I awoke frantically to the sound of tiny feet scurrying in the darkness. It was everywhere, on the floor, in my bed, in my clothes. I struggled fiercely with the enveloping darkness, and fell onto the hard cemented floor, hitting my head hard on the cold surface, and blacked out.
When my eyes fluttered open, I felt like I was asleep for a thousand years. I looked around the room I was in. It looked unfamiliar and I can't remember what happened or why I was here. Suddenly the door opened and a distinguished looking man entered. He wore a white coat so I'm guessing he's a doctor. Following him was a woman around her mid-fifties, probably his nurse. So, I must be in the hospital then, I thought to myself.
"Well, looks like she's finally conscious," the young doctor said, taking a look at me, and addressing the nurse, who gave me a look of contempt.
"What do we do with her?" she asked him, as he read from the clipboard that was attached at the end of my bed.
"Get her back to her cell," he said, and walked away. The nurse looked at me and said something, which I didn't comprehend.
My mind was swirling with questions. What did the doctor mean by cell? Am I in prison? What did I do? What's happening here?
Within half an hour, I was pushed and shoved by the old nurse to another floor in the building. It had rows and rows of prison-like cells. As I passed by each one, weird looking women peered out from inside, some glaring, others grinning. They looked insane.
"This is a mistake," I told the nurse, "I didn't do anything wrong. Why are you locking me up?"
"Just shut up!" she said, nudging me forward, into cell number 11. I looked inside with trepidation. It was dark, and it reeked with the smell of sweat and urine.
"I don't belong here!" I cried out to her as she pushed me in and locked the cell.
"Oh yeah," she said, smugly, "That’s what they all say."
"Who!?" I demanded.
"All you mad people!" she said and walked away.
"NO! It's a mistake!" I yelled out to her, "I'm innocent I tell you! I don't belong here! I'm not mad!"
"Yeah, me too!" another voice yelled from another cell.
"I'm not mad!" someone else shouted. And next, the whole place grew noisy as every cellmate shouted their sanity. I sat down dejectedly, feeling hopeless. I closed my eyes, trying to remember my past. And everything started coming back to me. I really am not mad. I was sent here by my cruel husband, because he and his family want all the money that I have inheritance to. I remember it just like it was yesterday.
I was married for almost ten years, and I have a lovely daughter aged nine. I thought that I had built this marriage out of love, but I realized everything that I shared with my husband was a lie. He knew that my parents were rich and they had given me everything after their death. My husband will get his share too, but I was on the verge of a divorce with him, and he knew that if we were divorced, he'd never get even a single cent out of me, so he concocted a scheme to get me convicted with insanity. It was told in the will that if I died or went mad, then all the money would go to my husband to take care of my daughter.
He then accused me of torturing my child and even produced proof for it. He had help from his relatives, and he told the judge and jury that I was demented and unable to take care of myself and my daughter, which resulted in me being sent to an asylum, and he living his life in luxury.