These blue eyes- Jasmine

Jasmine

February 17, 2012

            “Granted; I am an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there’s a peephole in the door, and my keeper’s eyes is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me.”

The blue eyes of a young girl who watched her mother die slowly. Let me tell you how I got here and why I can’t stand life. It all started on a snowy morning when I was only 18 years old, my mother had made me breakfast and I was laying in bed watching the snow fall. It was only me and my mother that day and I was glad that my father was gone for good, I hated the man, and he was no good and never loved mama. I though nothing could ruin this day but boy was I wrong. Finally I got out of bed when I heard mama yell “Lily” I rushed downstairs smelling the smell of bacon and eggs. Mama always made the best food and she was such a good mother too, oh how I loved her. Mama has always been there for me ever since she gave birth to me, dad on the other hand never cared about me, I was always a shadow to me at first it bothered me that my own father didn’t love me but after I turned ten I started not to care anymore. None of that mattered now my father was gone and I was so happy that it was only me and mama. When I finished my food I told mama I was heading out with my friends for a while and mama begin mama told me to be careful and come home around five, of course I didn’t understood why mama always worried about me, I was the only person she had and she was the only person I had. Before I went out I kissed mama on the cheek and promised her to be back at five on the dot then graded my coat and left. I walked over to my friend’s house and stayed there for a good two hours before we decided to go to the mall. It was around three clock when we got there and we walked around for a while just talking till four clock hit and I told my friends I had to get home soon. So we said our goodbyes and I headed toward home. When I got to the porch I heard yelling and crying I got scared and though of calling the cops but by the time they got here I’m afraid things would have gone way out of control. I busted through the front door and I saw my mother on the floor her hand on her cheek and she was crying I looked over to the opposite side and I saw my father. At that moment I hated him with all my heart and I wished I could have killed him but I didn’t know how to. It didn’t stop though I ran over to hit him but he graded my arms and pushed me onto the couch and yelled at me to stay out of the way. I had never felt more fear in my life. My mother was on her feet now and she tried to hit my father the hardest she took but missed and then the worst thing possible happened, my mother was bleeding. My father had a knife in his hand and had stabbed my mother. I wished I was just having a terrible nightmare but it wasn’t it was real especially when the police sirens were in hearing distance and I knew my father wouldn’t be here any longer. I ran over to my bleeding mother and tried to stop the blood with my scarf but it didn’t work. The police came and as I knew my father ran out the back door, the police ran after him but I didn’t move away from my mother even when the police told me to step back so they told get her to the hospital. The police offered to take me to the hospital but I couldn’t bring myself to face my mother in the pain she was in. The police drove off with my mother and I was home alone. I wondered if the police had caught my father, I hope so, and I hope he rotes in jail, I hated him forever now. I spent the week at home doing nothing but staring out the window. I still had hoped that my mother would come back alive but as more days passed by I kept losing more hope. One day the hospital called and I rushed to answer the phone it was the doctor and he sounded soft and low, he told me that my mother the only one person who`s been there for me since day one was gone, passed away. Without saying goodbye I hung up the phone and sat at the couch, I didn’t cry anymore my tears had dissolved a while ago. My heart was already numb from the pain. I didn’t eat or sleep or doing anything for the next two weeks, expect lay in bed just thinking. Soon I realized that life wasn’t worth living without my mother here and I knew I couldn’t stand the pain any longer so I started cutting. At first I started with my arms to feel pain then I started at my legs, finally to my wrists. The cuts weren’t deep enough to bleed out completely but just enough to feel the pain. The pain I had been holding in for weeks, finally I felt something other than pain maybe it was control that I could cut any time I needed to. I heard of stories about from other teens that had cut themselves but I didn’t really worry about it, I knew I had control over it. Soon my cutting got worst but still I didn’t worry I thought it was just a phase and that it will be over soon even though I didn’t want it to be. Then that day came when I finally cut myself to deep and the blood wouldn’t stop dripping out and I felt myself faint slowly, and it was at that moment that my friend had passed by out of all the time, she chose to help me now. I was mad when the hospital told me that I couldn’t \go home and when they made me stay at a mental hospital I thought I was perfectly fine. Now I don’t mind it here that much, I actually feel safe and everyone is very nice here including my keeper as I like to call him.

