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Schizophrenia (Updated & Revised)

By Sxmmy All Rights Reserved ©

Horror / Thriller

Blurb

His eyes met mine once more. A devilish smirk played across his lips. He tossed the razor back into the tray and slowly circled me. “Ryder, are you naturally not scared?” He spoke softly as he rounded me. I hesitantly nodded yes. There was no point in lying; I wasn’t scared easily. The mysterious teen stopped in front of me and bent down so we were face to face. The smirk was still planted on his lips. “Everyone’s scared of something. There’s no way not a single thing in this big, bad world can scare you to the point you’re screaming bloody murder,” he whispered. He stood back up and looked at the tray again. His fingers played over the razors and needles. He picked up the medicine bottle and read the label, smirking at it. I watched as he played the bottle back on the tray and picked up the sharpest knife out of the pile. He held the knife to the light, watching the light reflect off the shiny blade. He brought the blade close to my face. I tried to back myself from the blade as far as I could but he continued to bring the blade closer to me.

Chapter 1: "I would like to check my daughter into your institution ..."

Tick tock... tick tock... tick tock...

The clock moved second by second as I sat in front of a desk. I was about to be checked into Mills Mental Institution forcefully by my irritating mother. She’s always thought I’ve had schizophrenia and wanted me to get treatment as soon as she found the right place. I think my mother is the insane one here; I’ve never in my life had schizophrenia which makes me confused to where my own mother got that idea.

An older woman walked into the room and she didn’t look like the most pleased person in the world. Her dead-looking green eyes found me and soon went straight to the desk. The woman pulled out a few papers onto her desk and stared at me and my mother. This woman was quite creepy in my opinion. “How can I help you?” she asked.

My mother sat up in her chair. “I would like to check my daughter into your institution. She has schizophrenia and I’ve waited years to help her get on the right track,” my mother spoke. I rolled my eyes and sighed in annoyance. I swear my mother was the one who’s mentally unstable. She knows herself I’ve never had a symptom that nears schizophrenia so I have no clue why she’s taken this fake situation so far.

The woman began writing a few things on the paper as the ticking of the clock rolled on. I can’t believe I’m being thrown into this hole for god knows how long just because my mother thinks I need help. “What’s your daughter’s name and age?” the woman continued. I let out a quiet, bitter laugh. I’m still in shock on how this is real life.

“Ryder Bends and she’s 17-years-old.”

“And she’s not mentally unstable,” I spat.

My annoyance couldn’t be any higher than it is now. The woman filled out more information on the paper and stood up from her seat. She pointed her finger at me and signaled me to follow her. At least I would be able to get away from my mother. I followed the woman out of the room and through the institution.

I looked around and took in the new settings I’m forced to stay in. The walls were old and disgusting and the floor can’t be any dirtier. I was able to trace dust bunnies and spider webs anywhere my eyes wondered. I began to pay attention to the people who were wondering around. Not a single person looked like they were happy to be here. I don’t blame them; this seems like absolute torture.

The woman stopped in front of a door with a caged window. She opened the door and allowed me in first. My eyes wondered around the room I would be trapped in for the next god knows how long. Days, weeks, months …possibly years? Maybe this whole ‘my daughter’s schizophrenic’ idea is a plan my mother put together to get me out of her way. I mean, she’s a single mother trying to get her life back together. Why would she need to take care of a teenager who takes up room in her life?

“Someone will be here soon to set the rules straight to you and give you your assigned outfit.” The old women spoke.

Before I could say another word, she was out of the room. I wasn’t even able to catch her name! I slowly made my way to my somewhat old bed and took a seat on it. I looked around to see cracks, dents, and small smearing of blood. Shivers were thrown down my spine the more I sat in that room. Only the people who work within this building know what kind of horrifying secrets are held behind these walls.

There wasn’t even a window in my room to show a sign of the outside world. I felt like a doll in a closed out doll house. My every move was now being controlled by someone else and I had no choice but to go along with whatever was happening. I’ve always hated the feeling of being controlled, and knowing I’m going to be told what to do for a good time in my life bothers me to death.

A younger man walks into the room and is holding a raggedy, old suit in his arms. His eyes were as dead as the woman who directed me to my room. His eyes met mine and that’s when he began to speak. “I’m Anthony and I’m going to tell you the simple rules of Mills Mental Institution. First off, don’t try to buddy up with any of the workers because that never works. You won’t get out of here any sooner just because you’re being friendly to the people working here. Second, get into any trouble of any sort and you will result in a punishment. The punishment will vary on how much trouble you decided to get into. Third, always wear the suit we give you when you first enter the institution. Deciding on wearing your own clothes you’ve brought yourself will result into a different punishment. Fourth,”

By the fourth rule, I was zoned out. There were too many rules for me to comprehend and I wasn’t up for listening to the long list of rules this torture chamber had set up. Just because I was going to be stuck in this psychotic house for months on end didn’t mean I would waste my time getting myself into useless trouble. Besides, the rules were too strict to even do anything so why bother to try anything?

I was tossed the black suit and a pair of black combat boots. “You either wear these or face the consequences,” Anthony warned. He stepped out of the room and that’s when I sighed and rolled my eyes in irritation. I began to change out of my casual attire and wear the clothes that I was forced into wearing. I tossed my shirt, jeans, and sneakers to the side as I threw on the baggy black suit and tightly fitting boots.

Let the suffering begin.

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