Hiya. Treat this as a dump of some of my work. Remember I'm 15, so I'm afraid there'll be no George Orwell-esque works of art. 
Will be updated regularly. Feedback please!
“Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war.” - James A. Baldwin
Breathing heavily, I glance down at the moving landscape. Cars zoom by; ants in assorted colours each scurrying away. The city of New York is beautiful from up here. Really, really beautiful. And if I were to die here, at this precise moment in time, I would die a happy man. I look behind me, a precautionary measure for what I am about to accomplish. My eyes glaze over once more, before streaming into overwhelming tears. I’m finding everything hard to take in. The sky seemingly acknowledges my sorrow, battering the cold stone floor with heavy rain. The once mesmerising colours of the bustling cars and night-lit buildings now appear as smudges, stains in an otherwise pure world. Peering down once more at the cars and concrete below, my legs tremble, shaking violently. I steady myself; after all, a send off should brim with composure. My mother, may she rest in peace, had always stuck by a single motto, one which was currently haunting me: “Only the bravest of human, the most foolish of fools and the most neglected of outsiders would dare take their own life on their own accord”. And yet, while I leap from the building, plummeting to my inevitable death, peaceful at last, I am not sure which type of man I am.
I crash out of the hotel door and race down the hallway. Heart beating. Heavy steps. Blood lines my every footprint, my every handprint, streaked across my face like a crimson scar. I curl up into a ball, hiding from the outside world. I wait. I wait. Conceding defeat, tears cascade out of my sore eyes, each flood more intense than the last. Time passes, it slows down, it speeds up, and yet here I lie, still. Shouts echo from my hotel room, each shriek ascending in volume. I take the hint. Running once more, sprinting, I bolt down the stairs and into the lobby. Well-built guards block the entrance to the hotel, perhaps notified of the event which has taken place. No time for reflection on my past mistakes. I think about my options; would I take the gambler’s option and throw myself out of those doors to the likelihood of dying in disgrace? Or, rather, would I throw myself off this building, dying as an outsider to the world? The answer seems obvious. I step calmly towards the lift, reach the top floor, and get out. I have stopped thinking altogether; I am but a passenger to my own body. I climb the ladder to reach the topmost part of the building; I am on the outside now, both physically and mentally. I draw the courage to walk towards the edge, towards my downfall. Breathing heavily, I glance down at the moving landscape.
I drop the tulips. The wine follows after, smashing into a million pieces, smearing the carpet. My hands are shaking. And before I know it, they’re lurching forward, grabbing hold of the neck of my wife. She mutters obscenities at me, slapping and clawing at my wrist. I instinctively let go of her, tending to my hand, giving her time to make her escape. Yet she chooses to attack me, putting all her weight through my body; my ankle bursts with pain. There is fire in her eyes, a real determination to have her way, a childish need to make me stay with her. I cry in agony as she throws a coffee table into my stomach. I shield myself as she picks up the coffee table once more, darting away before she brings it down upon me. The momentum of the throw sends her hurtling to the floor, giving me enough time to run to the bathroom, locking the door as I do so. Panic sets in. I am unsure what to do; my wife will be attempting to reach me, her lust for blood only matched by her undying love for me. I know what I have to do. I open the door, and immediately, like a ravenous dog, she barges her way in. I grasp her by the head, oblivious to her shrieks, before smashing it into the sink, over and over and over. Blood drapes along the wall, splats across my face, engulfs my hands and feet. I shake all over. Yet this is not the time to regret actions. Sprinting out of the bathroom, I take one last look at my bloodied wife. I have good faith that whatever actions she took, she did out of love rather than hatred. I crash out of the hotel door and race down the hallway. Heart beating. Heavy steps.
It has been a long day. Work has consumed my free time, and the sunlight has lingered long enough. I smile myself; buzzing with excitement over seeing the look on my wife’s face when I arrive to her, with tulips and wine at the ready. 17 years of marriage, and yet a lifetime still ahead of us, I am enjoying the excellence of life, if I do say so myself. Tomorrow is a day where I do not carry the burden of work; instead, I have arranged to visit Broadway. I enter the hotel before taking the lift, and making my way to my room. Our room. Opening the door, I am greeted with silence. “Sarah...Sarah, hello?” No answer. I immediately dash into our bedroom, fearing that she has been hurt in some way, fearing the worst. Instead, a man, naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist, bolts out of the room. I am too stunned to react. Sarah, looking up at me guiltily, has tears running down her eyes. “I don’t know why, Steven. I really don’t. Please don’t hate me,” she begs, hopelessness setting in. “Please don’t Steven, please, please, please. I love you, Steven. I love you so much.” I am unable to speak, unable to react to what she is saying. “Don’t leave. We can still be happy together.. I love you”. All I am able to do is back out of the doorway with a solemn face. “DON’T LEAVE, STEVEN.” She screams, venom lacing her voice. “Leaving will be the death of me.” Something clicks. With those words, something clicks, and bubbles of rage which were surfacing before are now beginning to bubble over. I drop the tulips. The wine follows after, smashing into a million pieces, smearing the carpet. My hands are shaking.
Breathing heavily, I glance down at the moving landscape. Cars zoom by; ants in assorted colours each scurrying away. The city of New York is beautiful from up here. Really, really beautiful. And if I were to die here, at this precise moment in time, I would die a happy man. I look behind me, a precautionary measure for what I am about to accomplish. My eyes glaze over once more, before streaming into overwhelming tears. I’m finding everything hard to take in. The sky seemingly acknowledges my sorrow, battering the cold stone floor with heavy rain. The once mesmerising colours of the bustling cars and night-lit buildings now appear as smudges, stains in an otherwise pure world. Peering down once more at the cars and concrete below, my legs tremble, shaking violently. I steady myself; after all, a send off should brim with composure. My mother, may she rest in peace, had always stuck by a single motto, one which was currently haunting me: “Only the bravest of human, the most foolish of fools and the most neglected of outsiders would dare take their own life on their own accord”. And yet, while I leap from the building, plummeting to my inevitable death, peaceful at last, I am not sure which type of man I am.
