Four Walls
two
Casper
Morning. Way too early. I haven’t slept. I hate mornings. I need coffee. I hate being transferred into new asylums. Tick, tick, tick.
Brown eyes. Green eyes. “I’m not his daughter.” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that Casper?” The doctor had salt and pepper hair. It looked a bit gray, but his eyes were grayer. I hated the man. Dr. Moser.
“I’m not my father’s daughter.” I repeated.
Casper Salazar. Female. Born July 24, 1990. Aged 22. A product of an affair her mother had, she suffered extensive abuse from her mother’s husband for not being his child. Abuse includes as follows: Burns, severe cuts, some broken bones growing up, and some trips to the hospital.
Was not helped sooner because she lied to protect her “father”. Mother abandoned the family.
Casper has since indulged in drugs, violent fights, and violent forms of self-mutilation.
I could tell Dr. Moser was staring at me, I wasn’t that damn stupid, or blind. I’m sure he was reading what they all write down. Crazy, unstable, and just plain bat shit crazy. Dad used to say that I was like mom—how I despised that woman—I looked exactly like the damn woman. “I don’t want to.” I muttered.
“Casper you have to speak up.”
By all that was holy I hated the older man’s voice. It reminded me of him. I despised the man that was my…my…actual “father.” With his fucking bleached blonde hair, vibrant green eyes, and even more vibrant white washed skin. There is nothing—nothing—beautiful about porcelain ivory skin! Why couldn’t I have been blessed with my dad’s brown eyes? Why? I wanted to be strong looking like him.
Russet colored skin—did I mention it was practically flaw free? His eyes were big and a deep brown. Oh how pretty they looked! I at least got his hair color. A very dark brown. I wanted all of my father’s features.
You look just like him too!
I clenched my eyes shut as the memory tore into my membrane. I loved my father. I hated the man that made me. “Casper, CASPER!” My eyes snapped open.
“What?” I snapped irritably.
“We have to get this started otherwise we’ll be here all day,” the doctor sighed. Trust me buddy I feel the same damn way!
“As you wish.”
I was on my way to a new fuckin’ dungeon. The last place—a real shithole—was just too weak for me. I smirked despite my growing anger—er—depression I suppose you could call it. I always found it unnecessary that they used an ambulance to transport you. My hands were at my sides and I kept my eyes on the gray, lifeless, metallic floor. I then looked up, I caught my reflection.
Though it was distorted I could easily pick out my green eyes. Anger flared through me.
Those eyes are not eyes of mine!
I began to tremble. I felt my nails digging into my palm. I could feel one of paramedics looking at me. I began to breathe evenly; I didn’t care if I sounded stupid.
“Uh, miss? Are you alright?”
“Yes. Are were there yet?”
“Yes, we are here.” I suddenly heard my therapist say.
“Good.”
I looked up at the building. It looked like all the others I had seen in my life. Large, built with bricks, a cheesy looking garden somewhere—though this one looked like it was neglected. The only difference was that Arkham Asylum did not look as inviting as the others. That actually brought a smile to my face. For once, I’d be somewhere that didn’t look so fake. Like my mother’s boob job.
Your mother was a whore, let’s hope you don’t turn out like her Casper.
“I’m not her!” I hissed unexpectedly.
“Casper, can you stay calm enough for me to escort you to your new room?”
“Yes.” I replied calmly. And just like that my mood returned to normal. I suppose you could classify me as bi-polar. I’m not too sure. I never pay attention to what any of those fuckers say.
There were doors, doors, and did I mention even more doors? Security codes, beeps, and some alarms would sound off. Am I that dangerous? The thought brought a smirk to my face.
I then found myself in a main lobby type area. There were cushioned chairs in a circle, one chair was a different color than the rest, and I was sure that’s where they would have group talks. Why bother? Most of us are too disturbed to talk sometimes. I shrugged. I then felt my therapists hand on my back. He led me to my new room. I noticed someone else was coming up as well, he had two men on either side of him, and he had messy dirty blonde hair. “I want my phone call!” I heard the man giggle.
