The Hospital

The door was locked and I’d had my nose pressed firmly against the window pane for approximately five minutes before realising that there was a sign on the other side. I read the words backwards through the glass; an experiment for the mentally distorted… the words told me to ring the bell, ring the bell and embrace melancholy. I wouldn’t keep her waiting.

The woman at the desk wore a yellow shirt and a happy smile, contrasting dangerously against the glum blue hue of the walls. I’d have torn out her throat, but blood doesn’t soak well into the leaves of potted plastic plants. Instead I took my seat and waited to be called.

The woman who collected me smelled strongly of cheap perfume, and her multi-coloured vest top lay over her crinkled skin and harmonised very closely with the yellow of her teeth. She led me through the dreary corridors, past rooms filled with silence and the told words of the agonised and afraid. Our room had no windows. The woman’s blue eyeshadow told of a dinner lady, having taken a wrong turn and having been adorned with the bright coloured clothes of the psychiatric ward of the hospital. She smiled at me and held her pen between her old, frail fingers. Today she would be serving patronisation.

Some days were worse than others. Today I was careless and fuelled with thoughts of disarray. I had been here before, a thousand times perhaps, in different rooms and with different nurses, all with a cheery smile and a chest without a heart. I was interesting if I was bleeding. Today I was only mordant.

She asked me if I had any obsessive thoughts recently. I told her that I had. She asked me if I had tried to harm myself recently. I told her that I had. She asked me if I had planned to kill myself again. I told her that I had a bag of various pills that I had collected over the years, just incase. She told me that it was dangerous to have these pills because I lived in the same house as a 12 year old. I told her that being 12 doesn’t necessarily make you an idiot, nor a master locksmith. Nor a zookeeper for that matter.

She told me that pills were dangerous. I told her that oxygen was dangerous, if you had too much of it. And water. And love. And chicken. She asked me if the television ever spoke to me, and I told her that of course it did; how else would I know what stuff to buy? She asked me if I was full of doubt, and I told her that I was mostly made up of water.

She wrote something down on her clip board and told me that she would be in touch, and to have a good day. On the way out I noticed a single real plant, with luscious green leaves in a ceramic pot. The next time I would be bringing my knife.

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About Anna

Author of the Insanity Aquarium. Current fears include time as a concept, the squishiness of my right eyeball, and not being able to open this jar.
This entry was posted in Darkness and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

52 Responses to The Hospital

  1. darkjade68 says:

    Merry Christmas Anna!

    DarkJade-

    Like

  2. sayali611 says:

    Love this piece :)
    Merry Christmas..Hope you have a good one :)

    Like

  3. Pete Howorth says:

    Something I thought you’d find amusing, I think the company I got fired from has found my blog, someone searched for the head of HR on a search engine and that brought them to my blog then I kept getting views on the posts I wrote about them about all the shit I was doing, so I password protected them all now they’re trying to search for individual post names trying to look but they can’t! Ahahaha, always one step ahead!

    Like

  4. darkjade68 says:

    Ahoy Quiet one, just a Dark Globe’s Outstanding Artist Awards Update http://thedarkglobe.wordpress.com/2011/12/22/the-quiet-ones-first-dark-globe-artist-awards-update/ with some Info. for Finalists like yourself

    Good Luck once again Anna

    DarkJade-

    Like

  5. Anne Schilde says:

    I love the answers to the questions. I love even more that you don’t have this tagged as humor. I’m not even joking when I say stuff like that. That whole exchange would make a great dialogue in a play.

    Like

    • Anna says:

      Thank you. I somtimes feel that there is a very fine line between what I consider as humor and darkness. I tend to believe that those written in humour make light of those written in darkness; the dark isn’t quite so dark when I categorise such murderous things under ‘humour’. I have a post scheduled for this Monday that should hopefully be an excellent example of that… but this one was never designed to be humourous. Any vaguely humourous parts in this tend to have developed by accident, I genuinely wanted this story to feel quite dark. And so I appreciate that you appreciate that, and I say that genuinely too :)

      Like

    • Anne Schilde says:

      You’re pretty easy to appreciate. Darkness isn’t exactly a stranger. I don’t know how I wasn’t following your blog already because I know I’ve clicked your profile before… hard to forget the hairballs. It feels like home. When I have some time, I’ll be bouncing through your older stories with great delight.

      People laugh and tell me I’m funny. I smile. It hides the fact that I want to push their tongues down their throats for laughing at me.