I crash out of the hotel door and race down the hallway. Heart beating. Heavy steps. Blood lines my every footprint, my every handprint, streaked across my face like a crimson scar. I curl up into a ball, hiding from the outside world. I wait. I wait. Conceding defeat, tears cascade out of my sore eyes, each flood more intense than the last. Time passes, it slows down, it speeds up, and yet here I lie, still. Shouts echo from my hotel room, each shriek ascending in volume. I take the hint. Running once more, sprinting, I bolt down the stairs and into the lobby. Well-built guards block the entrance to the hotel, perhaps notified of the event which has taken place. No time for reflection on my past mistakes. I think about my options; would I take the gambler’s option and throw myself out of those doors to the likelihood of dying in disgrace? Or, rather, would I throw myself off this building, dying as an outsider to the world? The answer seems obvious. I step calmly towards the lift, reach the top floor, and get out. I have stopped thinking altogether; I am but a passenger to my own body. I climb the ladder to reach the topmost part of the building; I am on the outside now, both physically and mentally. I draw the courage to walk towards the edge, towards my downfall. Breathing heavily, I glance down at the moving landscape.
I drop the tulips. The wine follows after, smashing into a million pieces, smearing the carpet. My hands are shaking. And before I know it, they’re lurching forward, grabbing hold of the neck of my wife. She mutters obscenities at me, slapping and clawing at my wrist. I instinctively let go of her, tending to my hand, giving her time to make her escape. Yet she chooses to attack me, putting all her weight through my body; my ankle bursts with pain. There is fire in her eyes, a real determination to have her way, a childish need to make me stay with her. I cry in agony as she throws a coffee table into my stomach. I shield myself as she picks up the coffee table once more, darting away before she brings it down upon me. The momentum of the throw sends her hurtling to the floor, giving me enough time to run to the bathroom, locking the door as I do so. Panic sets in. I am unsure what to do; my wife will be attempting to reach me, her lust for blood only matched by her undying love for me. I know what I have to do. I open the door, and immediately, like a ravenous dog, she barges her way in. I grasp her by the head, oblivious to her shrieks, before smashing it into the sink, over and over and over. Blood drapes along the wall, splats across my face, engulfs my hands and feet. I shake all over. Yet this is not the time to regret actions. Sprinting out of the bathroom, I take one last look at my bloodied wife. I have good faith that whatever actions she took, she did out of love rather than hatred. I crash out of the hotel door and race down the hallway. Heart beating. Heavy steps.
It has been a long day. Work has consumed my free time, and the sunlight has lingered long enough. I smile myself; buzzing with excitement over seeing the look on my wife’s face when I arrive to her, with tulips and wine at the ready. 17 years of marriage, and yet a lifetime still ahead of us, I am enjoying the excellence of life, if I do say so myself. Tomorrow is a day where I do not carry the burden of work; instead, I have arranged to visit Broadway. I enter the hotel before taking the lift, and making my way to my room. Our room. Opening the door, I am greeted with silence. “Sarah...Sarah, hello?” No answer. I immediately dash into our bedroom, fearing that she has been hurt in some way, fearing the worst. Instead, a man, naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist, bolts out of the room. I am too stunned to react. Sarah, looking up at me guiltily, has tears running down her eyes. “I don’t know why, Steven. I really don’t. Please don’t hate me,” she begs, hopelessness setting in. “Please don’t Steven, please, please, please. I love you, Steven. I love you so much.” I am unable to speak, unable to react to what she is saying. “Don’t leave. We can still be happy together.. I love you”. All I am able to do is back out of the doorway with a solemn face. “DON’T LEAVE, STEVEN.” She screams, venom lacing her voice. “Leaving will be the death of me.” Something clicks. With those words, something clicks, and bubbles of rage which were surfacing before are now beginning to bubble over. I drop the tulips. The wine follows after, smashing into a million pieces, smearing the carpet. My hands are shaking.
I open my eyes. The bright lights bore through my sockets so I shut them quickly. I have a blinding headache and I can’t move my arms. Of course I can’t, I’m in a straitjacket. I’m scared. I start to scream. I like screaming. When I was twenty-two, three years ago, I stubbed my toe on a staircase, and I screamed for ages. I wasn’t in pain, but screaming felt good. I guess that’s when it began. An ambulance had arrived outside my house and uniformed women and uniformed men came in. They said my neighbour heard me screaming and called them ‘cause she thought I was terribly hurt. I open my eyes for the second time. I stop screaming. The uniform woman is peering over me. I know why I’m here. In two week’s time I’m due to be released. From this mental asylum.
I’m here for inspection, to make sure I’m sane enough. I sit up because the metal chair hurts too much when I lie down on it. Uniform woman asks how I feel. I don’t answer. Robert puts his clammy hand on my shoulder. The uniform people say that Robert doesn’t exist and is a sign of my mental disorder. But this isn’t true because I can see him. I’m not lying, he’s there. I glance up at Robert’s sneering face. I hate him. Uniform woman looks worried.
She thinks I’m going to attack Robert, but I want to show her I’m sane, so I just sit on the chair. She asks me how I feel again. I remember what the doctor said and breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, trying not to tremble. I lie to her that I feel fine. Inside, my body is shaking. I want to be released.
I want to become a vet. I like animals. Sophie, another patient, went and stepped on this cat who had wandered in the asylum. She hates any animal, including humans. I got so angry, I broke her legs. That was six months ago.
