Bittersweet Tragedy

Pacify Her

(̅_̅_̅(̲̲̲̲̲̅̅̅̅̅̅(̅_̅_̲̲̲̅̅̅Chapter 1_̅_̅() ڪے  

   "I'm not crazy... I'm not crazy... I'm not crazy..."

   When everyone was having a feast— celebrating the day of their own savior's birth by exchanging of presents, hugs, sips of warm cocoa as they were surrounded by various colors of flickering lights from both the fireplace and hung Christmas décor—

   Kyla was being suffocated by four cornered panels one could barely call as a room. The walls were more tolerable, for pads hid the rugged surface, than her bed that she swore was made out of nothing but unfinished hollow blocks.

   A rusty sink accompanied the lonely bowl, all open in the area. Her only form of entertainment is the light coming off from steel bars of her window created by the moon.

   The night sky grants her amusement. Kyla counts the number of stars visible to her sight and after such activity; the amount she gathered is carved upon a small patch on the rocky wall. 

   She used it as if permanent paper that is tattooed by blood, Kyla kept track of her stay all the same.

   Soft whispers from behind the barricade entered her senses; guards were speaking of a solidified storm about to approach that night.

   "Merry Christmas, Miss Anadella. Someone sent you this." She jumped at the sound.

   The nurse left her a package on the floor. Kyla was too distracted by the droplets of snow, she thought of the transformation from being frozen to being transparent. It was always falling, never afraid to.

   She picked up the bundle and immediately opened it; Kyla was ecstatic yet confused. Nobody dared to visit her, let alone leave something.

   A muffled scream was heard by her own ears once she saw the sight of the supposed gift.

   Chunks of crimson was all her watery eyes could decipher but she focused her attention on the drenched piece,

   With shaking hands and a blurred vision, she bravely picked

   A note.

   "Shut it Kyla" was all it said.

   Her mind was playing tricks on her— she convinced herself it wasn't real.

   All she saw was crimson flesh, more of like a lip sewed shut until she passed out with the note in hand.

| .- .-. . | -.-- --- ..- | ... .- -. . |

   "She's awake."

   White momentarily blinded her sight. It became a familiar color to Kyla since her stay.

   While her eyes were still adjusting, the bed she lay on rolled and instantly she knew that the wheels are taking her to the Interrogation Room.

   "I'm not crazy... I'm not crazy... I'm not crazy..."

   Kyla couldn't form a sentence, much less speak properly. She was still in state of shock from remembering the event that led her to be here.

   "Good day Miss Anadella-"

   "I-it's morning already? H-how long was I out?"

   "-As I've said, Good day Miss Anadella, I am Mr. Rick Mortreal and I am assigned to your case as of today."

   Rick Mortreal was new to White Wings Psychiatric Institution but not when it comes to the profession. He's been in the nuthouse for twelve years— venturing out one place to another, seeking the most violent cases each has to offer.

   Right now, Rick was astonished with the mysterious case of Kyla Anadella, and he plans to unfold it. He set aside the bloody Christmas that greeted Kyla, only to be opened soon.

   According to Rick's sources, Kyla was an honor student since her childhood. She lived normally as a teenager; her Sunday's were spent at church, serving her God. 

   She liked being outdoors with nature surrounding her, animals were Kyla's friends. She wasn't popular among the student body— but Kyla was the word of mouth by teachers due to her impressive personality, and scores. 

   On the surface nothing was wrong nor was Kyla suspicious.

   Her background states that she's been forcefully adopted by her aunt who barely is a mother figure to her, and a drunkard of an uncle. Nevertheless, she still lived under their rules with no act of rebellion.

   Kyla was sprawled on her bed, sleeping soundly when she was taken to White Wings Psychiatric Institution.

   Unfortunately, every dead end of misplaced dots and knotted yarns from a circus of search led to her.

   When a girl brought in a stability hospital not suitable for her age or her personality starts to say she's innocent and not crazy, is when you'll suspect that she really is.

   Kyla could be your sister, neighbor, classmate, friend, anyone. Did Kyla master the practice of deceit, were you blinded by her innocent face when she was holding a knife behind her back— or was she the pawn in someone else's huge plan?