I'm Not Alone

by Johnathan Hunt 7 months ago in fiction


I'm Not Alone

I was born in 1937. I know things were tough back then. I know it was hard for a lot of people. Me included. I was born broken or so I heard. I couldn't focus or talk right.

One day my mommy was crying in the kitchen. I walked over to her. I couldn't say it but I wanted to tell her it would be ok. But she stared at me and nodded. She grabbed me and put me in the car. We drove for a long time until I saw a pretty brick building. We walked in together.

A man wearing a white jacket smiled at me and my mommy. He said everything would be taken care of. I heard my mommy talking about me not talking or paying attention. He said they have a lot of those kids here. Maybe a fun place to make friends.

My mommy looked back as she began walking out. Funny. She forgot me I think. But she walked anyway. I wanted to run to her and grab her but my body just wouldn't listen. I am crying but no tears show on my face.

Before long the man shows me to a room. He said this is where I will stay from now on. He closed the door behind me and locked it. Now I began crying. I sat down and wanted my mommy and daddy. Hopefully, they would come soon. I wanna be home. Why can't I go home?

Day after day I would eat and be forgotten about for the rest of the day. I wanted to tell them to let me out. I wanted to scream for my mommy and daddy. But nothing comes out. Just crying.

A man opened the door. He grabbed me up by my arm. He took me to a different bed. Then placed something on my head and closed it tight. I felt pain shoot through me as the sound of electric pierced my ears. I began to cry as he asked me questions. I still couldn't talk. Why am I broken? And why are they hurting me? I would give anything to be able to tell them it hurts and I am normal. Instead I bit them when they came and unhooked me. I got slapped and dragged into a new room where I heard the door lock.

It's been dark in here for a long time. I'm so hungry. I cry but no-one comes. I can't tell how long it's been. I just know I'm tired a lot. I've been sleeping so much. The only person I see is a guard who opens the tiny door on the big door. He tells me to shut up and quit crying. If I don't, he kicks me a couple of times and says shut up again. But I can't. I can't.

"No one will hear you scream, bitch," he says as he slams the door.

I see a light finally. Big and bright. I walked towards it. I see a lot of doors. I see a lot of kids. They are like me. I look back to see my door is still closed. How did I walk out of there. No worries. I feel different. I feel whole.

I approached the guard. I wave to him but he ignored me. Didn't even act like he saw me. I see another kid now. It's a boy. He is being dragged like I was into the hall. They opened my door. As they did, I heard them talk again.

"Shit. I forgot she was in here," one man said.

"Get her out before she stinks up the place," said the other.

"Nah. We got other cells. Leave it to night shift to clean it up," the first one said.

"Leave her here. Where she belongs," said the second as he slammed the door shut and dragged the boy to another cell.

"Let the bitch decay in there. I'll tell the cleanup crew I smell something funny tonight," the guard said getting off of his shift. It must have been morning. I learned he works nights.

I ran to the door I reached out to touch it to try to open it. I fell right through. When I did I saw. I saw. Myself. I was laying down with wet tear filled eyes. I wasn't breathing. I started screaming but no one came. No one cared for some reason. I was only 8 years old and no one loved me.

I ran out right through the door again. I saw the boy screaming and crying. I ran and yelled for the men to stop. They acted again like I wasn't there. I grabbed for them. Nothing. I went right through them.

I watched the boy. Every day. 'Til the day he stopped breathing. Just like me. When he woke up, he was different. He was like me. I grabbed him by the hand and told him I was here for him. He held me tight. He also had a family that couldn't take care of him. He said they called this place the asylum. Where people go when no one knows how to talk to them.

We watched as more kids came here. After a while, we learned to touch things. We learned to hold a door and to make people see us if even for a moment. It was hard work but we learned.

Today I could finally talk. The guard that kicked me and the boy. He sat down at his chair in front of the doors. He closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair.

"Leave her here to decay," I shouted.

The guard opened his eyes. He looked around confused then tried to lay back down and close his eyes.

"Leave her here to decay," I shouted while scratching his face.

He fell to the floor. Four big scratches were bleeding now on his cheek. He looked toward me. He panicked and started crawling for the door. The boy stood there and blocked him. He smiled and said, "let him rot," as he scratched the guard in the eye.

The guard ran inside of a cell and closed the door. I grabbed his keys and hid them. He looked around and screamed. There was a corpse of the boy. He pushed himself to the door and started screaming.

"No one will hear you scream, bitch," I said as I walked in front of him.

He jumped back and covered his eyes. Me and the boy continued until he fell backwards and hit the edge of the cell. His skull cracked with a hard thump.

Me and the boy looked at each other. We smiled and held hands.

"Ring around the roses," we began to sing.

We wandered the halls after that. Watching more and more of these sick people that claim to help die after seeing us. We drove some of them mad. Made them lose their minds.

"How does it feel?" the boy said as one of the employees got shocked for claiming to see a ghost.

For the first time. I realize I'm not alone. The boy and me were friends forever. For years we watched new sick people come take the place of others and ran them to madness, too. We have lots of friends too now. A lot of kids who were like us. Some we saved before they died. Others we couldn't. Now we wait for new doctors and guards and make them kill themselves.

"Leave them here to decay."

Johnathan Hunt
Johnathan Hunt
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Johnathan Hunt

MMy name is Johnathan Hunt and I have been writing since I was 8.  I write poems stories and books.  

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