

My mind continued to wonder back to those scribbles on the wall of my room. What happened that the past patient had to illustrate whatever they experienced? Are they okay? Are they alive? What’s ‘Bla?’

My mind started to hurt with how much I thought about it.

Also, Deral’s reaction was pretty bombastic; I mean, he could’ve been reacting to how I had ripped paint from the wall, but there’s paint crumbling from every nook and cranny in this place, is it really that harmful?

Maybe that drawing has a deeper significance and that’s why Deral reacted the way he did. Or maybe I’m just overthinking…

I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep tonight until I know what that drawing means.

***

Deral opened the heavy door to my room once again. I walked in and saw the once chipped paint and revealed drawings were now painted over once more, hiding any evidence of its existence.

“Deface the property again and you’ll be sent to solitary,” Deral warned.

“Wait, what’s solita—” before I could even ask, Deral closed the door in my face, locked it, and walked off.

Defeated, I turned back around to look at the painted wall again. I walked over and knelt in front of the fresh paint and placed my fingers on the wall.

The paint was slightly cold and still wet, so some gray was printed onto my fingers. Whoever’s story of suffering was here is now hidden once more.

I almost feel apologetic because someone was probably using that drawing as a cry for help but was just shushed back into secrecy.

That seems cruel to hide away a patient’s story like that.

I looked down at my fingers to see the gray paint still wet on my fingertips. If it’s so easy for these people to hide the stories of someone from the past, who knows what they’re doing now?

***

My head felt so fuzzy as it hung from my shoulders. I opened my eyes and picked up my head, blinking a few times to focus my eyes to take in the surroundings I’m in.

The flickering light above me made it hard to see, but with the little detail provided, I realized I was in an empty, cold, barren room. I tried to move my hand to push the hair out of my face, but my wrist was frozen solid in place.

I looked to my hands to see them zip-tied down to the arms of a wooden chair. I looked to my ankles to see them zip-tied to the legs of the chair. Who did this to me? Why am I here?

“H-Hello?” I screamed, my voice bouncing off the walls. “Is anyone here? I’m stuck!”

I tried to move my limbs, but they would hurt the more I struggled and tried to resist the zip ties. It felt as if the ties were beginning to break skin on my wrists and ankles and cause me to bleed.

I hissed in pain but still tried to fight the pain and try to escape.

As I continued to fight, I heard a door open and close from the far corner of the room. I stopped in my seat and looked to where the sound was coming from.

Slow footsteps made their way over to where I sat. My body became tense as the unknown person walked over. I tried to speak, but my mouth became dry and my brain stopped all thought process.

Into the light came a guy with dirty blonde hair that swept over the top of his brow.

He had a stern expression on his face as his eyes burned into mine. He kept his eyes locked with mine as he crept over to where I was trapped.

Something told me he wasn’t a saving grace coming to save me from my current situation; he had danger written all over him.

His long-sleeve sweater was pulled over his hands so I couldn’t see whatever he held, if he held anything.

The worst part about seeing someone as intimidating as this guy is I don’t know his intentions or his purpose of being here.

He began to tsk as he walked circles around me.

“Ryder, Ryder, Ryder, you really changed, you know? When you first came here, you had a chip on your shoulder and you deemed yourself as not scared and …as if you were too good for this dump of an asylum.”

He chuckled at his commentary, continuing to walk circles around me. “You are in for a reeaaal reality check, dear.”

The boy stopped in front of me and bent down so our eyes were at an even level. A smirk played across his lips and he gently caressed my face. “Ryder, are you scared?”

I stayed silent.

“Answer me.” He sternly spoke as his smirk slowly disappeared. I sheepishly shook my head no, fully aware I had lied and was incredibly terrified.

“Liar!” He screamed in my face, causing me to flinch. The boy stood back up and walked to the corner of the room.

He dragged out a metal tray that had a collection of dangerous objects scattered about—knives, syringes, safety pins, etc. I felt my face drain of all color at the sight of it.

The guy began to speak again, this time laughing. “For someone who isn’t scared, you look like you’re staring death in the face right now.”

Am I going to die?

He dragged his fingers across the tray of materials as if it were someone looking at diamonds, picking out the best one.

He grabbed a small yet sharp knife and held it up to the dim light, examining the sharp object. “Everyone’s scared of something,” he spoke.

“Even you. I can see the fear in your eyes and in your heart. I know what you’re thinking. Don’t think you’re a special case in this institution being placed here for no reason.

“You aren’t special, sweetheart; you’re broken like the rest of us. You’re as screwed up as any other patient in this hell hole.”

“Y-You’re wrong,” I said. My mouth was so dry, I was tripping over my words. “I-I’m not broken and I’m n-not sick.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking down at me. “Oh really? Then why did your loving mother throw you in here?”

“She thinks I have schizophrenia.”

He let out a light laugh. “You’re a sick puppy, Ryder. You just don’t want to admit it.” The guy started circling me once more.

“I saw you when you were first admitted. You were the grumpiest person alive. Here you are barely forty-eight hours later and you’re cowering in fear.

“What happened to that angst? Did the baby get her temper tantrum out?” He continued to laugh as he walked around me.

I stuttered again, “W-What are you going to do to me?”

He shrugged and placed his finger on the tip of the knife. “Not sure yet. This is only our beginning, you know. I don’t want to scare you too badly.” He smirked.

Only the beginning? What does that even mean?

Who is this guy?

The guy bent down once more so our eyes locked. “Are you sure you’re not scared?” He asked again.

I hesitated, but shook my head yes when I was fully aware I was paralyzed with fear. It didn’t help either that tears began to spill from my eyes.

The guy didn’t hesitate to grab a new, larger knife and plunge it directly into my chest, causing me to scream and howl in pain.

“I thought you weren’t afraid, Ryder!” He pulled the knife out and pierced my skin again, causing me to scream once more. “You’re pathetic and you know it!”

The guy yanked the knife from my chest once more before throwing it to the ground. Between my sobs and tear-filled eyes, I noticed him grab a syringe.

He bent down to my height once more so we were at eye level. “You make me sick.” He spat. He then took the syringe and stabbed it into my neck, causing my vision to go dark and my body to fall limp.

I shot up in bed, heavy breathing and rubbing my hands all over my chest and neck. No stab wounds, no blood, no knives, no tears. I was …alive. It was all a dream?

I glanced at the analog clock that was hard to see without lighting. From what I could make out, it must’ve been around 2 AM.

I ran my fingers through my knotted hair and collected my thoughts. Who was that? Why was he interrogating me? Why was I tied to that chair? Why did he …stab me?

The amount of thinking I’ve done within the last few hours made my head spin.

There was one quote that the boy said that still rang through my mind, though.

“This is only our beginning.”

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