I’m sane, I’m sane, I’m sane.
The uniform woman speaks slowly, like I’m stupid. I’m not stupid, I’m a clever twenty-five year old. I want to hit the uniform woman badly, but I know I can’t. I’m sweating. And all of a sudden, I start crying. The uniform woman nervously glances at me, before running out the door. I’ve blown it.
I’m sitting next to Nanjhad in the lunch area. Nanjhad is my only friend at the asylum. Maybe it’s because he never talks. I don’t know if he is dumb, shy, or is too insane to talk. All the other patients hate him because he is not white. In fact, he is the only non-white in the asylum. I give Nanjhad my potatoes. I hate the stuff. The texture ‘n all. I spot Sophie. She has a knife, but it is plastic ‘cause the lunch people don’t want to risk suicide or murder. Nanjhad points to my safebag. A safebag is what all the patients have to keep themselves from danger. I have a whistle, a mobile phone, a book, an iPod, The Bible, and most importantly, I managed to smuggle in a pocket-knife. I nod at Nanjhad. He takes out the mobile phone and presses in random numbers. That is his favourite thing and the only thing he does in the asylum. He presses random numbers and then sees who is at the receiving end. He listens, but never speaks.
Sophie attacked me today. I was walking to lunch with Nanjhad when she ran at me. She punched me in the stomach and bit my arm, which hurt. Nanjhad ran away, muttering to himself. I am now eating lunch by myself, as Nanjhad is in his room, pulling his hair out. I pick around the bubble and squeak, but then there’s too much potato and I become flustered and start crying and I slam my foot on the table leg, causing the table to fall and I start to scream and I run back to my room. I hate Sophie and I hate this asylum. I just want to get out.
Two hours later, uniform woman comes in, her face grim. Robert also comes in, his face beaming. Uniform woman tells me I cannot be released from this asylum, as I am not sane enough. I say nothing. I do nothing. I don’t come for dinner. I just stare at the wall, stare and stare. There are no tears left in me. Everybody and everything is a bright light. And my light’s just gone out.
I open my eyes. It’s five thirty-three. I’m sweating and I can’t remember what happened in the night. I sit up. Blood is on my shirt and blood is draped all across the wall. I feel dizzy and sick and I can’t focus properly and the world collapses.
I wake up to the sound of banging on the door. The door is jammed or blocked. I never lock it. It’s seven minutes past eleven. I’ve slept in and I am meant to be in the social room right now, where we socialize with other patients. But why is the door blocked? I look at it. There’s a body on the floor. The body is Sophie’s.
There’s a pool of blood mounting near her chest. I feel dizzy again and wet my pants. I vomit before passing out. Only that I don’t pass out. I’m just lying in bed, with my eyes open, thinking. Did I kill Sophie? No, no I didn’t. I’ve been framed. Although I’m still unsure whether I’ve killed her or not. The banging is getting more frantic. I ignore it. I need to dispose of the body. I spot an air vent.
The banging has stopped. The person, probably the uniform woman, has gone to get somebody. This is my chance. I get a chair and lift the body and myself on to it. Standing, I shove the body into the air vent, head first. Sophie gets jammed round the shoulders, so I turn her face-up. That’s when I see it. A pocket-knife halfway through her heart. My pocket-knife. I am so dizzy I fall off the chair, pulling the body with me, and the door opens and the police come in and all they see is me on the floor, screaming and crying, blood on my shirt, blood on the walls, a body of the only patient I truly hated dead, with my pocket-knife through her heart. My light is out, but the police’s are burning.
I groggily open my eyes, again. I’m not in a police cell, which I expected to be in. I’m chained to my bed. I hear voices next door. The police are talking to the uniform men and the uniform women about what to do with me. I momentarily forget about what has happened until I see blood on the walls and then I shake and vomit. Yet I have a chance to escape. The handcuff is chained to the bed’s metal pole. If I could lift the bed frame up, I could escape. I strain, using all my strength, but it’s no good. I cry but crying’s not good enough. I howl. There is no hope left.
I can’t give up. I heave with all my might. My hands are used to being tied together, ‘cause of my straitjacket. I ever so slowly manage to get the handcuff’s off the bed frame, and now I can escape. I make my way to the door, but just as I am about to open the door, the handle opens for me. I am expecting to see the police. Instead it’s Nanjhad. I am relieved, and smile. This is before he kicks me in the stomach, pushes me back onto my bed and runs off. I can’t move. My belly is in so much pain. Why would Nanjhad do that? Is he scared that I might kill him? Or is it something else? The police barge open the door, and point a gun at me. Uniform woman is crying. I stand up. And get knocked back down.
What time is it? Where am I? I have no idea where I am. It’s very dark. My head is spinning, and I can’t stand up. I look to the right, and see metal bars. I am finally in a cell. For the murder of Sophie. Only that I don’t think I murdered her. Robert is here too. He laughs, and it echoes around the cell. No, he doesn’t exist. I know that. I know that. Why won’t he just leave me alone? I curl up into a ball, rock myself, hands over ears, and scream.
Six hours later, and uniform woman comes in. She tells me that I’ll have to go to court in four day’s time. I cry. I know I’m going to be found guilty. The uniform woman tells me that Nanjhad is going to come too. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not. I scream again, so that uniform woman leaves. But she doesn’t. She looks angry and says “Why, Simon? Why did you do it?”. She leaves before I can answer. But I wouldn’t answer anyway. Because nobody would believe me. I’m just a low-life lunatic murderer. I deserve to be put in prison.
It’s court day. I am ready to face the music. I am taken to the court by police car. Everything’s very scary, and my eyes hurt and I am breathing heavily. Here I go.
