Alea Blake was insane, that’s what everybody said. It came out of nowhere according to her parents, but the many psychologists that were sent to evaluate her said that there must have been signs. But something that both her parents and therapists said was that there was no cure. So now she was trapped. Trapped in this prison for those who are already trapped in their heads.
Tap, tap, tap, she rammed her long nails against the linoleum floor, her head tilted to the side as if she was listening for something, she was.
“Hello Alea,” a small voice said, quiet and sweet it reverberated around her head.
“Hello,” she said brightly, her voice loud, her nails now silent.
“Hey!” a guard yelled from down the hall, his voice echoing around the concrete walls, “shut it!” he shouted, his inflection sounding rough compared to the fairy-like tone that belonged to the voice that seemed to float around her ear.
“Hello,” she whispered softly, knowing that the guard wouldn’t hear her anymore.
“Good evening Alea, would you like to play a game?” the voice asked playfully. Alea knew that if she could see the being that spoke to her it would be smiling.
“Okay,” she said with an excited tone, bouncing up onto her cot.
“Let’s play,” the voice whispered back. If Alea was in the right state of mind she might have noticed the sinister undertone that undercut the voice, but unfortunately, she wasn’t.
She sat in silence on her plain white cot waiting for the voice to return. She played with her long matted hair that was sitting plainly on her head, no fresh breeze to blow it around, no shampoo for her to wash it with, nobody to tell her it looked bad except for the guards who barely seemed to glance towards her unless it was to hit her round the head.
The voice came back soon after her eyes started to shutter close, “stand, stand, stand,” said the voice still sounding as melodic and bright as before. Alea stood with a grin.
One hour went by, then two, then three, and then it was the next morning. Her feet stood rooted to where they were before, a wide smile still carved onto her face.
The guard walked in a few minutes after the sun could be seen from the small crack in the walls, looking her up and down. He walked out of the small cell and down away from the hallway.
“What’s wrong?” Alea heard a voice say, male it sounded like. She quickly realized that this was the primary doctor that had to try and “fix her,” named Dr. Brown. A few moments of silence later where she was sure that the guard and Dr. Brown had stopped conversing entirely, the conversation quickly picked back up.
“There’s nothing more we can do,” Dr. Brown sighed, his voice becoming sullen and disappointed, in himself or in her Alea didn’t know.
“Should I inject the morphine so we can move her to the permanent section of the building?” she heard the guard say with an unwavering monotone.
Then there was silence, Alea still rooted to the spot that the guard last saw her, heard footsteps coming closer, and closer, until the guard stood in front of the cell. He ripped the door open and sighed with a grim smile. The guard pulled out a needle from his pocket, flicking off the orange cap and walked towards her while he did.
“Fight, fight, fight,” the twinkling voice said, the voice growing in strength with each word. Thea’s smile disappeared, erased from her face. She grabbed her hair and screamed, her putrid breath sending the guard aback for a few seconds, and a few seconds was all she needed. She slammed her arm into the guard’s throat, her actions no longer her own. The guard collapsed on the floor and clutched his neck in pain.
“Run, run, run,” the voice yelled in her ears, the sweet and kind sounding voice replaced by a voice somewhat akin to drill sergeant, so she listened. The voice murmured in her head what she thought were nonsensical nothings, “no other guards...westside...doors...run...run...RUN!” So, she ran, as fast and swift as she could to the door labeled, “WEST EXIT.” She felt the cold linoleum floor on her bare feet as ear splitting sirens and red alarms went off as she raced down the halls.
Her hands touched the cool metal of the dark green doors and she shoved them open. She paused at the exit, breathing in the fresh air and feeling the cool breeze brush against her coarse skin.
“Go!” the voice shouted in her ear not seeming very happy at the pause at the exit. Alea stopped and panted at a small brick well a few miles away from the sanitarium that had held her captive for the last two years, her hand resting upon the cool brick as she gulped in oxygen. She reached down into the well hoping to find some form of water to relieve her thirst, instead she felt a sharp sting. She pulled her hand out of the well to find blood painted on her palm. Digging her arm back into the well, carefully this time she pulled out a rusty knife. Her eyes zeroed in on her blood staining the rusted surface of the knife and grinned.