                                                                                                                               

Ashmont ST.

   The memories I had at my old house I always wish I could get back. Even if only for a day I would love to just relive the memories from one day I spent there. When I was little I literally lived downstairs with my Papa and my Auntie Mary. I hardly ever was upstairs in my actual house, I was either outside in my backyard or downstairs with my Papa. We used to do everything together. I would read to him all the time, or I remember we would always watch the Bill Cosby stand-up comedy show together, and just laugh and laugh all day at everything he said.
   Unlike my mother, my Papa would literally give me anything I wanted I remember to this day, he had the red and green peppermint candies in the cabinet, and macadamia nuts. The randomest combination you could ever think of, but I looked forward to it every time. I miss him more and more each day, but these memories just keep his memory even more alive to me.
   My favorite memory I have of my Papa is the box of jewelry he kept in his bedroom. The jewelry was all old costume jewelry that belonged to my Nana before she died, but he still kept around in her memory. My Papa used to sit in the chair in the living room, and let me put every single necklace on him that was in the jewelry box. Not only was he wearing at least ten necklaces, if not more I put every single ring on him that was in the box, even if I had to double up on one finger, and I even put clip-on earrings on him too. I was so little then, and he looked so silly, but he never made me stop once, and even laughed along as I put all Nana's old costume jewelry on him. That's my favorite memory I have of downstairs, and every time I think of the downstairs apartment of my old home, I'll always think of my Papa and the costume jewelry. 


-Courtney

Mental

Granted; I am an inmate of a mental hospital, my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sigh; there is a peephole in the door, and my keeper’s eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me.  I thought to myself. He stares making sure I won’t do anything reckless I guess. But I have never been reckless. At least, not here. I didn’t do anything wrong in my eyes. My stepfather was trying to rape my little 9 year old sister. When I tried to save her he got mad and took me instead. I was 13 at the time. My mother was at the hospital with cancer. After he was done with me, I tried to run away with my sister. As I was packing, he tried to shoot me with his shotgun. He got my sister instead. He shot here in the stomach. I tried to save her but what was I to do. I didn’t know how to save a life. She couldn't bare the pain. She started choking on her own blood. I held her in my arms and started crying. I had to be strong for my sister. I got up determined to murder him. He dropped the gun. I grabbed it and tried to shoot him. The police where in the room before I could even breathe. “I don’t know what’s wrong with, and shot her sister. She killed my stepdaughter!” He said attempting to cry. I was so appalled that he had the nerve to kill my sister and blame it on me. I was still crying really hard from sister’s passing. I was in questioning for hours and hours every day after school since that night. Everyone thought I did it, even my mother. They all tried to blame it on the fact that I was drinking that night and I was in a state of depression because of my mother being in the hospital with cancer. I hated my mother after that day. I only live for my sister.

            My keeper continues to stare. Although he was on everyone else’s side, I knew he knew I was telling the truth. Inside he could feel it. I can see him try to read me. It was tough for him because I never showed any emotion. Trust me I had a lot of emotion. I just didn’t feel like showing it to the world. He deserves to die and I will make sure that happens. I just have to get rid of my keeper. I have to think of a way to distract him. Suddenly, there was really loud beep. It was lunch time. I went down to the lunch room in my hideous white jumpsuit. I sat down at one of the tables. Being in here for so long made me realized that half the people in this place weren’t even fanatical. They were just caught in bad situations. I feel for them, but that does not make me like them. Everyone in here was crazy, including the guards and doctors, but not all of them were insane.