I plead innocent. I may as well put up a fight. The evidence is wracking up on me. Sophie’s mum’s lawyer asks me a few questions. “Why was their blood on your shirt, Mr Temple?”. I reply that I don’t know. I know it’s a bad answer, but this is all I have got. “Sophie is the only patient you hate in the entire asylum, isn’t that right, Mr Temple?”. I don’t say anything. She asks again, her voice sour and sinister. I nod my head. I glance at Nanjhad. He is furiously tapping at my phone, and is not really paying attention to what is happening. “So then, why do you hate her?”. I reply in a quiet voice, “She stepped on a stray cat. She also beat me up.” The lawyer’s eyes glisten, like they’re waiting to pounce. “ So, who else do yo think the murderer could be?” she sneers, in her antagonistic tone. I am prepared for this one.
“Nanjhad” I say.
Everybody gasps, looking at Nanjhad and their are a few murmurs. Nanjhad is still tapping at the phone, but at a more frantic pace. Without looking up, he says “NO! HE murderer!” The judge, noticing that this argument was going to go back and forth, tells Nanjhad to be quiet before asking me why I think that. My mind goes blank. I start crying. The judge then gets impatient and tells me to sort myself out.
Three hours later, and the jury is sent away to find me either guilty or innocent. I know I’m going to be found guilty. I close my eyes. I just know it. The jury is taking a long time. Then they come in. I’m just waiting to hear the words. One of the members of the jury, coughs, before announcing his verdict “We find the defendant, after debate,” there is a long pause, added for suspension, until the jury murmurs quietly, “guilty.” I close my eyes even tighter. I didn’t expect those words to be that painful. My chest hurts and I cry harder. I look up at Nanjhad. He is still working on that phone. I am sent away.
Prison is boring. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be though; I have food which is better than the asylum, and doesn’t have as many potatoes. Whenever we are allowed out for recreational purposes, but still in prison, I stay in my cell. I don’t want to get into fights. I cry every day now, and scream during the night. Many prisoners tell me to shut up, but it’s not like the books I read, or the films I watch where everybody goes and punches you or threatens to kill you. Some are actually very kind to me. Maybe they’re innocent too.
I am walking on stars. The stars shine brightly, so I nearly topple off. I almost fall, but by crawling at a snail’s pace I can stay safe. I look down. On my right there is. Nanjhad, Sophie, the police, the jury, potatoes and the Devil. Everybody I hate and don’t want to be part of. On my left there is God, smiling up at me, reaching towards me. If I stay on top of the star, the bright lights will blind me. I wake up, sweating and start to cry. I know what I have to do. I must join God. I must end my life.
Soon, soon.
I am outside my cell, still in the prison walls. I will socialize. I want to at least act more normal. Before I can, I am told I have a visitor. I walk over to the visiting room, and sit on a chair next to a table. It’s uniform woman with Nanjhad. Nanjhad. She looks nervous. Why is she visiting me? She must really care. She sits down, and so does Nanjhad, but I order Nanjhad to leave. He doesn’t respond. I order him again, close to tears. Nanjhad looks up, mutters something, and then taps his mobile phone randomly. Only that, when I look what he’s typing on his phone, it’s not random. It reads, ‘sssophiee destreved ittit. Sh e had ittit comin’. I gasp before snatching the phone off Nanjhad. Nanjhad hits me before taking it off me, but then a security guard comes over and drags me away. Nanjhad is muttering to himself furiously. Nanjhad leaves, uniform woman not bothering to look me in the eye. She goes too.
I kick the security guard hard in the legs, catching him by surprise, before punching him square in the chest. I start screaming and crying. I then pinch his nose and slam him into the table, knocking him out. The security guards will be coming by now. I don’t care. I slam down all the chairs, tears running down my cheeks, before flipping over the tables. I make my way upstairs to the eighth floor, where the gym is. Nobody ever uses the gym now, all it is is ropes and mats. I hear footsteps. They’re coming. I make it to the gym before locking the door with one of the ropes. The window is in sight. I kick the window, but it won’t break. I kick again, but nothing happens. The door is rattling. They probably have guns. I kick and kick and kick and I scream and scream and cry but nothing happens. I can’t be with God.
Soon, soon.
There’s a store cupboard to my right, I make a run for it as the door hinges ever so slowly come apart. There’s a dumbbell. That’s all I need. I lift it up before slamming it against the window. I stand on the ledge. The jump will kill me. The door crashes open, and five security guards come in, guns pointed at me. I smile before looking at the drop. Robert is next to me, pointing his head downwards. I close my eyes. My light is not out. It’s brighter than ever.
I’m here for inspection, to make sure I’m sane enough. I sit up because the metal chair hurts too much when I lie down on it. Uniform woman asks how I feel. I don’t answer. Robert puts his clammy hand on my shoulder. The uniform people say that Robert doesn’t exist and is a sign of my mental disorder. But this isn’t true because I can see him. I’m not lying, he’s there. I glance up at Robert’s sneering face. I hate him. Uniform woman looks worried.
She thinks I’m going to attack Robert, but I want to show her I’m sane, so I just sit on the chair. She asks me how I feel again. I remember what the doctor said and breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, trying not to tremble. I lie to her that I feel fine. Inside, my body is shaking. I want to be released.
I want to become a vet. I like animals. Sophie, another patient, went and stepped on this cat who had wandered in the asylum. She hates any animal, including humans. I got so angry, I broke her legs. That was six months ago.
I’m sane, I’m sane, I’m sane.
The uniform woman speaks slowly, like I’m stupid. I’m not stupid, I’m a clever twenty-five year old. I want to hit the uniform woman badly, but I know I can’t. I’m sweating. And all of a sudden, I start crying. The uniform woman nervously glances at me, before running out the door. I’ve blown it.
