Desolate(8)
I can’t hear anymore from him; he’s as delusional as the patients he thinks he heals.
“When will he be released?” I ask.
“Within the next twelve weeks.”
3 months later
IT’S AN ODD FEELING. INHALING the fresh clean air after being cooped up inside white rooms and halls that smell of disinfectant for so long. We were allowed outside for a time but it’s not the same when it’s fifteen feet of greenery and concrete walls keeping you hostage as far as the eye can see. Now I’m inhaling clean air as a free man, feeling it flow through my system, keeping me alive. We are such fragile creatures, dependent on such basic necessities. It irritates me that I’m as weak as any other human when it comes to dependency on basic needs air, food and water.
Looking around the greenery I feel a sense of freedom I usually only feel when I’m under the slice of a whip or ending a life. The trees sway in sync with each other, dancing to the command of the wind. It’s like looking at a hoard of concert goers all moving to music like sheep, all mimicking each other while worshipping a being with the same capabilities as them, yet they see them as kings because they play an instrument or screech into a microphone.
I’m a real king. I didn’t live my life like cattle or conform to what society tells me is right. I broke rules, manipulated with calculated plans certain people’s whole perspective of their lives, and I did so with ease. I was born with a superior genetic predisposition and all the naysayers are just ants, jealous of what they can’t understand. The Doctors letting me leave this place are so fucking pathetic and self-absorbed that they would rather think they cured me than believe I could be this lucent in my manipulation of everyone including them. Medicine, therapy, imprisonment; none of it can cure me, but they refused to believe it and so I played them. I let them believe I can reform. Urgh. I roll my neck over my shoulders, my disdain for others is already beginning to simmer and I haven’t even got outside the gate yet.
My senses are heightened, taking in everything around me. The rustling of the trees, the sweeping of the grass blowing outward in the direction I’ll exit from. All is trying to flee, the wind whispering around me, warning everything of my presence. It’s as if the world knows night has fallen with no stars to lighten the sky, only darkness remains leaking hell back upon them.
My eyes throw out the ice in my heart, freezing the air around me before melting and dispersing into the atmosphere, the ambience of the world around me altering to warn of my presence.
I’m back.
Slipping into my façade and replacing the cold demeanor that is me with the one I used to get me out of here, I smile at the people watching me from their posts. I’m free now, free from the binds of an insanity diagnosis. I’m free to live a life after taking so many. It still amazes me that they’re opening the gates for me. They really do pretend to themselves that they fix you and then they release you back into the world, back amongst your prey.
“Humanize people, Ryan,” my Doctor told me.
That was the problem; I did. Humans are weak, me included. We are slaves to our needs, our cravings, our hunger . . . and I’m so fucking hungry.
EIGHTEEN YEARS INSIDE A PRISON for the mind, and then free. People serve more for lesser crimes but I was sick, broken. Ha! I’m not sick and I’m not broken. I’m desolate, born empty lacking a soul. You can’t fix what was never broken. They believe they have though, with help from me, so now I will play that role.
The nurses helped my cause, of course, as soon as one got wet for me and let me fuck her senseless. The needy whores cannot resist a man who looks the way I do and who is, in their opinion, broken from a childhood of abuse. Melissa, a nurse who worked the night shift from the time of my incarceration, became addicted and completely dependent on my cock after I let her have at it one night. She had made doe eyes at me as soon I entered here and her affection only grew over the years. The more I played the victim of circumstance instead of the stone cold killer I am, the more she became putty in my bloodstained palms. It helped that her husband was fucking his receptionist and she felt old and ugly. A few sweet words and a good ass tapping and she became like a mewing kitten. All she wanted was to be petted. She was in charge of handing out the meds, so mine wouldn’t be checked when I pretended to swallow them. She was too busy swallowing my come to know what I was and wasn’t taking.
The fucking drugs fogged my brain for years but I soon became coherent again and my old urges and thoughts returned to me full force, like lucid dreams. I could almost touch them instead of them being in the back of my brain, banging at a steel door I couldn’t open. Seeing life through a cloudy haze, unable to grip onto anything solid or real was frustrating. That’s another form of “curing” in these places; they medicate you so high you can’t commit crimes or talk about your urges because you’re too busy drooling on your chin.