Shards Of Woe

Shards Of Woe Shards Of Woe

Status: Finished

Genre: Mystery and Crime

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Mystery and Crime

Summary

The plot follows Mike Adams, a thirty-two year old writer who is on the brink of insanity after events have taken his life to levels below depression which lead to his near suicide and institutionalisation. After leaving the institute, he tries to get his life back on track through therapy and also looks to uncover more of the truth into what happened to his life that he lost.

Summary

The plot follows Mike Adams, a thirty-two year old writer who is on the brink of insanity after events have taken his life to levels below depression which lead to his near suicide and institutionalisation. After leaving the institute, he tries to get his life back on track through therapy and also looks to uncover more of the truth into what happened to his life that he lost.

Chapter1 (v.1) - Shards Of Woe

Author Chapter Note

The plot follows Mike Adams, a thirty-two year old writer who is on the brink of insanity after events have taken his life to levels below depression which lead to his near suicide and institutionalisation. After leaving the institute, he tries to get his life back on track through therapy and also looks to uncover more of the truth into what happened to his life that he lost.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: October 29, 2012

Reads: 370

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: October 29, 2012

A A A

A A A

 

I – The Fruit Basket

 

I don’t know what to do anymore. I have discussed these frivolous topics constantly with these other fruit loops, all sitting in a perfect circle with the called ‘understanding’ bitch of a care worker while she explains that colours and sunshine can help you through your psychopathic episodes. But where do I fit into all this? I am not one of these guys that twitch at every slight noise that surrounds them and talk as if their balls haven’t dropped half an inch. I felt a lot like the guy in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest’, a guy who is completely normal(ish) but is stuck with a total bunch of fucknuggets who can’t even wipe your own ass without getting shit on their hands. I have suicide attempt on head, not statutory rape like the other guy. One of these fruits once told me he ‘likes dead bodies’, which just made me feel like puking up my lunch on him; sick fuck.

“So today guys, were going to be discussing everyone’s favourite colour”

Said the care worker in a tone of voice that you use when you’re playing with your child; patronising.

I fucking knew that the topic of discussion was something unbelievably ridiculous. Shame, because I was looking forward to politics and third world economies.

 

The care worker, her name was Sally. She wore a ghostly coloured lab coat, kept her black shiny hair in a pony tail and had what looked like very expensive spectacles on; she was very beautiful, but she must know that I am not exactly off my nut due to a suicide attempt. The circle of fruits began their discussion; Sally turned to the man directly on her left, he was someone you would spot on the haystack rather than bother looking through for the needle. We called him Porky Pig due to his size, his giant forehead and of course; he stuttered. I tried not to laugh when he did, because he would cry and believe me, his cries are worse than being stabbed in the skull by a junkie thinking he’s doing brain surgery.

“So Brian, what is your favourite colour?” she asked in the patronising voice.

Piggy opened his mouth to talk, also producing enough saliva to fill a bath to overflowing point while spraying particles of spit after every word said.

“Well-l-l m-m-ma’am-m, my f-f-favourite colour is b-blue” said Piggy

I looked at this guy, seeing his chin wobble like ripples in water, if it went anymore fluently, I would be under hypnosis. I wondered what he was thinking, not just him, but everyone in this fucking place. I always thought it would be some trip on acid that went too far and they couldn’t tell reality from whatever world they were in.

“Good Brian” said Sally as she slowly nodded in a patronising motion.

She went round the group; all of them saying what colour apparently give them peace, until it was my turn. She looked at me, like a predator ready to take down its prey.

“Mike, what is your favourite colour?”

I stared around the group, all of them looking at me, some with fingers in their noses or in their mouth. I felt so uncomfortable I could almost become psychopathic. I stared at Sally.

“Red” I said plainly.

“Good” she said as plainly back.

As she continued around the group, I was thinking about something my grandmother used to say to me; ‘you create your own hell on earth”. Well, hell was brought up just for me, and fucking gift wrapped.

