I work at a library that used to be a mental hospital. We were cleaning out a back room to fit some more books and stuff. I found a diary in a box near the door and decided to share it with you guys.
The walls have been moving for the past three months and I don’t know what to do. My apartment complex is in the ocean and the waves are picking up so fast that I can feel the building swaying. I’ve told my landlord about the sharks outside my window, but she just keeps telling me to take my meds. Recently my mother has been calling, but I can’t pick up because there’s a tarantula on the phone and I don’t like the colour brown.
I got a letter in the mail today saying that my mom’s worried about me; she said the asylum would pick me up at noon, but I don’t know when that is since I broke my clock trying to save the person stuck inside of it.
The people picked me up yesterday and put me on the white boat car to go to the fun house. They said I could keep my journal, so that’s good. I think I’m gonna have fun there.
I haven’t written in a while because I traded my pencil for a doll; her name’s Jenny. The people here are nice and they tell me that they see the sharks too. One of them said that the sharks were actually tarantulas in shark costumes, so now I have to worry about that too; I really don’t like the colour brown.
They moved me to a new room, but one of the walls was brown. I told them to move me to a room that wasn’t brown and they told me to shut up; the people here aren’t nice anymore.
I hurt someone today. They told me that the colour brown was pretty and tried to show me. They gave me a piece of paper with a bad word written on it in brown crayon. I’m in time-out now for biting him on the neck.
I can hear the nurses talking about capital punishment for me; I don’t know what that means, but I don’t want to be in time-out anymore.