I’m sitting next to Nanjhad in the lunch area. Nanjhad is my only friend at the asylum. Maybe it’s because he never talks. I don’t know if he is dumb, shy, or is too insane to talk. All the other patients hate him because he is not white. In fact, he is the only non-white in the asylum. I give Nanjhad my potatoes. I hate the stuff. The texture ‘n all. I spot Sophie. She has a knife, but it is plastic ‘cause the lunch people don’t want to risk suicide or murder. Nanjhad points to my safebag. A safebag is what all the patients have to keep themselves from danger. I have a whistle, a mobile phone, a book, an iPod, The Bible, and most importantly, I managed to smuggle in a pocket-knife. I nod at Nanjhad. He takes out the mobile phone and presses in random numbers. That is his favourite thing and the only thing he does in the asylum. He presses random numbers and then sees who is at the receiving end. He listens, but never speaks.
Sophie attacked me today. I was walking to lunch with Nanjhad when she ran at me. She punched me in the stomach and bit my arm, which hurt. Nanjhad ran away, muttering to himself. I am now eating lunch by myself, as Nanjhad is in his room, pulling his hair out. I pick around the bubble and squeak, but then there’s too much potato and I become flustered and start crying and I slam my foot on the table leg, causing the table to fall and I start to scream and I run back to my room. I hate Sophie and I hate this asylum. I just want to get out.
Two hours later, uniform woman comes in, her face grim. Robert also comes in, his face beaming. Uniform woman tells me I cannot be released from this asylum, as I am not sane enough. I say nothing. I do nothing. I don’t come for dinner. I just stare at the wall, stare and stare. There are no tears left in me. Everybody and everything is a bright light. And my light’s just gone out.
I open my eyes. It’s five thirty-three. I’m sweating and I can’t remember what happened in the night. I sit up. Blood is on my shirt and blood is draped all across the wall. I feel dizzy and sick and I can’t focus properly and the world collapses.
I wake up to the sound of banging on the door. The door is jammed or blocked. I never lock it. It’s seven minutes past eleven. I’ve slept in and I am meant to be in the social room right now, where we socialize with other patients. But why is the door blocked? I look at it. There’s a body on the floor. The body is Sophie’s.
There’s a pool of blood mounting near her chest. I feel dizzy again and wet my pants. I vomit before passing out. Only that I don’t pass out. I’m just lying in bed, with my eyes open, thinking. Did I kill Sophie? No, no I didn’t. I’ve been framed. Although I’m still unsure whether I’ve killed her or not. The banging is getting more frantic. I ignore it. I need to dispose of the body. I spot an air vent.
The banging has stopped. The person, probably the uniform woman, has gone to get somebody. This is my chance. I get a chair and lift the body and myself on to it. Standing, I shove the body into the air vent, head first. Sophie gets jammed round the shoulders, so I turn her face-up. That’s when I see it. A pocket-knife halfway through her heart. My pocket-knife. I am so dizzy I fall off the chair, pulling the body with me, and the door opens and the police come in and all they see is me on the floor, screaming and crying, blood on my shirt, blood on the walls, a body of the only patient I truly hated dead, with my pocket-knife through her heart. My light is out, but the police’s are burning.
I groggily open my eyes, again. I’m not in a police cell, which I expected to be in. I’m chained to my bed. I hear voices next door. The police are talking to the uniform men and the uniform women about what to do with me. I momentarily forget about what has happened until I see blood on the walls and then I shake and vomit. Yet I have a chance to escape. The handcuff is chained to the bed’s metal pole. If I could lift the bed frame up, I could escape. I strain, using all my strength, but it’s no good. I cry but crying’s not good enough. I howl. There is no hope left.
I can’t give up. I heave with all my might. My hands are used to being tied together, ‘cause of my straitjacket. I ever so slowly manage to get the handcuff’s off the bed frame, and now I can escape. I make my way to the door, but just as I am about to open the door, the handle opens for me. I am expecting to see the police. Instead it’s Nanjhad. I am relieved, and smile. This is before he kicks me in the stomach, pushes me back onto my bed and runs off. I can’t move. My belly is in so much pain. Why would Nanjhad do that? Is he scared that I might kill him? Or is it something else? The police barge open the door, and point a gun at me. Uniform woman is crying. I stand up. And get knocked back down.
What time is it? Where am I? I have no idea where I am. It’s very dark. My head is spinning, and I can’t stand up. I look to the right, and see metal bars. I am finally in a cell. For the murder of Sophie. Only that I don’t think I murdered her. Robert is here too. He laughs, and it echoes around the cell. No, he doesn’t exist. I know that. I know that. Why won’t he just leave me alone? I curl up into a ball, rock myself, hands over ears, and scream.
Six hours later, and uniform woman comes in. She tells me that I’ll have to go to court in four day’s time. I cry. I know I’m going to be found guilty. The uniform woman tells me that Nanjhad is going to come too. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not. I scream again, so that uniform woman leaves. But she doesn’t. She looks angry and says “Why, Simon? Why did you do it?”. She leaves before I can answer. But I wouldn’t answer anyway. Because nobody would believe me. I’m just a low-life lunatic murderer. I deserve to be put in prison.
It’s court day. I am ready to face the music. I am taken to the court by police car. Everything’s very scary, and my eyes hurt and I am breathing heavily. Here I go.
I plead innocent. I may as well put up a fight. The evidence is wracking up on me. Sophie’s mum’s lawyer asks me a few questions. “Why was their blood on your shirt, Mr Temple?”. I reply that I don’t know. I know it’s a bad answer, but this is all I have got. “Sophie is the only patient you hate in the entire asylum, isn’t that right, Mr Temple?”. I don’t say anything. She asks again, her voice sour and sinister. I nod my head. I glance at Nanjhad. He is furiously tapping at my phone, and is not really paying attention to what is happening. “So then, why do you hate her?”. I reply in a quiet voice, “She stepped on a stray cat. She also beat me up.” The lawyer’s eyes glisten, like they’re waiting to pounce. “ So, who else do yo think the murderer could be?” she sneers, in her antagonistic tone. I am prepared for this one.