            I’m eighteen now. I could be doing something productive in my life. I could be fulfilling my dreams and ambitions. I could have gone to college. I wanted to go to Penn State University. I wanted to be a writer. I could have fallen in love. I always wanted to fall in love. My only love right now is getting out of here. Why do I really want to get out of here? Who will want me, hire me, or love me. I’m tired of second guessing myself. I want try. At least try. When I escape I don’t have live on the streets. I could go anywhere. I could go India, Brazil, England, Japan, and Afghanistan.  Thinking about it makes me upset because all the things I could do and be, but then I remember I’m still here. What can I do, and how can I do it.

            “Ingrid. It’s time to go back to your room.” My keeper said, as he took a hold of my arm. As we walked back, I conspired a plan. I just realized that I didn’t even know his name. “Hey, what’s your name?” He looked at me with a tough look. “William.” He said with his deep voice. I nodded. “Do you have a wife?” I asked half curious. “No.” he said blankly. “Any kids?” He stopped dead in his tracks. He squeezed my arm tighter. When he looked at me, his strong brown blue eyes stared at mine, burning a hole in my face. That was obviously a rough subject for him. His hold on me loosened. He mumbled something. I looked at his features. He had a nice nose, slightly big ears, and a strong jaw. His skin was dark, like chocolate. I looked at his hand on my arm. It complimented my cold, pale skin. Before I knew it he started walking again. He almost pushed me in my room. After I got in the bed, I fell asleep.

            Ever since that day we talked a little more every time as he walked me to my room. I learned that he used to be married. She killed herself. He never wanted to tell me her name. He had two children; girls. His last name was Edwardson. I liked it. One day we were talking about everything and nothing in the cafeteria. He told me I was beautiful. I knew I was in. I had him totally rapped around my finger. Just like I used to do to daddy before he ran away. Maybe that’s why he left us, maybe he ran away. Oh well. All I know is that my plan is working. I leaned in to kiss him. Surprisingly, he leaned forward. Who knew guys were so vulnerable? When his lips touched mine I took a butter knife that was on the table and I stated whaling on him. I keep stabbing him, trying to be as quiet as possible. He didn’t make much noise either, probably from the shock. I was never a murderer. I never thought I would. Eventually he died, with what seemed like forever. I apologized to him a thousand times in whatever was left in my heart. I knew the cameras saw, but the guards were idiots, they probably haven’t seen it yet. I took his keys and ran. It was too easy. Once I got out, they finally started trying to get after me. I was long gone. It was time for me start fresh. All I had was a head full of knowledge and half a heart. -Rohmee M.

The Mental Patient

“Granted: I am an inmate of a mental hospital, my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there’s a peephole in the door, and my keeper’s eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue- eyed type like me. My name is Jonathan Marks, I am 17 years old, I’ve been in this place since I was 15 years old. Don’t ask me the reason for why I’m here, you wouldn’t want to know, and if you asked anyone else in this place, they’ll just say that nothing’s wrong and run away. You’d waste your time on that one. But I will tell you who sent me here though, that’s a real Lifetime movie if I ever saw one. I was sent here because of my darling mother, who had me when she was the ripe old age of 18, she got rid of me when she found out that there was actually work involved in taking care of a baby. When she found out the harsh reality of mother hood, she decided that she could handle it, so she sent me off the foster care system when I was only four and half, five years old. Don’t get me wrong she was probably a niece lady, but you see I wouldn’t know and all. Anyways I was sent away to foster care when I was about five years old, and so far in my life I’ve had up to seven foster families. So you could tell that the love for me was always there and so was a big dollar sign hanging over my head. So much that I practically raised myself. And you can come to the understanding of how well that turned out. The last foster family that I had, the Jankonson’s, they had about, eight or ten foster kids, and when they heard that they were going to get an eleventh, well you could just imagine their happiness, with the added bonus to their government checks, food stamps and all that glamorous kind of stuff. Anyways they’re the ones who sent me here, can you imagine? Like I said don’t ask me the reason for why I’m here.” I said to a reporter, who was at the hospital documenting the life of mental patients, I hope she caught on to my sarcasm when I was talking about my mom and my foster family.

