I remember the blood pooling around my feet. So much blood. So warm. Such a deep, deep red. I had no idea people could bleed so much.
I remember feeling the cold metal of the bat in my hands, the end dripping crimson revenge. Iâ€™d never known the cracking of a skull was so loud. Now, the sickening noise I heard from each victim as the bat smashed through the skull and began savagely tearing through the brainâ€¦it would forever be wonderfully sadistic music in my ears.
I remember the sirens wailing in the distance, growing louder with each passing second. Yet I did not flee. Instead I sat there, in a pool of warm blood, amidst my victimsâ€™ barely recognizable corpses, a psychotic yet satisfied feeling in my soul.
I remember the sickened look on the medical examinerâ€™s face as he waded through the three corpses, blood, and bits of skull and brain.
I remember being handcuffed and led past the gathering crowd of onlookers. They gasped in fright and jumped back when they got close enough to see the violent flames in my dark eyes, and the crooked grin on my lips.
I remember the trial. An â€˜open-and-shut caseâ€™ they called it. Not even two hours in and I was convicted of first degree murder and sentenced to the Northbrook Institution For the Criminally Insane.
My new home. Room 236, Ward C, Maximum Security. I hated it, so I learned to live inside my head. Instead of waking up in a hospital bed surrounded by barred windows and a locked door, I awoke each morning in a king size bed, in a room painted a beautiful crimson, the sun shining in a window. With each passing day, I grew more and more distant; my remaining sanity was a rapidly setting sun on the horizon of my disillusioned life.
One day, while in my â€˜alternate realityâ€™ state of mind, a mermaid invited me to swim with her. So I stood straight up and dove off the fifty-foot cliff into the ocean. In reality, I stood on my bed and dove headfirst into the cement floor.
Three months later, here I am: in a hospital bed as a comatose vegetable. The doctors have said I will never regain consciousness; that I show no brainwave activity and am rapidly coasting downhill.
I know what they mean. Iâ€™ve known for months. Iâ€™m dying. Wasting away, rotting in this goddamned hospital bed.
But Iâ€™m perfectly fine with it. Death is my release from my earthly prison you all call life.
Someone says a prayer over me, asking God to lift me up to heaven. But I know better. There is no heaven or hell. No right or wrong. There is only me.
But thatâ€™s all right. Iâ€™ll be back soon, very soon.
Copyright Â© Jennifer Yohe, 2010