The knife falls as I am pushed from my slumber, a dream, sweat coating my brow and the white shift covering me. Glancing around the room trying to remember, why was I here? The walls white, padded, with padded gray bolts holding it down in places. I could smell the medicine, the sickness, and death around me. The smell of a hospital, I hated hospitals.
Standing on unsteady feet, shaking my right leg to wake up my errant foot, a small shiver creeps up my spine from the ever present draft in the room. The door seems imposing, i know its locked, I just want to go. I have things that need to be done.
I glance furtively to the small barred window near the bed and stare out for a moment, freedom, it was almost a impossible thought anymore. The weight set in again, I just wanted to go home, couldn't they let me go home?
A click behind me in the lock, turning quickly to face the intruder, an elderly woman, I\'d seen her before, she delivered my food, and my medicines, and took me to see the doctor. Today it seemed it was time to see the doctor. Medicine taken, her voice was faraway, I didn't want to see her, but the doctor he could get me out of here.
She was a bit of a dullard, her eyes almost vacant and empty, they lacked almost any drive or desire for life. Typical, she hated her life and had given up, but i hadn't and wouldn't let them force me too. The leather cuffs went on easily, an orderly came in, a younger man, but he had that same dull distant look of the nurse. Their voices were always slow and soothing, like you would speak to a small child, I didn't like speaking to them, and wouldn't give them the satisfaction of such, ignorant sods.
The trip to the doctor's office was uneventful, I knew this was a crazy home, I saw them, everyday, the crazy people. They shouted, and argued over petty things like children, they could not honestly think I was crazy like them. The doctor would greet me as always, his look tired, and almost strained.
"You have no response to the therapy," he would say, in the same slow, soothing voice, the therapy he spoke of involved a woman who would tell me ridiculous things. A woman trying to convince me i was crazy.
"Do you understand that you killed your family? Murdered them while they slept," he was as insane as her, I would never hurt my child, or husband.
"I murdered no one," my look incredulous trying to convey to him the true insanity of his words, "I just want to go home to my family."
A sigh, it was always a sigh, but this time he pulled something from his desk, a manila file folder. The world slowed down as he opened the folder, the pictures were graphic, horrific, he showed me my child, and my husband murdered and covered in gore. It all went black then, I woke up, I'm not sure how much later, strapped to my bed, I couldn't remember, at least at first it was a blur. But the memory slowly came back. I had visited the doctor's office, and he showed me some horrific pictures, of what i could not remember, but my memory of what transgressed after that was blank as well as how i arrived here.
The nurse walked in, i at first noticed her sad eyes had turn almost angry, she gave me my shot, and stared at me incredulously for a moment. "How could you, you killed him," her voice shook, and i could tell she was afraid.
Confusion filled me, killed someone I hadn't killed anyone, "I didn't kill anyone." She walked away my voice screaming behind her, "I didn't kill anyone, you have to believe me." Tear falling hotly down the cheeks, I just want to go home.