“Time, blood, fear, guilt”

 

There were two young ladies walking through a particular asylum corridor, vividly, looking forward to make researches on numerous of syndromes and mental disorders associated to their own fields, one was a writer, the other was a psychiatrist. The writer, witnessed an existence of a patient standing steady behind their backs, so she felt unrelieved for a bit, then continued what she was discussing with her friend, they kept informing each other with things they both inquired about, until they reached

an old room in the upper floor. It was quite dusty, full of dirt, cracked enough to make people beneath it badly liable to be squeezed, there was words written by blood, sharp objects and chalk, expressing feelings beyond abnormal characters hidden in “patients”.

The young man followed their steps uttering words, some of them were unrecognizable and some were obvious. The writer focused on the way he moved while saying things out of his mouth, he was trying to say something relatable, something they would understand, but they never listened, he shrugged and started shaking violently, the doctor left the room nervous calling for a help, two steps away from the other lady, who tried to leave the room without being harmed and………

The door was slammed, he was breathing towards her face, but according to chemical substances passing through his veins he was too weak to keep the door closed, so she pulled the handle, pushing against his gaunt chest, trying to find a way far from him, he checked every room, opened every curtain next to the beds, until he found her, hiding. She couldn’t control her fear, she felt endangered, she didn’t want to feel that way.

So she grabbed a scissors and stabbed him in his neck, exhaling loudly, watching him moments before he died, watching his stable eye look, tears, blood, and slim body with scars, sweat stains under his armpits, and urine all over his torn trousers.

 

He was found the way she left him, all are astonished, all are curious, but she was the only one who felt guilty, for an innocent soul leaving its body because of someone’s thoughts, someone’s old desire, someone who ruined an important career to feel relieved for a short period, and guilty for whole life.

 

Maybe he felt safe to tell her what he was yearning about, maybe he was afraid and needed someone to chill him out, maybe he was endangered as well as she felt, maybe he was a victim, a scientist with theories including successful experiments,

Maybe he needed someone to care about him, to feel him, to listen to him. But fears sometimes make you a monster.