“Nanjhad” I say.
Everybody gasps, looking at Nanjhad and their are a few murmurs. Nanjhad is still tapping at the phone, but at a more frantic pace. Without looking up, he says “NO! HE murderer!” The judge, noticing that this argument was going to go back and forth, tells Nanjhad to be quiet before asking me why I think that. My mind goes blank. I start crying. The judge then gets impatient and tells me to sort myself out.
Three hours later, and the jury is sent away to find me either guilty or innocent. I know I’m going to be found guilty. I close my eyes. I just know it. The jury is taking a long time. Then they come in. I’m just waiting to hear the words. One of the members of the jury, coughs, before announcing his verdict “We find the defendant, after debate,” there is a long pause, added for suspension, until the jury murmurs quietly, “guilty.” I close my eyes even tighter. I didn’t expect those words to be that painful. My chest hurts and I cry harder. I look up at Nanjhad. He is still working on that phone. I am sent away.
Prison is boring. It’s not as bad as I thought it would be though; I have food which is better than the asylum, and doesn’t have as many potatoes. Whenever we are allowed out for recreational purposes, but still in prison, I stay in my cell. I don’t want to get into fights. I cry every day now, and scream during the night. Many prisoners tell me to shut up, but it’s not like the books I read, or the films I watch where everybody goes and punches you or threatens to kill you. Some are actually very kind to me. Maybe they’re innocent too.
I am walking on stars. The stars shine brightly, so I nearly topple off. I almost fall, but by crawling at a snail’s pace I can stay safe. I look down. On my right there is. Nanjhad, Sophie, the police, the jury, potatoes and the Devil. Everybody I hate and don’t want to be part of. On my left there is God, smiling up at me, reaching towards me. If I stay on top of the star, the bright lights will blind me. I wake up, sweating and start to cry. I know what I have to do. I must join God. I must end my life.
Soon, soon.
I am outside my cell, still in the prison walls. I will socialize. I want to at least act more normal. Before I can, I am told I have a visitor. I walk over to the visiting room, and sit on a chair next to a table. It’s uniform woman with Nanjhad. Nanjhad. She looks nervous. Why is she visiting me? She must really care. She sits down, and so does Nanjhad, but I order Nanjhad to leave. He doesn’t respond. I order him again, close to tears. Nanjhad looks up, mutters something, and then taps his mobile phone randomly. Only that, when I look what he’s typing on his phone, it’s not random. It reads, ‘sssophiee destreved ittit. Sh e had ittit comin’. I gasp before snatching the phone off Nanjhad. Nanjhad hits me before taking it off me, but then a security guard comes over and drags me away. Nanjhad is muttering to himself furiously. Nanjhad leaves, uniform woman not bothering to look me in the eye. She goes too.
I kick the security guard hard in the legs, catching him by surprise, before punching him square in the chest. I start screaming and crying. I then pinch his nose and slam him into the table, knocking him out. The security guards will be coming by now. I don’t care. I slam down all the chairs, tears running down my cheeks, before flipping over the tables. I make my way upstairs to the eighth floor, where the gym is. Nobody ever uses the gym now, all it is is ropes and mats. I hear footsteps. They’re coming. I make it to the gym before locking the door with one of the ropes. The window is in sight. I kick the window, but it won’t break. I kick again, but nothing happens. The door is rattling. They probably have guns. I kick and kick and kick and I scream and scream and cry but nothing happens. I can’t be with God.
Soon, soon.
There’s a store cupboard to my right, I make a run for it as the door hinges ever so slowly come apart. There’s a dumbbell. That’s all I need. I lift it up before slamming it against the window. I stand on the ledge. The jump will kill me. The door crashes open, and five security guards come in, guns pointed at me. I smile before looking at the drop. Robert is next to me, pointing his head downwards. I close my eyes. My light is not out. It’s brighter than ever.
God released five heavenly cherubs,
Floating to Earth they stay.
And when time's up, they'll open their minds,
Armageddon will begin this way.
Begging. "You don't want to do this. Please." A voice of gravel replied. "Believe me Oscar, we do. You volunteered yourself, you signed the contract." Oscar's voice was now a merciful wimper. "I didn't sign up for this! This wasn't part of the deal!" He stood firm. Bad idea. BOOM! A cascade of sound echoed around the room. No, not the room. The laboratory. Oscar fell in agony, aware of a gaping hole in his right legs, chunks of flesh and blood strewn across his body. The gun was raised down, and the gravel-like voice spoke again, all too calmly. "Nobody talks to me like that. No, not even you Oscar. Be thankful it was only your leg I shot at, not your goddamn head. You signed up for the greater good. And what you're doing today fulfills that purpose." Oscar, his voice now a faint whisper, murmered "How can you do this? This is inhumane!"
"Inhumane? No, it will help revolutionise the world. We are in desperate need of a power supply, you know that. What you, and two others are doing, what you agreed to do, will supply us with enough energy to last at least a century."
"But what happens afterwards? What happens when all the energy runs out? You're killing people for a measly supply of energy." Oscar cried out, fresh blood and tooth trickling from his mouth. Oscar's counterpart smirked, rubbing his hands in disgust. "The energy won't run out. It won't". And with that, he dragged Oscar into the Testing Room. And in the middle of this room was a glass box, a chamber, filled with a semi-translucent liquid. No airholes.
