Asylum Narrative

Entering the asylum was always drudgery, especially at its now increased frequency. Being strikingly dull and depressing, the process was ingrained in my mind. I pulled up into the visitor parking, entered through those stone cold doors, shared pleasantries with the same sallow stone lady at the desk, scanned my card to enter, and there I was, inside the deathly hole the unfortunate call home. Once inside, the corridors become long and thin. An odd odor permeated the whole facility, a scent that even my clothes smelled of now. Moreover, against the gray concrete walls stood the despicable shadows of the inmates, hiding away in their cells. My brother Andrew, was never was a happy man, but his life never truly fell apart until his spouse, Elena passed away from pancreatic cancer over two years ago. Ever since, he has been
I do not recall having gray wallpaper, nor do I remember having a toilet in the corner. Where did my framed photograph of my brother go? Where was Andrew? My pajamas were different too. I had slept in my regular clothes, unusual.
And then it struck me, not only of the realization of what my bedroom had become, but the throbbing headache had pierced my brain. Maybe it--they were calling me, Elena, Andrew, they all were. All this time! Me?! Oblivious! How could I have not acted sooner!? Andrew was the prophet of the ages! His preachings to be taken as gospel! The others possess only packs of lies! As instructed by Him I woke up and smelled the roses. It was coming, do you feel its scent? A revelation was revealed unto me.
I never thought enlightenment would come in the form of a leather belt-- especially one that grips the neck so well. Joining my brother is not only a comfort, it is a very real peace. As I write these final words I wish unto the reader to smell the roses too. The more the merrier.
Perhaps you might join us.
Sincerely