 

It was time for some fresh air, I honestly felt like I was in the middle of a nuclear attack. The ward was the bunker and I was stuck with probable cabin fever from the claustrophobic and trapped environment; if this was the case, I would have taken a few steps outside and breathed as much nuclear radiation into my lungs as possible, self euthanasia to say the least. I drew back on my cigarette, feeling a sense of calm and ease pass through me like the nicotine. I watched the crazies walk aimlessly around the courtyard, like zombies looking for their next meal. It just made me think how the human mind can take you places against your will. Most of these guys are either schizophrenics or mentally challenged, all gathered in one big zoo where Sally was the tamer. I let the smoke make its way from my mouth on its own and watched it disappear, being hypnotised by its evaporation, but that moment of calm ceased when one the fruits walked over to me. His back was hunched and he walked with a limp, the best way to describe him would be ‘he lost a fight with a fucking freight train’

“Hey Mike, you best check your brain now and again, they will have a little implant put in your mind, they want you to nuke Brazil”

I forgot to mention, he is a paranoid schizophrenic believing E.T. is going to take him away and control him to take over the world. I doubt they’d let him out and fucking rightly so.

The bell went off and the orderlies were leading us back into the zoo. I threw the butt of my cigarette away and enjoyed the last sound of birds chirping I could.

 

9:35pm. Lights went out five minutes ago. I lay on my bed looking up at the plain ceiling, grabbing hold of the bandages on my left wrist and pressed till I felt a tingle of the old wound. I let go and placed my hands on my chest, one on top of the other and slowly started to drift off. The guy two beds down snores very loudly, which is good to be honest as it saves me waking up screaming every hour; sweating and hoping the orderlies don’t come storming in with sedative needles. Sleep is a fucking pisstake and I wish I could do without it.

 

Awake. The daily routine in the zoo did remind me of life before being here, minus the luxuries of course. I began by sitting in the canteen, watching the fruits try and feed themselves. Some of them even miss the table completely, swiping the table with their white plastic spoons and eating thin air thinking it’s a gorgeous meal. Although I will admit, the food is not too bad at all, it’s no high etiquette cuisine but it fills. Once finished in there, it’s time to participate in yet another circle session with Piggy and the others, where we all talk about different things, I will admit, I did enjoy the talk about music. Then it was an hour in the fresh air, where I can partake in the pleasures in a couple of cigarettes which seem to be my only joy in this shit hole. I really wish I had someone normal around, or at least someone who can hold a decent conversation and not about what comes out of Piggy’s fucking colon; such a graphic subject to be heard. I sat on the concrete block, watching all the zombies move around, dazed and confused, like a child in a new place, they really didn’t have a fucking clue. I held my cigarette in between my middle and ring finger, enjoying its unwonted service to me, I saw Piggy sitting on the ground playing with a beetle; he picked it up and held it for a few seconds before biting it in half. I choked on my smoke and felt anger and acrimony flow through my body, which caused me to immediately stand up and walk towards Piggy. He looked at me confused and unsure of what my intentions were; I grabbed his greasy hair and put out my cigarette underneath his eyelid. The skin was boiling and I can hear the sizzling noise that sounded like putting water on a fire. Piggy screamed with a high pitched yelp, and didn’t even try and remove me from his presence, it was the orderlies that did that.

 

I spent the night in The Cave. You know the one, the one with the padded walls and strait jacket on you. I am glad and fucked because I can get away from the fruits, but fucked cause I am alone with my thoughts. I attempted to see if these jackets were unbreakable, but their exactly what they say on the tin. I was bored, cabin fever was rising and I felt like I was in a fucking tin can. I really wanted to try and check out early again, but with what and how would I do it? So instead, I just kept saying deal with it and hope that I can get through the last two weeks without killing anyone, cause at this rate, I honestly feel like going homicidal on these pricks.

 

Two days remain until I’m out. I really can’t wait to see the back of this place. Sally came in and invited me to her office. I followed her towards the white door with non clear glass with ‘Head Nurse’ written on the door in black, bold letters. She opened the door and walked straight through to her desk. I closed the door behind her and stood still.

“Please Mike, sit down”

The room was different from the rest of the hallways; the walls were a brown and mahogany colour with different ornaments and plants on shelves all around, plus the usual and typical style of placing her degrees behind her for all to see. The chair I was to sit in was brown leather; it let out a sigh as I connected with it. Sally leaned forward and looked at me.

“So Mike, how do you feel?”

I didn’t want to answer; I just wanted to walk out and dissect Piggy and spread his entrails over the ward like Christmas decorations; but then there is no way I could leave. As in The Cave, deal with it. I took an inhale before answering a simple answer.