It took several minutes for Oscar to be dragged near enough to the glass chamber. "Section the liquid off, it looks like our last visitor's fluids weren't removed. He shot a glaring, murderous look at a woman who was operating a computer-esque machine. Oscar noticed she had sunk lower in her chair, her eyes watering over. SHe would die after this procedure had finished, he thought. But he had no emotions, no guilt, no remorse for this woman; after all, she was one of the operators who was in charge of this project. The project which would kill Oscar. Well, not entirely kill as such... something more sinister, worse even than death. Once the yellow substance was removed, Oscar was shoved into the glass chamber. too weak to plead, too weak to resist. A mechanical, piercing voice erupted through the room, its source from a small speaker in the top-right corner of the laboratory. "Initiate ManHunt Apparition in 10...9...8..." Oscar's hands were clenched in a fist, shaking and flailing wildly. "7...6...5..." His forehead was sweating, a small sob escaped his thoughts. "4...3...2...1." Oscar was crying hysterically, praying, pleading. His shriek was cut off by a powerful jet of hazy cyan gas, escaping from pores at the top of the chamber, and his mind clouded over. Pain shot up through his legs, his whole body in spasms. He tried screaming for help, but to no avail. He collapsed to the floor, writhing in yellow mass, his mind spinning. The liquid burned and grasped onto his skin, forcing its way into Oscar's mouth. A blinding neon green light shot down from the top, blinding Oscar and the other members of the operation. The eruption of light ceased, and silence fell.
A squelching sound gasped and heaved from inside the glass box. It stopped and started, groaned and hummed, before finally crashing through the chamber's wall, glass and debris hurtling to ground and air alike. It wasn't human.
A green, moist mesh of flesh and goo emerged from the glass chamber, its pores secreting the yellow translucent liquid which had made Oscar suffer. Not killed him. Instead, it had changed him into the small yet terrible, terrible creature which squirmed and gasped and flailed. And attacked. With one swift movement the creature dived and clutched onto the woman's face, the woman who would inevitably die after the procedure. The woman's scream was muffled, the panic set, it was all too late. The woman's skin bubbled, forcing itself inwards, slowly suffocating and ripping the woman. It engulfed her, and pressed down. Her own flesh. Soon, juices were bursting out of the gooey mass, the same yellow liquid. That too engulfed her, until she had become the creature Oscar had turned into. It was a horrifying sight to watch, yet so, so spectacular. Both creatures than slumped over, before finally nesting on the cold iron floor. The whole room was too shocked to speak. That was until the man wth the gravel voice spoke up, his voice tinted with glee and a hint of caution. "Well done, Oscar. Our test subjects have a lot to do to prove themselves. Release him and... and Sarah to the school tomorrow."
Floating to Earth they stay.
And when time's up, they'll open their minds,
Armageddon will begin this way.
Begging. "You don't want to do this. Please." A voice of gravel replied. "Believe me Oscar, we do. You volunteered yourself, you signed the contract." Oscar's voice was now a merciful wimper. "I didn't sign up for this! This wasn't part of the deal!" He stood firm. Bad idea. BOOM! A cascade of sound echoed around the room. No, not the room. The laboratory. Oscar fell in agony, aware of a gaping hole in his right legs, chunks of flesh and blood strewn across his body. The gun was raised down, and the gravel-like voice spoke again, all too calmly. "Nobody talks to me like that. No, not even you Oscar. Be thankful it was only your leg I shot at, not your goddamn head. You signed up for the greater good. And what you're doing today fulfills that purpose." Oscar, his voice now a faint whisper, murmered "How can you do this? This is inhumane!"
"Inhumane? No, it will help revolutionise the world. We are in desperate need of a power supply, you know that. What you, and two others are doing, what you agreed to do, will supply us with enough energy to last at least a century."
"But what happens afterwards? What happens when all the energy runs out? You're killing people for a measly supply of energy." Oscar cried out, fresh blood and tooth trickling from his mouth. Oscar's counterpart smirked, rubbing his hands in disgust. "The energy won't run out. It won't". And with that, he dragged Oscar into the Testing Room. And in the middle of this room was a glass box, a chamber, filled with a semi-translucent liquid. No airholes.
It took several minutes for Oscar to be dragged near enough to the glass chamber. "Section the liquid off, it looks like our last visitor's fluids weren't removed. He shot a glaring, murderous look at a woman who was operating a computer-esque machine. Oscar noticed she had sunk lower in her chair, her eyes watering over. SHe would die after this procedure had finished, he thought. But he had no emotions, no guilt, no remorse for this woman; after all, she was one of the operators who was in charge of this project. The project which would kill Oscar. Well, not entirely kill as such... something more sinister, worse even than death. Once the yellow substance was removed, Oscar was shoved into the glass chamber. too weak to plead, too weak to resist. A mechanical, piercing voice erupted through the room, its source from a small speaker in the top-right corner of the laboratory. "Initiate ManHunt Apparition in 10...9...8..." Oscar's hands were clenched in a fist, shaking and flailing wildly. "7...6...5..." His forehead was sweating, a small sob escaped his thoughts. "4...3...2...1." Oscar was crying hysterically, praying, pleading. His shriek was cut off by a powerful jet of hazy cyan gas, escaping from pores at the top of the chamber, and his mind clouded over. Pain shot up through his legs, his whole body in spasms. He tried screaming for help, but to no avail. He collapsed to the floor, writhing in yellow mass, his mind spinning. The liquid burned and grasped onto his skin, forcing its way into Oscar's mouth. A blinding neon green light shot down from the top, blinding Oscar and the other members of the operation. The eruption of light ceased, and silence fell.
A squelching sound gasped and heaved from inside the glass box. It stopped and started, groaned and hummed, before finally crashing through the chamber's wall, glass and debris hurtling to ground and air alike. It wasn't human.
