Entries of an Asylumate

Submitted by Gina I. on Mon, 11/25/2013 - 17:48

July 15, 1998

I lie curled on my bed, a book in my hands. Return of the King, but it fails to catch my attention at this point. Right now, I hurt on the inside, the aching pain when you know there is no hope for anything, when you feel your mind slowly abandoning you. Some people call it insanity. I call it like nothing I have felt before. I and my family, we are already insane, but what is happening now goes so much farther, and it sucks me in, killing me.
I am what is called an "Asylumate", part of a special, secret medical experiment where they take people's brains and play with them. I was born into a desperate family of ten, the last, and they sold me to this experiment. My name is Aelwen, I am now fifteen, and due to die within two weeks, tops. I have nobody that cares, no one to miss me. I can no longer write, the page is blurring and my hand is unsteady.

July 16, 1998

What they have done to my brain, I do not know. All I know now is a pressure on the inside, threatening to push out and send my brains flying everywhere, and the only thing keeping them in is a tightness around the outside, like an iron band. And a sick feeling in my gut and swelling in my chest that comes whenever I think about it. I'm going to stop now.

July 18, 1998

I live in an apartment, in a hospital, with perfectly white walls except where my vomit has hit and nothing to pass the time except a few books and occasionally paper to draw, and this journal. They wanted me to keep a journal, to record what my last days were like, and when I told them that was depressing and I didn't want to, they had my favourite doctor tell me it was for the good of science. All I am to them is a lab animal. Is it too much to ask to be treated like a human? Sometimes I just hate them, and I want to scream at them, kill them, or do something to change this. Sometimes I do, but that's only when I'm not fully in control of my mind. It was something they did to me, and now I cannot stop myself sometimes. I can only stand by helplessly while a brute part of me is raging. It's horrible, like you're trapped in a glass cage, with a clear view of everything going on, and nothing you can do to help. The worst part is when you know it's going to start, but you can't stop it. I'm beginning to feel sick again.

July 21, 1998

The doctors came to see me today. They acted surprised when I opened the door and when I asked why, shook their heads and mumbled, "Nothing," but I think they're surprised that I'm still in almost total control, though slowly, steadily losing that. I know they don't care, and I hate it when they pretend like they do. At those times I just want to rip my hair out and strangle them, but I know I couldn't. They always come with syringes and some sedative, ever since the time I had a major episode around them. I can see the fear in their eyes around me, I can tell they hate me. I'm like a particularly fierce jungle predator, held in captivity for observation to them. I can't stand it.

July 23, 1998

One of my apartment neighbors came in for a while yesterday. He lives about two doors down, in a white room almost exactly like mine, except that he's an artist and they gave him paints, so he drew on the walls. They like him, because he wasn't part of their experiments. He came down because he heard from a couple of nurses about me and wanted to see for himself the "wild beast" they were discussing. I momentarily despised those nurses, but he was so friendly and sweet I couldn't help, but end up happy. As it turns out, he has cancer, and not much longer to live either. His name is Cade, and he's just a year or two older than I am. He has to have a wheelchair, because the cancer started in his legs and they had to amputate one to try and stop it. I thought of how much worse off he is and I cried, angry at myself, but that started another episode.

July 26, 1998

Cade died today. I just think about it and get misty-eyed. I only knew him for three days, but I feel like he was the only friend I had.

July 27, 1998

I can feel my mind growing dim. I sense a panic, like you see in a caged animal's eyes, blossoming in my chest, squeezing out my air and not allowing any in. I'm going now, going to rejoin Cade, I can sense it.
I can

Author's age when written

Not entirely sure what happened here, since I said no more fiction stories, but I just got this odd inspiration while lying on the couch reading Catching Fire. Hope you've enjoyed!


I really enjoyed reading this! The imagery was amazing; your choice of words are great. Whatever you resolve to do, fiction or non-fiction, always write down the moments of inspiration! It's worth it!

Goodbye? Oh no, please. Can’t we just go back to page one and start all over again?” – Winnie The Pooh

Oh, PLEASE write more. I know this was just a random bit but it deserves to be a story. I love it.

"I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I ask myself the same question." - Harun Yahya

Well, you could, but I really liked it in 1998...that's when I was born so, your choice. :D

Goodbye? Oh no, please. Can’t we just go back to page one and start all over again?” – Winnie The Pooh

Keep writing, please! This was incredible. You really described the characters feelings so well in just a few words, it was incredible and I can't wait for more, please, please, write more!

"Here's looking at you, Kid"
Write On!

This is actually impressive. There is so much emotion, such despair in just a few segments. I don't know how this relates to Hunger Games, though. If it has nothing to do with it, you should probably take it out and change the date back to 1998. I like the 1900s. :)

Very good job, quite a unique piece. I like it. You left out the period on the last line.

"It is not the length of life, but the depth of life." Ralph Waldo Emerson