Our Asylums

Chapter 1

'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'. Ever heard that one before? There's also 'diamonds are a girl's best friend', but that's not the current topic of discussion. It doesn't relate to what I'm trying to say the way the first one does. 

Well, in this case, my friend is the centipede that crawls around the corner of my room. You see, my enemy is the nurses. Or 'Caretakers' as they like to be called. There are two types of Caretakers, the therapists (Nobody actually calls them that. Among the Subjects there are various names for them, i.e. Shrinks, Quacks, or Crackers), and the Attendants (Also known as Candies, short for Candy-Striper). 

The Caretakers have been after the centipedes for weeks, spraying them with chemicals, stepping on them, and putting out traps that look like a distant cousin to fly paper. 

Therefore, my enemy is the Caretakers, and the enemy of the Caretakers are the centipedes, so my closest friends are the centipedes.  

The centipede inches closer to me on the linoleum with it's million tiny little legs. Is that right? Million? How many legs do centipedes even have? 

Of course, the insects are not my only friends, I have a few others, and all of them are in the same boat as me. 

You see, I'm a Subject, I have been diagnosed as mentally unstable. You know, insane. Same as everybody else in this joint. Except for the Caretakers of course. 

I'm not sure how long I have been in this place, this asylum. All the days just kind of mesh and blur together. There are no adults. This is strictly for kids. Again, with the exception of the Caretakers. 

Anyway, back to the whole boat thing. All the other kids are also unstable. Of course, I've never thought I was insane. Or that any of the other kids were for that matter. But I guess that's what happens when you've been a certain way your whole life. You never notice that you're different. You think you are normal when, in reality, you couldn't be more different than the people surrounding you. 

A sliver of light appears directly where the centipede was not ten seconds earlier. Into my room steps a Caretaker. 

It's a female, aged around what I would say is mid thirties. Dressed in blue scrubs with a white utility belt hanging low around her waist. She's no Quack, but she's no Candy either. Of course, it's not the fact that she has embroidery stitched across her chest that reads 'Head Attendant' that points out that she is.... well.... The Head Attendant, but the way she looks at you. As if she could pick you apart and put you back together with her mind. And the worst part is she probably could. 

Her name is Anne. The first time I met her she made the connection between her name and 'Anne of Green Gables'. I, however, did not. The great thing about her name is that it's comedy gold. For example, behind her back, us kids have called her Anita Hickey, Anna Borshin, Anita Bath, and my personal favorite, Annie Position. To be honest, I came up with most of those. Some of the kids here just aren't creative. That, and for some reason I seem to have a lot of free time on my hands. 

Anne makes eye contact with me and tells me it's lunch time. Usually, I just hear the bell and go down to the cafeteria to eat, but I was placed in temporary solitary confinement, due to the fact that another party pooper Attendant overheard me call Anne 'Anya Neeze'. It was totally worth it. 

I walk down the hall and follow the sound of the muffled talking and laughing. 

"Y'know, I can't help but marvel at the color scheme you have going on here. The nice shiny white linoleum and white walls. It's almost like you are caught in a snowstorm." I tell Anne as our feet sync to each other's pace. She flips her blond hair over her shoulder and smiles sickeningly (in my opinion) sweet at me. "You really shouldn't be so snarky all the time. Remember what we discussed in group session? Focus on the positive aspects."