I'm Not Crazy

Paramedics squeeze my arms, staining their gloves a deep red. Doctors and nurses scream at each other as they run across the hallways wheeling me into the operating theatre. I look over to my wrists as clear fluids begin their journey into my veins. My heart is in my throat, my pulse is echoing throughout the room, my limbs are quivering, and my lungs are screaming. Nurses force plastic tubes up my nose, as jets of cold air enter my sinuses, giving me relief. Inkblots dance before my eyes like a symphony of lights. A sudden sleepiness overcomes me and slowly my vision dims.

I wake up feeling like a brick is on my chest. My ribcage is bandaged like a mummy and a sickbay gown hangs loosely on my scrawny shoulders. I look like a vampire… And not the kind from twilight that girls swoon for. I’m talking about real vampires. Pale, bony and sickly. The doctors say I’m lucky to have escaped with a shot right to my stomach. A few inches up and I would’ve died with a hole in my chest. A few inches down and I would’ve been singing soprano in the local boys choir.

On my hospital bed, I sit and stretch out my arms to relieve some nervous tension. My room is nothing but dull grey walls and the smell of disinfectant. My ears perk up as I listen to doctors and nurses conversing outside. Their voices grow louder and louder as I hear their feet coming closer to my door. I crane my neck towards sounds, only to spot the brass knob of my door turning. My heart begins to race and my breathing becomes shallower. I quickly pull out a pocketknife from under my pillow and slip it into my pants pocket. Stealthily, I roll out of bed, forgetting about the various tubes attached to my body. I wince in pain and tears well up in my eyes as they get yanked ou...

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... at the man, the unbidden memory of my parents’ lifeless body in the open casket washes over my mind. My head begins to throb. I fight back tears, screaming in agony.

They deserved it. They never even cared about you. They think your crazy. They’re the crazy ones. If you didn’t kill them, someone would.

The sounds of sirens break my trance of thought.

How could you kill them? They were your parents. You’re sick. You’re crazy, Jake. You’re a monster.

The voices in my head become a swelling crescendo. I forcefully grab my head in between my hands as the words echo through my skull. Pain pulsates with every word. I squeeze my temples hard with my palms but the pain is unbearable. Clawing at my face, a scream rips through me; sapping every last drop of energy in my body. Like a rag doll, I collapse onto the cold concrete floor as a growing darkness overcomes me.