You have all entered The Asylum, received your Straight Jacket and been shown to your room.
What happens next is up to you…..
Write a story featuring someone with a strong (or problem) character trait.
Throw a wrench into their nice, everyday routine.
See what happens.
Don’t feel the need to explain the ‘how’ if something unusual is happening (i.e. talking dolls, house-hold objects that activate themselves; out-of-body/time experiences). Just focus on what it means for your character.
Anthony Psychotic by Richard Bell
“There’s a star man waiting in the sky He’d like to come and meet us
But he thinks he’d blow our minds
There’s a star man waiting in the sky..”
The gurney wheel squeaks David Bowie into my medicated mind via throbbing ears and features that have melted like a Dali clock. I’m a cocktail of meds beneath my stinking bloody skin and the strip lights above me flash a deep web message between blinks.
“The dog would eat his own shit but wouldn’t take a bite out of this sphincter chunk!” I hear one orderly quip and the other reply with a nonchalant “Uh huh!”
This place smells like bleach and piss and screams.
“There’s a star man waiting in the…”
“Quiet you twisted pissflap!” snarls the big-mouthed orderly whilst the other one mutters “Uh huh” under his breath.
The daydreams of adolescence plunge into a night sea and you sink until the sea bed clutches the blue limbs with dread. That’s when the fish swim by, just out of sight, and tell you who to kill. They whisper it through the rip tide and the sway of the kelp then they dart away to the ocean. Only then can I swim to the surface and dredge up the bad me. That’s when I’m at my bloody best. When my sea bed self rises to the surface to inflict the sickness of the depths onto the selected.
I’m bound up tight, gagged with a mask that prevents me tasting my prey and locked into a heavily stained padded room.
This must have housed some bat-shit crazies because the walls are gouged and bloody and shitty and offer some strange other-worldly philosophies.
I love the art of the broken mind.
I love the unrelenting sadness of thoughts out of reach of help. Stranded…
“The planet earth is blue and there’s nothing I can do…”
“Shut up in there, you shit pipe jizz shot!” yells the Mouth without his “Uh huh” back up.
I did some bad things to some good people and I can’t decide which me wanted it more. I can’t decide if Sea Bed Me or Amount to Nothing Me did those things. The media pigs called me Ziggy when the Police found my signature cut into the soles of the feet. I think David would approve. He was an artist like me. He was ridiculed and misunderstood but later his genius was recognised. I’m no genius though. My work is battery and gouge with hot wire graffiti on the body. Before they stop screaming, they’re just the sketch but after the glazed eye silence, they become the canvas.
My body was a hot wire canvas for mummy and daddy to work on when the booze wore off and they could focus on their dissatisfaction.
My last victim was my china girl. That’s the one that got me caught.
She put her finger on my lips and told me “Shh-Shh!” I untied her and she left. She was the only canvas that understood his genius.
Then he walked away from me.
He left Sea Bed Me and Amount to Nothing Me to face the cold truth without the music playing.
She’s in here with me hanging my canvasses around the dirty walls. They’re all here.
All with different songs and meanings, hanging in my own personal gallery.
I’m looking at her now as she stands before me. She’s messy with the juices of my canvases but she appreciates the art. Her hands clutch a plastic swastika and on her feet are red shoes.
She clicks them twice and is sucked into a black tornado.
And all at once I melt completely into a puddle on the floor that is my Dali weird world. They’re going to have to scoop me up for the trial and drape me over a deep perspective Christ.
“David, why hast thou forsaken me?” I ask before the night meds wipe the slate clean.
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