Coffee teeth chatters are followed with retarded faces as I heave out minuscule crimson gem masses from my feet, hands and bony chest. I loot the washing machine and find four pairs of odd socks, which I edge on one by one with a bitten lower lip, an old shredded AC/DC T-shirt that I rip apart, and use as bandages for my hands and to lap up the gashes of blood from my underfed torso.
I realize what I must do. I need Jessica's help, say-so and approval; she must be on my side. I need to turn a good girl, bad, for both our sakes.
With a wild weary waddle, I return to the scene of the crime, partially crying, it hurts so much when I limp. Dad has some special pills, some uncle gave them to him, when I say uncle, I mean, I was a toddler and my mommy and daddy introduced him as an uncle, he's not, he's probably his dealer.
Dead-beat-dad's grey orthopaedic winged chair was my place of rest, probably found in a skip or given to him. Tobacco dust and dried up noodles have infiltrated ever crevice.
Reaching and opening the sachet of pills called, SPOTLIGHT. I've heard of these pills. The News is a broken record when this drug is brought up, it brings me down, someone has usually taken more than their bodies could handle and died, losers. This drug is a manmade opioid; it can dull pain receptors with the shroud of euphoria. With this red and purple treat in my palm, I play the game of avoid the cuts. I slot in both capsules and guzzle the stub of flat beer, looks like he forgot one.
Contemplating my own existence, I flump there staring into the mould papered corner above the television, waiting for the chill-pills to kick-in. Snivelling and tensing my jaws and sizzling saliva for around fifteen minutes, a wave of heat ripples over my body. My nose draws vague dew; I feel focused; my soul has been topped-up with the illusion of strength. The lacerations lessen, drugs are good to me. I push up and with luck, adding forced pressure to my wounds; well, this bloody glass isn't going to clean up itself, is it? Cleaner Man to the rescue, and here he comes along with his trusty sidekicks Broom-Boy and The Mop-Maiden. Clean that shit up. What will people say about this bloody mess?
YOU ARE READING
The Mental Patient
Mystery / ThrillerPsychopaths, Cannibals, Serial Killers and a Riot in a Mental Asylum. After years of abuse at the hands of their evil tyrant of a father, teenagers, Kyle and Jessica Emerson, embark on a murderous rampage through the streets of, Kingston upon Hull...
