“Mad? Said who?” the man spoke with a hoarse voice. He sat in a dimly lit room. As he sat there, he was cuffed to the table. The only thing near him was a paper cup. His eyelids were heavy, he couldn’t even begin to to count the bags under his eyes. The intercom screeched.
“Everyone, sir. Now tell us why you did it.” A small beep then echoed through the room, indicating it was his turn to speak.
“You think I’ll just tell you? If I did then I’d truly be mad,” he chuckled loudly before slamming his fist onto the table in frustration. This caused the cup to fall off the table and spill onto the floor. He opened his mouth to continue, but the voice echoed through the room once more.
“We don’t have time for this. Tell us now.”
The intercom beeped, but this time the man stayed quiet. He sat there and stared straight ahead, unblinking. The intercom screeched.
“Sir, answer the question.”
A beep was sounded but the man didn’t utter a word. This was a part of his little game against the officers. He then began to manically laugh to the point of screeching.
“Sir, are you OK?”
The man continued to laugh, he trashed about as he did so. He broke the table leg off the table during this, which released him from his restraints. He chuckled once more and slammed himself into the metal door, in doing so he collapsed on to the floor and slumped forward.
“Stop it sir, we are sending in ‘Nice workers’ to help you.”
The man’s eyes grew wide. He began to mumble to himself.
He then heard people on the other side of the door.
“Move sir, it’s time for fun.”
The man practically threw himself to the other side of the room, then the “Nice workers” slammed the door open. They were dressed in bright pink clothing, one of them held a needle and the other held a straight jacket.
“Pick you’re poison sir.”
The man hesitated before raising his arm up to point to the straight jacket. He shivered in the corner as the man and woman walked towards him. They struggled to put him into the straight jacket, but managed to get him in it. The man yelled in frustration before the “Nice workers” left the room and bolted the door shut. Then came the brief sound of radio static. The man yelled even louder and then repeatedly hit his head on the padded walls. He then collapsed before muttering to himself once more.
He continued to ram his head into the wall. He turned the bleach white cushions crimson with his blood. He collapsed as he bled out. His eyes began to close and a faint ringing played through his ears. He then fell over and died in a pool of his own vomit.
“Well, P-591 has died. Continue the experience for P-592.”
  • Daniel Di Benedetto

    It was a little vague and confusing, but if I wanted to know what it feels like to be losing it… Yeah, reading this would show me. You really made me feel trapped. The repeating dialogue was eerie and created a strong sense of dreary hopelessness. Good job.