The New Guard

He felt an odd sensation come over him as he walked in. Something like swimming in the sea alone.

Welcome. My name is Gary Peirce. I am the head guard here, I’ll be showing you the ropes today.

He extends his arm towards Joseph.

How do you know I’m the new guard?

Shaking his hand.

By the simple fact that you’re not being escorted in, and I doubt you’re a visitor. Alright, let’s get to it.

Joseph follows behind as Gary leads him through the building informing him with what to do. Gary well points out how to work with the patients and how to deal with them if they just so happen to step out of line. While on his little tour Joseph peeps into the rooms of the patients all of who strike him as nail bitingly creepy.

All patients should be checked on every hour for a few moments to make sure that nothing is wrong. Some patients are required to take medication. During the time medication is being administered you may possibly be needed to hold a patient down. Are there any questions that you might have at this point?

Right then Joseph turns his attention to one of the patients. Watching him as he sleeps crouched on the floor in the corner of his room.

Yeah, what’s the deal with this guy? He doesn’t look like he should be here, he seems pretty harmless.

Gary, rubbing the back of his neck before crossing his arms.

He’s been here for just over a year now. And you’re right. He’s pretty well-behaved. Now, that is. The reason he’s here is because one night the guy went bonkers and whacked, well, killed his wife. Well, the courts found him unstable and sent him here while his son was sent to a foster home.


Joseph continues to stare.

Yeah but he should be getting out of here at some point. He’s actually a good guy. Anyways, let’s continue. I still have a few things to show you.



That’s Why, Mr. Roflived

After a month he was still stunned as if it happened yesterday. The question why echoed in his head bouncing back and forth against the barriers and walls as he does. The question always being filtered by the facts but, in the end, nothing comes out. it just gets looped inside the filter. Every day so far has been dipped in torture, sprinkled with pain, washed in a field of electrical volts. He’s not at all the man he used to be. He was once strong, proud and well-respected for his character. Now he tends to often shake uncontrollably and stare without blinking f or hours. Not much is said but he usually make some type of sound ranging from quiet whimpers to screeches of agony. And every now and then, a chuckle. His condition was similar to a grape half-dried in the sun. It’s funny how a question can be so crippling.


He had been screaming for over two hours. It was the same word, which riddled him so. Inside his head angels were choking devils as the devils clawed at their faces. Cats chased dogs, mice killed cats and the birds just watched. It was this chaos that filled one of the cages in his mind. He blinked and his cheeks rose. Something clicked. His screams morphed into laughter as he rejoiced in his own words.


Dream Of  The Savior

What was that?

She turned reaching over to her husband who laid undisturbed. She peeled away, pulling covers, poking her legs out from the edge of the bed where they dangled. Slowly creeping from the bedroom out the door and through the short hall. Inching down the staircase to investigate. Looking toward the window where the curtains whispered, she stopped for a second. she clutched herself tightly as she came forth steering towards the living room as her husband, in the comfort of their bed, tossed and turned to the dream he was experiencing.

First he saw the red curtains melt against the wall like wax down candles. Light turning to darkness, darkness turning to light. The floor beneath him turned from warm wood to cold dirt. The doors disappeared from their original positions and new ones appeared. Walking toward the first one it seemed to run away with any movement he made. There were two other doors. One was glowing with a bright light beaming from the frame. the door itself was steel and carried an odd echo of silence. Once through the door his clothes changed into a white gown, well-attired shoes, and clipboard in his hand. It was just one long hall with white walls and a glossy shine to it. He walked down only to feed his curiosity. As he travelled forward the echo got louder and soon enough it became a recognizable noise. Then it stopped and so did he. Turning to his side he could see a reflection of himself off a glass window. As he neared the window he could see a room full of newborn babies. All of them sleeping under gray blankets. Their arms tied to their sides and their heads in one end of handcuffs while the other end was clamped to the little cribs that they were in. He backed off, turned, and there was the door.  He returned to the original room. But upon his return the walls were set aflame and the floor was covered in snow. The third door was all white with a pasty look to it. Walking through it he felt much stronger and lively. All that was behind this door was a tall black staircase that looked as if it never ended. He had only shorts on. The floorboards squeaked with every step he took. The higher he got the bigger the steps became. Climbing over the last step he reached the top to find a portrait of his wife and him holding hands together but not as adults, as children. As he stared at the portrait they both began to age. He watched as he saw himself wrinkle and turn gray but he noticed that his wife had stopped aging. He turned and staircase wasn’t there anymore, just the door. He went through to the original room which was now completely black. The first door had disappeared.


He heard her screaming for him. Springing forth from beneath the sheets he sputtered towards the dresser next to the wall, right of the bed. Frantically going through the drawers. He ran down the stairs, unleashing fury without a glimpse. He dropped the gun and ran over to his wife lifting her soul less body, streams formed down his cheeks as his jaw gaped. All he could hear were the cries of little Kyle upstairs in his crib.



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