“I’m fine”

She nodded and interlocked her fingers together.

“So what are you going to do when you leave us?” she asked

“Go back to work. Write a new novel”

“Any ideas of what you would write about?”

“Happy romance stories that lead to sunset walks on the beach” I lied sarcastically

“Sounds delightful” she replied.

I wanted to say torture and murder of people, but those words were never said.

“Can I go now?”  I asked

“Sure” she said

I slapped the hands of the chair twice lightly before standing up and letting the leather exhale. I slammed the door slightly on the way back to the white, sterile environment.

 

The air was cold. Every exhale I made brought out a mist, plus with the cigarette smoke being exhaled, it makes a thicker and more prolonged mist, dissolving in the air a lot more slowly. I think about them a lot in these times of mesmerisation. The thought of having her hands in mine, the door creaking and the little one jumping on the bed wanting smiley faces cut through pancakes. I wish I could hold them once more, but I can’t; I never can.

 

II – Out To Doubt

 

As I walked beside Steve, the only orderly who didn’t think of me as a fruitcake, the door to freedom was yards away, but through the walk, it felt endless, as if every step forward was two steps back, constant white and sterile walls with fruits in wheelchairs clambering at them to perhaps and make their escape, or so they think. Eventually we got to the security door. Steve tapped the glass where another guard was watching the television with a coffee in his hand, he had a thin chest but a giant watermelon belly; he looked disgusting. The guy nodded at Steve and electrically opened the door by pressing an oversized red button on the console, releasing the locks and setting me free.

“Good luck buddy” said Steve

“Thanks, maybe if I see you, I’ll get you a beer”

“You’re on” Steve replied with humorous intentions

I gave him a smirk before walking through the main door. Walking outside felt weird, I felt naked and alone, like a teenager being thrown out of his house by his parents.

I whistled a taxi passing by and it parked up to the curb, he was a very muscular driver with a bald head and a red and white chequered shirt, he rolled down the window.

“Where you headed?”

“Statford Street please”

“Sure I’ll take you, hop in”

I opened the door and sat into the very tidy taxi. I slammed the door shut and just felt awkward. I haven’t spoken to a normal person in a year and I know taxi drivers enjoy small talk about your life, but I can’t really say I lived there, that I tried to kill myself and wanted to turn an overweight man into a human jigsaw puzzle.

“So you visiting someone in the hospital?” he asked me

“Yes, uhh, my mother”

“Ah, I am sorry to hear that. My old man spent his last days in there; he always used to believe that there was a spirit living there who wanted to use his skin as a suit; crazy old bastard.

“Hmmm” which is all I could say.

After about ten minutes of silence after his speech, we made it to the front of my house. He pulled up on the side and turned around to me.

“That will be fifteen please pal” he said very nicely

I passed him a twenty and told him to keep the change. He was rather pleased. I got out and put my duffel bag on and looked up at the apartment building, feeling nervous and rather hesitant about walking through. I took a deep breath and walked through the front door to the elevator, pressing the button to go up. Hearing the ding of its arrival, I walked into the brown, polished box, which felt more like a coffin with a low budget version of ’Don’t Worry, Be Happy’ being played on a shitty little organ a child would play. After what seemed like an eternity in the elevator, I made it to the front door. I had my keys in my hand and slowly turned the lock to enter. I normally expect the little one to run and shout Daddy before jumping into my arms and for her to kiss me on the cheek and asking how my day has been, but no longer. I walked through and saw the apartment bare and plain as a blank piece of paper, there was nothing to brighten up the mind or the heart. I placed the duffel bag beside the door and my mind just stopped. I didn’t know what I was doing; I just stood on the spot looking around at what was removed from the room; all the flowers, the pictures of city skylines changed to greyscale, the wedding photos, the photo’s of myself and little Dante playing on a swing, just about any photo of joyous moments were absent indefinitely from now on. All that remained in this room, was a television and a worktable with a laptop upon it where I worked and I knew that there was a bottle of whiskey within that worktable. Why not? At least it will give me some comfort before having to spill my guts to a shrink tomorrow morning.

The combination of both whiskey and cigarette smoke made my throat feel like it was under siege by Satan himself, because it was on fire. But in the midst of the burning sensation, I began to feel drowsy and fell back onto the double bed. Before passing out, I felt the cold pillow on the other side of the bed, which should have been taken right this very moment.