A green, moist mesh of flesh and goo emerged from the glass chamber, its pores secreting the yellow translucent liquid which had made Oscar suffer. Not killed him. Instead, it had changed him into the small yet terrible, terrible creature which squirmed and gasped and flailed. And attacked. With one swift movement the creature dived and clutched onto the woman's face, the woman who would inevitably die after the procedure. The woman's scream was muffled, the panic set, it was all too late. The woman's skin bubbled, forcing itself inwards, slowly suffocating and ripping the woman. It engulfed her, and pressed down. Her own flesh. Soon, juices were bursting out of the gooey mass, the same yellow liquid. That too engulfed her, until she had become the creature Oscar had turned into. It was a horrifying sight to watch, yet so, so spectacular. Both creatures than slumped over, before finally nesting on the cold iron floor. The whole room was too shocked to speak. That was until the man wth the gravel voice spoke up, his voice tinted with glee and a hint of caution. "Well done, Oscar. Our test subjects have a lot to do to prove themselves. Release him and... and Sarah to the school tomorrow."
I'll never forget those rugged days,
When I battled the war in gruesome ways,
Where I saw stray bullets whistle and hop,
Whilst watching my comrades go "over the top".
And then I saw with glistening eyes,
An explosion goes off and my commander dies,
Carnage everywhere, you could not escape,
I thought death would be my untimely fate.
Mud sucking me in, a swamp of despair,
Skin blistering, ripped and bare,
Bodies in shock, soldiers falling,
There was no turning back, death was calling.
All those traumas I faced, years ago,
Through the torrent of rain, the onslaught of snow,
Those are the days I remember when,
I went to hell and came back again.
When I battled the war in gruesome ways,
Where I saw stray bullets whistle and hop,
Whilst watching my comrades go "over the top".
And then I saw with glistening eyes,
An explosion goes off and my commander dies,
Carnage everywhere, you could not escape,
I thought death would be my untimely fate.
Mud sucking me in, a swamp of despair,
Skin blistering, ripped and bare,
Bodies in shock, soldiers falling,
There was no turning back, death was calling.
All those traumas I faced, years ago,
Through the torrent of rain, the onslaught of snow,
Those are the days I remember when,
I went to hell and came back again.
Summer's eve was upon the street,
The road laid bare and warm,
The cold had stopped circling people's feet,
Green was set in the lawn.
The rain had passed, the sun was about,
Good weather was a'coming.
Summer's heat had started its bout,
The children were now all running.
The small village rejoiced the heat,
The sprinkler lay steady.
All the flowers were nice and neat,
The citizens were ready.
Out they came in glasses and caps,
Playing in fun motion,
Sitting on the loungers, in between naps,
Or putting on sun lotion.
Till evening came, and darkness came,
And much to their dismay,
Packed up their items, and finished game,
Remembering that Summer's day.
The road laid bare and warm,
The cold had stopped circling people's feet,
Green was set in the lawn.
The rain had passed, the sun was about,
Good weather was a'coming.
Summer's heat had started its bout,
The children were now all running.
The small village rejoiced the heat,
The sprinkler lay steady.
All the flowers were nice and neat,
The citizens were ready.
Out they came in glasses and caps,
Playing in fun motion,
Sitting on the loungers, in between naps,
Or putting on sun lotion.
Till evening came, and darkness came,
And much to their dismay,
Packed up their items, and finished game,
Remembering that Summer's day.
"What's this?", my sister said,
Which was when my mother heard her,
"That's a chicken, nice and dead,
That chicken, a piece of murder"
Which was when my mother heard her,
"That's a chicken, nice and dead,
That chicken, a piece of murder"
I remember when I was young and fresh,
When pollution hadn't scarred my ways,
When I was peering at a football match,
I remember those days.
I remember those gleaming faces,
Their mud-ridden, down-trodden boots.
I remember them leap in the air,
When one of them did shoot.
I remember the water cascading down,
Crash-landing on the green.
I remember their daring tackles,
As every player intervened.
I remember the smell of worn-out clothes,
And their risen voices ringing,
I remember the volleyed goal,
A memory still lingering.
I remember their glorious laugh,
Echoing around the haze,
I remember the heaps of joy,
I remember those days.
When pollution hadn't scarred my ways,
When I was peering at a football match,
I remember those days.
I remember those gleaming faces,
Their mud-ridden, down-trodden boots.
I remember them leap in the air,
When one of them did shoot.
I remember the water cascading down,
Crash-landing on the green.
I remember their daring tackles,
As every player intervened.
I remember the smell of worn-out clothes,
And their risen voices ringing,
I remember the volleyed goal,
A memory still lingering.
I remember their glorious laugh,
Echoing around the haze,
I remember the heaps of joy,
I remember those days.
I remember that aroma, it called to me
It reached with open hands
And that air, that moist air
I was happy then.
Not now.
I was dancing, leaping, gliding, with a mind
of my own, content
I thought I was going to be
forever in glory
Not now.
Only the gentle rush of
wind was about,
My comfort
As I was so comfortable
Not now.
The pollution was a red mist
Collapsing my every thought
My wonders had disappeared
Replaced by hatred and worry
I was fighting a game with putrid, ghastly fumes
And I was losing.
Oh, how I wish I could go back
To that happy place
But alas
Not now.
Never.
It reached with open hands
And that air, that moist air
I was happy then.
Not now.
I was dancing, leaping, gliding, with a mind
of my own, content
I thought I was going to be
forever in glory
Not now.
Only the gentle rush of
wind was about,
My comfort
As I was so comfortable
Not now.
The pollution was a red mist
Collapsing my every thought
My wonders had disappeared
Replaced by hatred and worry
I was fighting a game with putrid, ghastly fumes
And I was losing.
Oh, how I wish I could go back
To that happy place
But alas
Not now.
Never.
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