      Like

    • Anna says:

      You are actually fantastic. I’ve not been shoving people’s tongues down their throats for a while, but I do always carry sporks round with me… just incase.

      Like

  6. Anna, my god your writing has driven me into tears!(: I’m not sure of happiness or how much I can relate but you definately deserve to be freshly pressed.
    Keep up your beautiful writings.<3
    -Pattyn

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  7. It’s very well written, but I hope it’s not real…? I enjoyed it anyway :).

    Like

  8. Rosie says:

    Congratulations on being freshly pressed! Glad to have found you :)

    Like

  9. darkjade68 says:

    Gratz Anna, you are one of the 5 Finalists for The Dark Globe Writer of the Year Award! It’s not Quite as Cool as getting Fresh Pressed… But it’s still Pretty Cool… Head here for more Info http://thedarkglobe.wordpress.com/2011/12/20/the-dark-globe-outstanding-arist-awards-finalist/

    DarkJade-

    Like

  10. eyeLaugh says:

    are you full of doubt? no I’m mostly full of water. I chuckled!

    Like

  11. darkjade68 says:

    Congratz Anna on Being Freshly Pressed, your Work is Wicked Good, and your Success is Well Deserved

    DarkJade-

    Like

  12. Well done on getting freshly pressed Miss Anna Pants.

    Like

  13. Bothered says:

    Congratualations on being freshly pressed. I almost had a heart-attack when I saw it. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person. Good luck with all the people who will be stopping by and discovering how talented you are.

    Like

    • Anna says:

      ME TOO! I was struggling breathing :D Thank you so, so very much for all your lovely comments Bothered :)

      Like

  14. The Hook says:

    “She asked me if the television ever spoke to me, and I told her that of course it did; how else would I know what stuff to buy? The next time I would be bringing my knife.”
    Unbelievable! I’m surprised I didn’t fall over while reading this brilliant piece of venomous work!

    Like

  15. Stefan says:

    as always great –> therefore I nominated you for an award :)

    http://skww.wordpress.com/2011/12/19/versatile-blogger-award/

    Like

  16. Bothered says:

    As always-great. You have a rare and special mind and soul that intuitively sees and feels things that most of us pass by or ignore in our rush through life. This was one of your best works. I loved, “She asked me if the television ever spoke to me, and I told her that of course it did; how else would I know what stuff to buy.” I liked it because you find subtle humor in situations which aren’t always the best. I wish you well on your next visit. Take care. I look forward to my Monday, Anna fix.

    Like

    • Anna says:

      Thank you so much Bothered! Everything I write is always partially real, partially over-exaggeration… but it’s true, you do have to find humour in awful situations. We’d all go mad otherwise. Some might say insane :)

      Like

  17. Pretty good. I liked the smart arsed replied to the nurse.

    Like

  18. Pete Howorth says:

    “I told her that being 12 doesn’t necessarily make you an idiot, nor a master locksmith.”

    It did however make me a master locksmith, that’s how I escaped. Those pills never did anything to me *twitch*

    Anyway, very good my dear! As always! Deffo Writer of the Year material!

    Like

  19. Because I like to read the comments in addition to your great stories, I have a phrase you could use for the sub-title, if that’s the word for the part in paranthesis after the main book title, of your first short story book: “Insanity Aquarium” (or whatever), then (“Diabetes, Depression, and Dark, Murderous Thoughts”).
    Clunky, dumb comment, I know. Great story. You take that back about chicken though.

    Like

  20. darkjade68 says:

    An Excellent Piece Anna

    I like “She told me that pills were dangerous. I told her that oxygen was dangerous, if you had too much of it. And water. And love. And chicken.”

    and “She asked me if I was full of doubt, and I told her that I was mostly made up of water.”

    lol Bravo, very nice… Def bring the Knife… Or better yet, a Morning Star, lol

    DarkJade-

    Like

    • Anna says:

      My ninja skills aren’t all that good. I might bring a fork instead. Or a spoon. A spork?

      Like

    • darkjade68 says:

      lol, uh Spork will snap on yah, lol Oh and I think you’re thinking of a Ninja Star, a Morning Star is a bit more Medieval… You know, one of those sticks, with a chain on it, and at the end, a Metal Spikey, Heavy Ball, lol… Of course, you’ll need to bring your bigger purse

      Like

  21. I’ve experienced the dark despair of depression as well. My heart sends you love as you walk your own journey. I know how it feels to be locked in a cage, and to be trapped within the self.

    Your writings are brave, you are an Angel. I send you blessings, love and light.

    Like

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