 

The morning was slow. I took a shower, I ate breakfast and even watched the news to see what was going on, a man was found with his spine removed downtown, a woman has ran around the world on a treadmill and children are happy to have more fun time instead of work. Weather- dry and clear, but temperatures will drop during the evening. Fair enough. The hangover I was experiencing wasn’t the worse, but it put me in the worse of moods. I was ready to snap at anything that went wrong.  I was ready to go and see this shrink, someone who will listen to my problems and get paid. I never was a big fan of them, but they tell me it’s a compulsory, fucking bureaucrats.

I went down to the garage after another round of ‘Guess the song on the kiddie organ’ in the elevator and found my Ford Explorer still pristine, the way I left. It was happy to see a sight like this. I hopped in and felt the nice leather around me again.  As I turned the key, the stereo came on, it was Dante’s CD, consisting of sing along tunes and humorous children jokes; I turned it off and removed it. I couldn’t stand that right now. I put the disc in the glove box and drove off carefully to get to this shrink on time.

 

III – Reunion

 

Arriving at this place was like going into an exam, very nervous, but it’s important, but you also feel you cannot be bothered and just want to get on with life, but I digress. I walked through the doors and saw the young and attractive receptionist sitting behind her desk. She saw me walking in and initiated her compulsory smile.

“Good morning sir, how can I help?”

“Yeah, I’m here to see Dr. Clarke”

“Your name, please sir?”

“Mike Adams”

“Okay Mr. Adams, I will just see if she is ready”

She picked up her phone and hit speed dial to Dr. Clarke. She looked up at me and smiled before looking back down at her desk.

“Dr. Clarke, Mr. Adams is here for his appointment”

She nodded at the phone.

“She’s ready for you sir, room 106 on the floor up”

“Thank you, miss”

I walked past her and towards the steps. It was a very imaginative building, colourful and mysterious, as if a child had become an architect. I found the first floor and room 106 and knocked onto the brown wooden door with golden numbers screwed in.

“Come in Mr. Adams” she shouted.

I opened the door. There sat the black haired and beautiful Sally.

“What the fuck?” I said

“Hello Mike, good to see you”

“What are you doing here?”

“I work here” she said
“As what?” I asked with an extreme ‘need to know’ tone

“Your psychiatrist, I personally wanted to treat you”

“I’m fucking flattered”

“Please Mike, sit down” she said politely.

I walked into the room; the chairs were once again leather, but this time a creamy colour. She was also in one with a table and the opposite chair in front of her. The table had the typical container of tissues for those tearful bastards complaining of their abusive partners or fucked up kids. Again, the chair let out a cry for help when I sat on it.

“So Mike, tell me why your here” she asked.

“Are you sure you really want to know? I thought psychiatry was all about finding out my childhood and realising where the problem lies, but I am sure you know that part”

“Yes Mike, I am aware of that. But I do know nothing about your childhood. Anything you’d like to share?” she asked intriguingly

“My father was Irish, never met my mother because she committed suicide over my father’s abuse and alcoholism, which is a typical Irish trait. He died when I was fourteen years old, he began a bar fight and someone cut him open, letting his intestine spill out, which was what I heard. I was brought up by an elderly couple and they helped me go to college where I studied English Literature and Media Studies. That is my childhood in a nutshell”

“And you became a writer after?”

“Yeah, I wrote my first book at twenty five. A woman had an affair with a writer and he wrote about it as a journal”

“I read it when you were committed. Rather explicit” she said as if she were a critic

“You should never be afraid to speak your mind, even with explicit language”

“I guess your right”

She seemed to be writing what I was saying on the notepad she had. Like a cop taking a witness statement.

“So, can you tell me why you were committed?” she asked upfront.

“Don’t you already know this?” I asked with some confusion

“Yes. But I want to hear you speak about it”

I am not sure what she’s hoping to gain here, but I played along, hacking whatever courage I had to say the words she wanted to hear.

“Because I tried to kill myself”

“And why did you try and kill yourself?”

“Because of Gareth Lynch”

She looked at me. As if I told her the cure for cancer, with shock and interest on her face. I have never told anyone this.

“Who’s Gareth Lynch?” she asked

“He’s the man – who murdered my wife and my child”.

 

 


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