I didn’t mean to freak her out, but it just seemed so easy. I mean how could you not. Here is this random reporter/ journalist person from the most random of newspapers, magazines, blog, or whatever, coming to document the life of a “mental” patient at a “mental” hospital, how could you not freak someone out.  You could just say hello with a real big smile on your face and you’d freak someone out. To be honest it was kind of funny, like I said once I finished talking, she paused, looking at me with the widest eyes in the world, almost as if they were going to bug out of her head, I saw she was completely freaked out when I told her not to ask me the reason for why I’m here. Like I said it was kind of easy freaking her out.

Then she realized that she was staring at me and snapped back into reality, well her reality. My reality is this mental home, but her reality is to get out of this mental home as fast as she can. She clicked her pen closed, oh lord I always hated the sound of clicking pens, it always made me cringe. Like I said she clicked her pen closed, then looked down at her notes, stared at them for a second, looked up and quickly closed her spiral notebook. It was the fastest that I had ever seen someone close a notebook that fast, it kind of made my jump back in my seat a little. Then I asked her “Is that all you wanted to know? Did you get everything?” The reporter lady moved her chair, got up and walked over to the door. She knocked twice and my keeper opened the door to let her out. Once the door closed behind them, I got up out of my chair and walked over to the door, and looked through the peep hole. I could see them talking, the reporter looked pretty frazzled, as if she hadn’t realized that she was going to be locked in the room with a convicted “mental” teenager. Anyways as I looked out through the peep hole I could see my keeper. Even when he was talking to someone else he still managed to give me one of those looks that only a zoo keeper could give to a pathetic animal, which was me.

He was the most  aggravating and annoying person I had ever met, he was always around like I was one of those stray dogs that always followed you. He was always watching to make sure that I didn’t do anything wrong. But how the hell could I? I’m in a MENTAL HOSPITAL, for crying out loud, there isn’t much you can do. The highlight of my time here has been beating some kid in checkers. But like I said he was always around, he was like one of those flies. You know the ones that are always flying and buzzing around you, and every time you just deal with it, ignoring it, hoping it will go away. But then it gets to be too much of an annoyance you just want to get a fly swatter and, SPLAT, the flying buzzing pest is gone. If only it were possible, and if it were you’d need a huge fly swatter.

Then while I was still looking for a peep hole, I could see the reporter lady walk back to the door. I quickly jump back into my seat as if I had never moved. When she entered the room, she walked over to her chair, clicked her pen back open, opened her spiral notebook, and began “Jonathan, it’s been nice talking to you, I have everything I need for my blog, but the one thing that would make it an even amazing story, is if you told me the reason why you were here”.

I just looked at her and kind of laughed a little under my breath, then I said “Okay, fine I’ll tell you. Alright so the reason why I’m here is because I’m a pathological liar. My mother did send me here, but only on account of her own benefit. She said that I did something, then the cops came to my house, I tried to explain my innocence, but she just kept ranting and raving that I was a pathological liar. And so everything that I had told you before was a lie. So you have no reason to believe me”. I said with a smirk on my face then I said again “Did you get everything you needed this time?”

She looked at me with that freaked out, wide-eyed stare, again. She nodded her head, clicked her pen, closed her spiral notebook, and walked out the door. I think she kind of felt fooled, but hey, that’s not my fault. She came into a mental hospital, and talked to a patient, what did she think it was going to be filled with? Some normal people just hanging around a hospital for fun? She didn’t have a clue, but if you’re wondering if what I said to her was true, well it was, well sort of. Like I said I’m a pathological liar, in a mental home, you guess if I’m telling the truth.

misunderstood

Granted: I am an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of sight; there’s a peephole in the door, and my keeper’s eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me. It’s not like I deserve to be here. He deserved, so I thought. I hated looking back at the day, but I couldn’t help it.

