Why I Went To The Asylum

Part 2

I'm stuck here, for the rest of my life. The nurses and doctors look at me like they're in a zoo, watching the helpless wild animals in chains. I'm not mad. I haven't lost my sanity yet.

They tell me I'm a murderer. But I'm not. I didn't kill anyone, but I preferred to keep it to myself. If I tell them, they will keep me and torture me with those freaky helmets and electric shocks.

I didn't kill anyone. They tell me I have killed my own father, but I didn't. I was framed. It was my brother. I watched him as he slit my father's throat. The blood splattering the walls and the windows, painting everything in red. He looked at me when I was looking at what he had done with wide eyes. He brought the bloody knife he killed my father with near my neck. "You didn't see anything, or else I'll make you see nothing." He said and trailed the tip of the knife from my neck to my eyes, circling them with his filthy fingers. I couldn't move. I was immobilized. The court wanted me to be hung from the gallows but my mother's tears rescued me. Or so she thought...