Misunderstood—that’s what they always say. It’s how they blow me off without stopping to notice too much. People never really desire the truth. It’s too much for their simple minds to comprehend. I know that to be a fact, as I was once one of them. But now is not a time to reminisce. Being normal is not an option for me now. No matter the level of your individuality, you’re always normal. In a world of seven billion people, there is almost a guarantee that there will be at least one person like you—but not me.
I’m the biggest conundrum that mankind will ever witness. Sure, there are plenty of criminals that commit heinous crimes against their fellow humans, but never have they done what I have. The biggest surprise of all is that I don’t remember doing them. They’ve locked me up in an attempt to keep me away. They figure that eventually I’ll come to my senses, or that some ridiculous doctor can assist me. The prospect of healing me isn’t their priority though. To them, I’m just another number that aids in giving them their paychecks.
It’s rather scary being locked up. It doesn’t seem like much at first, but that’s before the madness sets in. Sounds become sharper, more alien in nature. Every detail becomes a torturous damnation. It’s only after your first few nights that you realize that you can never leave. Unless, that is, you’re carried out in a casket.
The walls are dark, yet they gleam with white paint that sparkles as the light bounces from it. It’s only when you realize that those walls have witnessed it all that you realize how dark they are. They are the sole barrier between you and the outside. Sometimes I imagine that they get joy out of hearing you scream in pain. They watch in stone silence, never speaking a word to anyone about how much we suffer.
They think I’m insane. Schizophrenia. That’s what they name my disease with. They say that I see things, but I have yet to see anything. It’s all a lie. I haven’t seen anything at all. I’m completely normal, but yet I feel myself slipping into grim insanity. What I did was horrendous, but necessary. I was scared; I was trapped in my own home. I had to do something. So I burned them. I burned everyone alive.
While there are plenty of people who’ve done such a thing, how many have found it an occasion to laugh—to celebrate. Upon watching the corpses shrivel up in the cruel flames, instead of crying like a normal child might do, I left the house with a devilish grin stamped proudly on my face. I had strode casually down the street to get an ice cream cone from the corner market. It didn’t bother me as it should have. If they only knew what I’d endured while I stayed with them. Then maybe they would understand why.
I had almost made it out. I was as free as a bird until my aunt stopped by for a visit. She saw the wreckage and found me returning with the ice cream still in hand. I had almost finished it. She saw that I reeked of smoke, and she panicked when she saw how happy I was. She had asked me if I was the culprit. I’d lied and said no, but I knew that she had discovered the truth. See, truth doesn’t make humans happy. Like I said, she blew the roof.
After that, it’s all a blur. I mostly remember being handcuffed by a police officer and being unceremoniously shoved into a police car. Upon being thrust into this mental facility, I remember hearing someone say that a judge had declared me insane. My aunt had lied on the stand when questioned about my nature. She’d claimed that I was always known to hallucinate and that I was a danger. I’d never liked my aunt. She was a pathological liar, and everyone knew it.
Because of her, I’m doomed for the rest of my life. I try to tell someone that I’m normal. I don’t need the medicine. They have yet to believe a word I say. “Imaginative” and “deceptive” are the two favored words to describe me. They always say that when I try to explain my situation. But it’s all just a ruse to get me to comply. They want me to give up and shut up like the rest of them. But I won’t.
I have it all planned out. I’m going to escape tonight. I’m going to break out tonight through the back entrance. I’ve got but a few minutes of opportunity, but I’m going to take them. When I’m out, I’ll try to become a stowaway on a cargo boat or a train or something to get me out of this dreaded place. I want to be far away. As for now, I wait.