Delusion Number One
Created | Updated Oct 8, 2017
Where does FWR get these stories? Oh, yeah. Liverpool.
Delusion Number One
The lights flickered again. They would be here soon.
Sally looked towards the panic alarm for the hundredth time. If she set the alarms off again she'd be sedated for sure.
A medicinal sledgehammer of a tranq.
They wouldn't like that, and they would take out their frustration on her unresponsive flesh. Sally still bore the marks from last time. Self-harming was her excuse.
What else could she say? Tell the truth and her next MDT meeting would mean another six months added to her Section.
Sally pulled the sheet closer, her bottom lip bleeding slightly, unaware she was gnawing at it. She watched the window, knowing the bars would not keep them out.
Once more she contemplated the panic button. Would a Clozapine and Lorazepam cocktail induced coma be preferable to facing them again, despite the pain afterwards?
The caged light flickered then died, the green nightlight which always reminded her of atomic waste (paranoid delusion number 12) lit her room with a sickly glow – or fish floating in a polluted sea, another delusion (number eight) from her vast repertoire – producing more blood droplets staining her pristine cotton armour.
She'd tried telling, honest and simple, begging that someone believe her, help her, save her.
No one did. Obviously. She was simply put away. She couldn't blame them.
Delusion Number One was a pretty hard one to swallow.
Sally, sometimes, even doubted herself. Sometimes she would spend a few blissful weeks, medicated and calm, forcing herself to believe in their diagnosis, happy to be simply insane.
Then the lights would flicker and they would come.
A movement near the window, the opaque toughened glass seemed to melt in on itself as a red glow invaded the slime green murk.
A hellish background could be glimpsed in the far far distance; if anyone was brave enough (or crazy enough) to stare into the abyss.
Sally was painfully aware of the terrors that awful landscape held.
They were here.
A legion of claws, teeth and leathery wings filled the cell, keen on torment.
Sally screamed.
Outside, in the crisp clinical light, the night nurse reassured another patient in the corridor. Gently, kindly putting an arm around the quaking woman and shepherding her away from the screaming.
"Nothing to fret about Debs, just poor Sally, you know the poor girl still has her demons!"