“He’s just arrived. Escaped earlier.” I heard one of the men mumble. For some odd reason my sense of hearing was acute.
His voice definitely sounded weird. He wouldn’t look up. I began to chuckle.
You’ll never get that phone call, buddy.
Dr. Moser stood in front of me while he unlocked the door. I sighed as the door finally opened. I stepped in and he closed the door behind me.
“Welcome home sanitarium.” I muttered.
The door suddenly opened, I looked up, and tilted my head to the side. The man that came in was a handsome one. Brunette, business attire, a pretty little face, and the most shocking blue eyes you’d ever see. “Miss Casper? Good morning. My name is Dr. Crane,” He spoke. His voice was leveled, cool, and very professional.
“Present. Pleasure,” I murmured.
“I see that Dr. Moser was not joking when he said you like to mumble a lot,” he removed his glasses and began to rub at them with a handkerchief.
“He always had to lean in to hear me,” I shrugged.
“I won’t be leaning in, Casper. Either you speak up or you get no breakfast,” he said it so matter-of-factly that it was pissing me off.
“What the fuck do you want?” I snapped. My voice rising. He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile—it was such a nasty one.
“So you can be loud. Good to know. Follow me; I’ll lead you to the mess hall.”
I began to nervously tug at my black t-shirt. I was actually a nervous bitch—if you could honestly believe that. I hated crowds. I hated talking to people. I hated it! Hated it!
Only whores talk to so many men like that!
I flinched as another memory began to snake its way into my head. “I’m not a fucking whore!” I hissed under my breath.
“Take a seat anywhere, Casper.”
Dr. Crane left me at the round table. There were about four people sitting in the chairs, all spread apart, and I took my seat next to a blonde girl. She seemed completely tired and I said nothing. I hated talking.
No one said anything at all.
I hope they’re all mute.
Morning. Way too early. I haven’t slept. I hate mornings. I need coffee. I hate being transferred into new asylums. Tick, tick, tick.
Brown eyes. Green eyes. “I’m not his daughter.” I muttered under my breath.
“What was that Casper?” The doctor had salt and pepper hair. It looked a bit gray, but his eyes were grayer. I hated the man. Dr. Moser.
“I’m not my father’s daughter.” I repeated.
Casper Salazar. Female. Born July 24, 1990. Aged 22. A product of an affair her mother had, she suffered extensive abuse from her mother’s husband for not being his child. Abuse includes as follows: Burns, severe cuts, some broken bones growing up, and some trips to the hospital.
Was not helped sooner because she lied to protect her “father”. Mother abandoned the family.
Casper has since indulged in drugs, violent fights, and violent forms of self-mutilation.
I could tell Dr. Moser was staring at me, I wasn’t that damn stupid, or blind. I’m sure he was reading what they all write down. Crazy, unstable, and just plain bat shit crazy. Dad used to say that I was like mom—how I despised that woman—I looked exactly like the damn woman. “I don’t want to.” I muttered.
“Casper you have to speak up.”
By all that was holy I hated the older man’s voice. It reminded me of him. I despised the man that was my…my…actual “father.” With his fucking bleached blonde hair, vibrant green eyes, and even more vibrant white washed skin. There is nothing—nothing—beautiful about porcelain ivory skin! Why couldn’t I have been blessed with my dad’s brown eyes? Why? I wanted to be strong looking like him.
Russet colored skin—did I mention it was practically flaw free? His eyes were big and a deep brown. Oh how pretty they looked! I at least got his hair color. A very dark brown. I wanted all of my father’s features.
You look just like him too!
I clenched my eyes shut as the memory tore into my membrane. I loved my father. I hated the man that made me. “Casper, CASPER!” My eyes snapped open.
“What?” I snapped irritably.
“We have to get this started otherwise we’ll be here all day,” the doctor sighed. Trust me buddy I feel the same damn way!
