The Nightmare in My Head

I have always been the odd one out. As a child, I was looked at differently because I was taller than all the other kids. No one wanted to be friends with the giraffe of the third grade. As I grew, the voices became louder. It’s almost like your conscience but with a different voice and personality than you. They began when I was seven, my parents thought I created them because I was lonely, they were just ‘imaginary friends’.Boy, were they wrong. The first voice I had was a girl named Lydia. She was the sweetest voice I have ever had. She would make me feel better when I was down. The way I pictured her, her smile could light up the world. When I was ten, the nightmare began. He never distinguished his name to me so I decided on calling him The Reverend (in irony of course). I don’t know how he did it, but he killed Lydia. He put the image in my head and made me watch her be slaughtered and I couldn’t do anything about it. Since then, every other voice I have had besides him was brutally murdered.

It got to the point where I would cry and scream to my parents, telling them about the evil voice in my head who killed all of my other voices. Four years. For four years I cried to them. Everytime they would just shake their heads and tell me it was only my imagination running wild again. At age fourteen, they dragged me out of my home and to the hell I belong to now. Linda Vista insane asylum. They dropped me there and left. They didn’t even care to know what’s wrong with me. I was eventually diagnosed with schizophrenia. A mental disorder where there is a voice, almost like a spirit, in your head. Most of them don’t control your brain, your thoughts, but he does. Three years have passed now and I am trapped in the same day repeated over and over and over again. The same blank white walls and blank white gowns clashing harshly against the patients pasty white skin. Nothing changes, everything’s the same. It’s all about routine.

The clock ticked slowly, the only noise in the comfortable silence. I decided on leaving my room and walking around the hospital. I stood, stretching my long limbs. Since third grade nothing’s really changed. I stand now at six foot two with a lanky body. I began my walk, head down with my choppy black hair hanging in front of my face. Tired blue eyes locked to the clean tile floor
.
“Oh, Jimmy! I was just about to find you!” All of the nurses here look and act the same except for one. Her name is Rose. She treated all of the patients here like humans, instead of animals.
“Hello Rose,” I replied in my monotone with a slight lisp voice.
“Here’s your pill. Take care now,” She handed me a white dixie cup filled with slightly warm water and a little blue capsule.

Medication. Since day one they’ve drugged me on every pill they could. The blue one was the pill that’s supposed to ‘get rid of the voices’ but clearly they aren’t doing much. Sighing, I popped the pill in my mouth, taking a sip of the water. It felt nice against my dry mouth.

“I don’t know why you don’t kill her. She’s too happy for this place.” The snake like voice plagued my brain once more. The Reverend.

He was like the epitome of the devil in shorter terms. His hair was the darkest of black, his eyes the same but with blood red speckling the iris. His skin was unlike the pasty white of the patients, including me. His was the type of pale that was considered flawless, not sickly. His teeth were like that of a canine, sharp and pointed. Just add horns and a tail and he’s all set.

“Leave me alone.” I muttered, continuing to walk as his image and voice became clearer.
“Lighten up, James. You know what her fate decides, the old hag deserves it”
“Yeah, fate. You mean your sick mind? You don’t decide peoples fate.”
“You’re forgetting who controls your mind, silly boy. It’s been seven years, you think you would learn by now.” He laughed, deep tone echoing off the side of my skull. And just as fast as he appeared, he was gone.

I walked until there was no one to been seen, no one to be heard. The west wing of Linda Vista had been abandoned in the 1980’s. There was a fire and after twenty two people were killed , they closed this side down. It was blocked off but not very well. As I walked into the wing, the walls began to change. They went from paper white to light green. Chips, cracks, and burns covered the plastered wall. Ever since I discovered this place two years ago, I’ve come to visit everyday to get away from everyone else. Every room down the corridor was different. The first room is where they would keep the sick patients, the squeaky steel beds remained; sheets crumples and stained with grime and blood. The walls were the same green with black smudges that are scars from the fire. The next two rooms were the same. Same color, same design. Only their purposes were different. The first was an exam room, with one table in the middle and a poorly boarded up window. The next was another patient room.

The last room always interested me, I never noticed it until three days ago. The floors were black and white checkered tile. The walls were white but they were covered with writing from the mental patients. Dry as death...Revenge...Hollywood undead… Room 666 was always my favorite. There was nothing special in the room, it was long and narrow. The only thing in the middle of the room was a hole ridden wheelchair. It has no significance to the room whatsoever but it was just there. I stepped into the room, taking notice for the first time that this was the only room that wasn’t affected by the fire. The floor was cloaked in a blanket of dust. The room itself, had a musky, coppery smell and an eerie feeling. I ran my bony fingers over the dust covered wheelchair and sighed. Why can’t it always be this peaceful?
The I caught eyes of it. Beneath the dirt. It glinted through the light coming from the hallway. Kneeling down, I picked it up, examining the object. I smiled. I know what I can do with this and everything will be over.
“Perfect. You’ve done something right, James.” The Reverend said happily.
“Yeah, I guess I did” I tucked the object away in my pocket and left the west wing to go get some lunch.

That night, I waited until the last night walk was over. No one was in the halls. All the old nurses were sitting at their stations, sipping warm tea from their perfect china. Not a crack in them. Quietly, I stepped out of bed, flicking the bedside lamp on as I did so. I retrieved the object I found earlier from my jeans pocket. It glinted in the moonlight.

“Jimmy, are you alright?” Rose asked from outside the door.
“Kill her”
“I’m fine.”

I took the perfectly intact blade and held it in my right hand, palms sweating.

“Do it.”
“No. Tonight, the only one dying is you.” I muttered. The snake like voice laughed at me.
“You can’t get rid of me! I am part of you! I am in your head!” The Reverend boomed.

I pointed the blade towards me, tip hovering over my rapidly beating heart. I plunged the blade into my chest, feeling the warm crimson ooze from the wound. And as I slowly slipped away from the life I knew, I smiled. The nightmare was over. I can finally live in peace. No more nights and no more pain.