Everything had been going well and my life was perfect, well almost. I had a decent group of friends, good grades, and David. David was the new guy I had been talking to and for once I actually liked someone.

We were all out together one day, me, him and all of our friends. I hadn’t known him that long which is why we weren’t official yet. We were at dinner, he paid for me, held doors opens, and all that cheesy stuff. He understood me, I guess that’s why I really liked him.

He paid for the bill and I said bye to all my friends. I got in his car, a black Honda Corolla, I remember it clearly.

 “Where are we going?” I asked him because it didn’t seem like he was taking me the normal way home. “There’s someone who wants to meet you” he replied.

 It must be his mom, I thought. It was a little early for all this, but I didn’t bother to question it.

We pulled up to his house, which I had never been to. It looked really dark. Either there was no one home or everyone was asleep. I checked the time as he walked me inside; it was ten-o-clock. There was definitely no one here.

“What are we doing?” I asked him. “I just thought we could use some alone time” he replied, “Plus my mom will be home soon and she’s been dying to meet you.”

I don’t know what came over me at that given moment, but I started having flashbacks. My uncle had raped me as child. I was only ten and he had taken advantage of me. I guess I had thought David might do the same, so when he reached out to touch me I began kicking and screaming. I couldn’t stop myself. This is why I hadn’t gotten close to any other male ever since, including my father.

“NOOO” I screamed.

David looked concerned and to be perfectly honest he seemed scared. He tried to stop me and that made matters worse. Before I knew blood was splattered everywhere, his mom and little sister came home and called the police. I remember their screams the most; I even hear them in my dreams. I had killed him with a kitchen knife, and now here I am. You see I’m not crazy, just misunderstood. -Breanne

City of Glass Prompt

Kailene Power

Mrs Smith

Creative Writing

17 February 2012

Granted: I am an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there's a peephole in the door, and my keeper's eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me. I’m not even crazy. I was just accused so I’m stuck in here. How is a so-called crazy person supposed to prove they aren’t crazy? It’s pretty much impossible. Like who do I go to? How do I know if I tell someone something they won’t tell my supervisor and my supervisor won’t put in in my chart- making me look more crazy. I don’t get visitors, I don’t get attention. I just get a simple meal passed through the door twice a day. I mean the food is pretty good, but it’s no tenderloin steak or delicious creamy broccoli soup. It’s plain beef patties with rice or boiled chicken with mixed veg. Breakfast is usually some fruit and yogurt but if they get donations they will occasionally give us pastries. I don’t like pastries so it’s no big deal but still, very plain.

My fiance, I haven't seen since 2 days before I got put in here, and my mother is dead, so you can only guess who put me in here- my father. Just because I got frustrated a lot and had my own beliefs meant I was crazy. I believed he drove my mother to kill herself and I believed he should have been the one that died. So that makes me crazy. I would take pictures of the stars and night animals and things. So that makes me crazy. I would yell if he wouldn’t listen to me. So that makes me crazy.

He gave no signal that he was bringing me here, he told me he was bringing me to a place I could open up more about what I believe in. He lied. He brought me to this place, where it would be impossible to escape. None of the rest of my family knows I am here, so it’s not like I can ask them to come visit. I’ve been away from home for the past 17 days. All I wonder is what my beloved is thinking, and my cousins and aunts. Do they think I bailed? Do they think I got killed? What is my father telling them? Why did he even do this? I’m 21, I shouldn’t be forced to be checked in somewhere against my will. I should have been the one to decide if I wanted to sign those papers or not. But since I’m “crazy” I had no say.