“As you wish.”
I was on my way to a new fuckin’ dungeon. The last place—a real shithole—was just too weak for me. I smirked despite my growing anger—er—depression I suppose you could call it. I always found it unnecessary that they used an ambulance to transport you. My hands were at my sides and I kept my eyes on the gray, lifeless, metallic floor. I then looked up, I caught my reflection.
Though it was distorted I could easily pick out my green eyes. Anger flared through me.
Those eyes are not eyes of mine!
I began to tremble. I felt my nails digging into my palm. I could feel one of paramedics looking at me. I began to breathe evenly; I didn’t care if I sounded stupid.
“Uh, miss? Are you alright?”
“Yes. Are were there yet?”
“Yes, we are here.” I suddenly heard my therapist say.
“Good.”
I looked up at the building. It looked like all the others I had seen in my life. Large, built with bricks, a cheesy looking garden somewhere—though this one looked like it was neglected. The only difference was that Arkham Asylum did not look as inviting as the others. That actually brought a smile to my face. For once, I’d be somewhere that didn’t look so fake. Like my mother’s boob job.
Your mother was a whore, let’s hope you don’t turn out like her Casper.
“I’m not her!” I hissed unexpectedly.
“Casper, can you stay calm enough for me to escort you to your new room?”
“Yes.” I replied calmly. And just like that my mood returned to normal. I suppose you could classify me as bi-polar. I’m not too sure. I never pay attention to what any of those fuckers say.
There were doors, doors, and did I mention even more doors? Security codes, beeps, and some alarms would sound off. Am I that dangerous? The thought brought a smirk to my face.
I then found myself in a main lobby type area. There were cushioned chairs in a circle, one chair was a different color than the rest, and I was sure that’s where they would have group talks. Why bother? Most of us are too disturbed to talk sometimes. I shrugged. I then felt my therapists hand on my back. He led me to my new room. I noticed someone else was coming up as well, he had two men on either side of him, and he had messy dirty blonde hair. “I want my phone call!” I heard the man giggle.
“He’s just arrived. Escaped earlier.” I heard one of the men mumble. For some odd reason my sense of hearing was acute.
His voice definitely sounded weird. He wouldn’t look up. I began to chuckle.
You’ll never get that phone call, buddy.
Dr. Moser stood in front of me while he unlocked the door. I sighed as the door finally opened. I stepped in and he closed the door behind me.
“Welcome home sanitarium.” I muttered.
The door suddenly opened, I looked up, and tilted my head to the side. The man that came in was a handsome one. Brunette, business attire, a pretty little face, and the most shocking blue eyes you’d ever see. “Miss Casper? Good morning. My name is Dr. Crane,” He spoke. His voice was leveled, cool, and very professional.
“Present. Pleasure,” I murmured.
“I see that Dr. Moser was not joking when he said you like to mumble a lot,” he removed his glasses and began to rub at them with a handkerchief.
“He always had to lean in to hear me,” I shrugged.
“I won’t be leaning in, Casper. Either you speak up or you get no breakfast,” he said it so matter-of-factly that it was pissing me off.
“What the fuck do you want?” I snapped. My voice rising. He smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile—it was such a nasty one.
“So you can be loud. Good to know. Follow me; I’ll lead you to the mess hall.”
I began to nervously tug at my black t-shirt. I was actually a nervous bitch—if you could honestly believe that. I hated crowds. I hated talking to people. I hated it! Hated it!
Only whores talk to so many men like that!
I flinched as another memory began to snake its way into my head. “I’m not a fucking whore!” I hissed under my breath.
“Take a seat anywhere, Casper.”
Dr. Crane left me at the round table. There were about four people sitting in the chairs, all spread apart, and I took my seat next to a blonde girl. She seemed completely tired and I said nothing. I hated talking.
No one said anything at all.
I hope they’re all mute.
♠ ♠ ♠
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