Doves and Crows

Mrs. Delilah was an oddly attractive woman that appeared to look the age of twenty-five.

She had brilliant red hair that curled and flipped around the frame of her face. She had red lipstick on that was applied every few minutes or so. She had the darkest green eyes I’d ever seen, piercing, throwing daggers at me every time she casted a glance.

“So you are the boy I heard so much of from dear old Charlie, huh?” she asked, her flowing hair bouncing on her shoulders with each step up the stairs to the asylum. I felt the stab and took a deep breath.

“I suppose. So what will I be doing in this stinking place anyways?” I asked scratching the base of my neck in irritation. She made a little laugh and placed her eyes on me.

“Don’t be so rude to your elders, pipsqueak,” she teased flicking my nose. I rubbed it and grumbled a bit saying under my breath:

“You’re just a bit older than me, broad.” Mrs. Delilah took no notice of me, placing her gaze elsewhere, as we arrived at a door with a lock on it. She took a key from around her neck and unlocked the door real quick. After that she put the key gracefully back around her clear skinned neck, pressing a button on the wall and a loud buzzing came from the loudspeaker (the kind that reminded me of a prison).

At first it was blinding. Everything was white.

Mrs. Delilah pulled me around by the arm with a constricting grip towards a hallway. A girl with light brown hair, which was strewed around her face in a confused manner like she hadn’t combed it in weeks and then had three seconds to look presentable, was sitting against the wall. Her eyes were fixated on our figures. As we approached the open door she was in front of, I realized her eyes were focused on a window behind us, and she wasn’t staring at us with her dazed chocolate eyes, but at the birds. Mrs. Delilah scrunched her face up at her as entered the room, not bothering to knock on the wall or anything.

“Hello ladies, now we can begin the session today with meeting our new volunteer. Introduce yourself, dear,” she said and then looked over her shoulder. “Get in here, would you? You’re being rude.” Apparently she was talking to the girl in the hall. The girl frowned and turned her head towards us, her eyes still on the birds.

“But they haven’t…” She started her ramblings but her face soon turned from a smile to a frown. She closed her eyes and waved to the window before coming in and sitting next to one of the other crazies.

Mrs. Delilah batted her lashes at me and I ran my fingers through my hair. There were four of them in the room. All of them stared up at me with intrigued expressions, some more than others.

“Hello ladies,” I had to feign politeness to cover the disgust at calling these things ladies, “My name is Robert Emerson. It’s a pleasure.”

A girl with blonde hair that shone brightly against the white walls of the room bounced out of her chair and leaned towards me.

“Hello Robert, I’m Barbra, Barbra Halifax. It’s really, really nice to meet you,” she spewed, grabbing my hand and shaking it overenthusiastically. The black fellow in the corner came up and gently pulled her back to her seat. I wiped my hand discretely behind my back onto my shorts.

“My name is Shirley,” the girl in the seat next to her said, trying to establish a sort of order of introduction. She sounded very bored. Everything about her seemed bored actually. Her eyes were a dull and glazed blue, sunken into her emaciated face. Her hair was black, but the color was fading into grey, bored of life. Her smile though was sweet, pleasant.

“It’s a pleasure.”

“My name's Virginia Woolf,” said Bird Girl as she smiled with a wide smile. Mrs. Delilah was in the corner and shook her head.

“Say your real name,” she ordered with a poisonous smile. They met eyes for one moment and then Virginia turned her head down towards the table, shifting her shoulders.

“Patricia Tripp,” she mumbled. I’d make sure to watch out for that one, she seemed a bit more off than the others. Well, besides that Barbra one, she was nuts.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“This one’s Linda Mochrie, she doesn’t talk too much,” Mrs. Delilah laughed as the girl continued to lay her black hair on the table. When I looked in her eyes, I could tell she wasn’t all there. I appreciated her silence and nodded anxiously. “So now that we’ve gotten to everyone-” Mrs. Delilah began but was cut off by Barbra.

“You’re forgetting Nettie,” she said giddily. I looked around the room.

“I'm sorry?” I questioned until I saw a movement from the circular table they all sat at.

Nettie was in the seat at the edge of the table next to Miss Mochrie.

“Oh… Yes, this is Annette Facet. She just arrived three days ago.”

She was staring the table drawing circles with her fingers and didn't bother looking up at us. Perhaps the only color she had were the slight pink in her lips, any other hue was absent from her features. She was completely white, and not just her snow pale skin. She had cloudy blue eyes and hair that at one point could have been blonde, but from stress or horror had lost all color.

“She’s new here,” Barbara whispered as she went behind Annette and started stroking her head. Annette giggled quietly at this and began tracing hearts instead.

Her laugh made me think of the birds that sat on the telephone line like music notes.

“Robert why don’t you take a little tour of the place, I’m sure you’ll love it here.” Mrs. Delilah once again pulled herself from her spot against the wall and handed me over to the nurse.

Not likely. I took a deep breath and walked around the place. The nurses and doctors had their own section closest to the door of the building for precautionary reasons. The patients I dubbed The Safe Ones, the ones I were just introduced to, had their beds in the northern section of the tower. They had a lovely view through the giant glass window out towards the town. They were the least likely to try and escape and least likely to try and break the glass to harm themselves. Other ones, such as The Deranged and The Suicidal shared the Eastern division, since they both were similar in traits. However The Queer were secluded to their own perversions in the Western block.

The black fellow, who I learned was named Jesse Turner, wasn’t fazed by any of them. Even when brought to the more disturbing blocks he gave no sign of pity or disgust.

I hoped not to become numb like he had.