I’ve been on good behavior, not really talking much in my cell, only manners, but I have a lot to say. I’m not crazy, my father just wanted me here to be out of his way in case people found out about him driving my mother to kill herself. She was already clinically depressed and he made it worse. Told her she was getting ugly from being sad all the time. Told her she needed to do her motherly deeds for me and my little sister, Emmie. It was his fault she actually went ahead and killed herself. Normals husbands, like how I would have been, would comfort her and tell her she was still beautiful and should cheer up and be happy with each other and the family.

Ugh, the husband I could have been.. it’s been 17 long days without my beautiful fiance, Guineva. I hope I get out of here soon so I can hold her again. If she ever even believes me or forgives me for being away. I wonder if she had given up on me coming back. I hope not.

Even my father doesn’t visit me. He had the nerve to put me in here but won’t even tell me what’s going on back home. He’s definitely telling them I ran away and was a coward and that I was scared of getting married. He’ll do anything to get rid of me. I don’t get it.

1 WEEK LATER

Oh my god.. He killed her. He actually KILLED her. Yup my father, he killed my fiance. And he’s blaming it on me. He must have done it the day or day before he checked me in here because she’s been dead long enough for them to think it was me.  My keeper told me the other day and I’ve had meetings ever since. Apparently there was evidence stating I was the killer. Now they want to give me the death sentence. But I didn’t do it! I love my wife so dearly. I would never harm her- emotionally or physically. I haven't been in my cell so I haven't been able to write, but today is the execution. In four hours they will be setting up the space. In six hours I will have my last meal. In seven to eight hours I will be dead. My death will be brought on by three injections. The first one knocks me unconscious after a few seconds. The other one relaxes all of my body, including my diaphragm. The third stops my heart. I would be more worked up about this but my one true love, my fiance, is dead. I would want to prove I didn’t do it, but I am the one in the mental institute not my father. This is the last time you will hear from me.

If anyone finds this, please get somebody to arrest my father. It was him, not me. Goodbye.

A few weeks later when a new patient was checked into the facility and the nurses were cleaning the room, the journal was found. Max’s grave was honored instead of shunned and his father was arrested, put on trial, and executed.

The Accident.

   The rain beat hard on the window pane. She watched and waited. She wondered if they'd ever get home. Ever since the phone call Jamie's dad got a half hour ago all Jamie could do was just sit on the window sill and watch for any sign of headlights of a car coming up the driveway. She had her phone sitting right next to her in case anyone should need to call her. She couldn't believe this was actually happening to her family. She'd only seen things like this in a movie, or read it in a book, she never thought it'd hit home like this. Thirty minutes ago Jamie's dad, Mike got a phone call from Norfolk County Hospital saying that her mom, Carol had gotten into a car accident.
   Carol was trying to rush home from work, she had to stay after for a little while longer than she expected at the office, and it was Tommy's birthday today. Jamie's little brother was turning three years old, and Carol wanted to make it home as quick as she could. The weather made it hard for her to see, and apparently a car came around the bend, lost control of the brakes, and banged Carol's car head on. Mike was on his way to the hospital now, not telling Jamie if the injuries were fatal or not, in fact she wasn't even sure her dad even knew how bad the injuries were, himself. Jamie had begged to be allowed to go with him, but someone had to stay home with Tommy, and it was probably best she didn't see her mother in whatever condition she was in now. She wasn't sure she could handle it, and felt bad for her dad who had to go in alone. 
   All of a sudden Jamie heard the engine of her dad's sedan coming up the drive. He was home! Jamie raced down the stairs to find out what happened as soon as possible. Her dad came in, a weary look on his face. He removed his rain jacket, and shoes. "We should probably sit down," he said to her motioning towards the couch. Jamie found out that her mom only had minor injuries, a broken arm, and a huge gash on her forehead that could be fixed with stitches. She would be home in a week with a cast, and would be able to recover completely. Immediately Jamie relaxed once hearing the good news, and went upstairs to check on Tommy. It would be a good birthday after all.


-Courtney