Seven Point Eight The First Chronicle - By Marie A. Harbon Page 0,1
resident here seriously unhinged her.
The place amplified her feelings of being watched and every fissure, every crack in its stone structure seemed to haunt her, harbouring some presence or aftershock of a catastrophe. Walls appeared to have faces, which were stark and non-human. Corridors felt active with amorphous people passing through as if it were a busy high street, even though the corridors were, in fact, empty. Light seemed to have a life of its own, dancing a cosmic waltz in a sinuous fashion, entwining with the dark shadows. Was it the people here or the place itself that was insane? Did its aura drive sane people crazy in insane places?
She reached the reception, where a matronly woman recognised her.
“Hi, I’m Ava Kavanagh, and I’ve come to see Maria Martinez.”
She signed into the visitors’ book, and the matronly woman escorted her to the low security wing. It sat at the end of a long corridor, illuminated by garish fluorescent lighting. Errant luminosity twisted acrobatically across the walls, as if projected by car headlights, and Ava focused ahead, ignoring the strange activity in her peripheral vision. She didn’t want to attract undue attention to her erstwhile grasp of reality.
The route to Maria’s room passed some rather unusual residents and each visit, Ava glanced through the windows in their doors. She noticed a dark haired man, who always surrounded himself with reams of paper and this time, Ava felt a strong desire to enquire about him.
“Is he a writer or something?”
Her escort reacted with surprise at her interest, and replied curtly.
“We call him The Scribbler, as the only way we can manage his behaviour is to give him access to paper and a pen. He writes constantly but it’s all gibberish, rows and rows of symbols.”
Ava gave him a lingering look, feeling a sense of sadness regarding his predicament. What a waste of human life.
They passed another character, a blonde haired woman with an intense and seething stare. This time, she wasn’t restrained although she crouched on the bed, bearing a menacing expression on her face. When she saw Ava, she snarled.
“What’s wrong with her, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Her escort acquiesced to her questioning again.
“Schizophrenia… she hears voices, which she claims instruct her to do evil. Because she enjoys inflicting pain on others, we have to isolate her.”
The woman’s predicament touched Ava more deeply.
“Like Maria’s original diagnosis?”
Her escort tried to smile sympathetically, although she said nothing. Ava made eye contact with the intense character behind the door, which sent a chill down her spine.
“She reminds me of the girl from The Exorcist,” she commented.
They turned the corridor, where Ava observed two more enigmatic characters. An Afro-Caribbean couple resided in the same room, and appeared to be actors in a play of their own making.
“Lost in their own little world, aren’t they?” Ava said.
“We call them The Time Travellers, as they always insist they’ve visited the past and future. Most of the time they’re locked in an imagery scenario, living some other reality.”
Further down the corridor, where a broken fluorescent light flickered, Ava peered through the window to see a man with fair hair, who had a tendency to punch walls or shout for books. He remained oblivious to their presence and Ava’s gaze. On this day, he stood in front of a wall, reaching out to touch it with his fingers.
“What is he doing?” Ava asked.
“He believes he can walk through walls,” her escort explained. “My, we’ve had some bruises over the years. I don’t know what’s worse, his wall or book obsession.”
All these residents seemed to have some strange back story, and Ava felt intrigued by what tale lay behind their predicament. How did they end up so crazy and sick? Were they doomed to spend the rest of their lives scribbling, snarling, punching walls, or acting out another reality?
She followed her escort through some double doors, which required a security code to gain entry into the next corridor. There, they soon found Room 104 and Ava paused outside.
“Has there been any change in her condition since I last visited?”
Her escort shook her head with regret.
“She’s still in a persistent vegetative state, exactly the same as the day she arrived.”
Ava accepted the situation with reluctance.
“She’s the only living relative I have. I hope one day I’d discover where we came from, who our parents are, and if our father is still alive. Did you recover the file from the facility she transferred from?”