This used to be my home. Home to all of us. We walked these halls. We ate, slept, and screamed here. Me and my own fill these halls, invisible to those who reside here now. Their screams echoed with our own. Their bouts of hysterical laughter adds to our symphony of tortured, and angry souls. It is here we live, or not live. It is here we haunt, we scare, we beg to be let loose.
But they won’t let us go. They won’t allow us to leave. They have a hold on us, and we can’t seem to do anything other than continue to go crazy. The patient’s torture radiates into our own. At night we talk to them. We enter their nightmares, begging them to help us. But that doesn’t last long, their awakening screams keep us from telling them, warning them. They’ll soon join us, and we’ll start over again.
One patient sees us. Only one. A light in the darkness. A hope for escape. If she would only listen. If the doctor wouldn’t silence us. She’s in danger too, but he keeps her close. He keeps us quiet. He keeps us away. So far away, we only see a glimmer of her light. A glimmer of the hope, just out of our reach.