Tap, tap, tap, she rammed her long nails against the linoleum floor, her head tilted to the side as if she was listening for something, she was.
“Hello Alea,” a small voice said, quiet and sweet it reverberated around her head.
“Hello,” she said brightly, her voice loud, her nails now silent.
“Hey!” a guard yelled from down the hall, his voice echoing around the concrete walls, “shut it!” he shouted, his inflection sounding rough compared to the fairy-like tone that belonged to the voice that seemed to float around her ear.
“Hello,” she whispered softly, knowing that the guard wouldn’t hear her anymore.
“Good evening Alea, would you like to play a game?” the voice asked playfully. Alea knew that if she could see the being that spoke to her it would be smiling.
“Okay,” she said with an excited tone, bouncing up onto her cot.
“Let’s play,” the voice whispered back. If Alea was in the right state of mind she might have noticed the sinister undertone that undercut the voice, but unfortunately, she wasn’t.
She sat in silence on her plain white cot waiting for the voice to return. She played with her long matted hair that was sitting plainly on her head, no fresh breeze to blow it around, no shampoo for her to wash it with, nobody to tell her it looked bad except for the guards who barely seemed to glance towards her unless it was to hit her round the head.
The voice came back soon after her eyes started to shutter close, “stand, stand, stand,” said the voice still sounding as melodic and bright as before. Alea stood with a grin.
One hour went by, then two, then three, and then it was the next morning. Her feet stood rooted to where they were before, a wide smile still carved onto her face.
The guard walked in a few minutes after the sun could be seen from the small crack in the walls, looking her up and down. He walked out of the small cell and down away from the hallway.
“What’s wrong?” Alea heard a voice say, male it sounded like. She quickly realized that this was the primary doctor that had to try and “fix her,” named Dr. Brown. A few moments of silence later where she was sure that the guard and Dr. Brown had stopped conversing entirely, the conversation quickly picked back up.
“There’s nothing more we can do,” Dr. Brown sighed, his voice becoming sullen and disappointed, in himself or in her Alea didn’t know.
“Should I inject the morphine so we can move her to the permanent section of the building?” she heard the guard say with an unwavering monotone.
Then there was silence, Alea still rooted to the spot that the guard last saw her, heard footsteps coming closer, and closer, until the guard stood in front of the cell. He ripped the door open and sighed with a grim smile. The guard pulled out a needle from his pocket, flicking off the orange cap and walked towards her while he did.
“Fight, fight, fight,” the twinkling voice said, the voice growing in strength with each word. Thea’s smile disappeared, erased from her face. She grabbed her hair and screamed, her putrid breath sending the guard aback for a few seconds, and a few seconds was all she needed. She slammed her arm into the guard’s throat, her actions no longer her own. The guard collapsed on the floor and clutched his neck in pain.
“Run, run, run,” the voice yelled in her ears, the sweet and kind sounding voice replaced by a voice somewhat akin to drill sergeant, so she listened. The voice murmured in her head what she thought were nonsensical nothings, “no other guards...westside...doors...run...run...RUN!” So, she ran, as fast and swift as she could to the door labeled, “WEST EXIT.” She felt the cold linoleum floor on her bare feet as ear splitting sirens and red alarms went off as she raced down the halls.
Her hands touched the cool metal of the dark green doors and she shoved them open. She paused at the exit, breathing in the fresh air and feeling the cool breeze brush against her coarse skin.
“Go!” the voice shouted in her ear not seeming very happy at the pause at the exit. Alea stopped and panted at a small brick well a few miles away from the sanitarium that had held her captive for the last two years, her hand resting upon the cool brick as she gulped in oxygen. She reached down into the well hoping to find some form of water to relieve her thirst, instead she felt a sharp sting. She pulled her hand out of the well to find blood painted on her palm. Digging her arm back into the well, carefully this time she pulled out a rusty knife. Her eyes zeroed in on her blood staining the rusted surface of the knife and grinned.
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