Insane Sanity

The haunting songs emanated from somewhere deep inside a troubled,

turbulent brain. Melodic moans and sorrowful notes that slid through the

ethereal air and danced with pain and numbness entwined. Through a lonely ear

travelled the sounds of a thousand whispering voices, all chanting their

relentless message.

A vision unfurled. Temptation, elation, utter despair; they joined and

formed a single shape; a skull. Nothing could silence the terrors in his mind,

the horrors in his sleep. Nothing, but the sweet release of death.

Timmy slept uneasily. His body was soaked with gleaming sweat, his young

form, twisting and distorting under the pale, ivory moonlight. The shadow of the
moon itself was perforated by the bars of harsh steel that enclosed his tiny

world. A white cell, sterile, unresponsive, constricting. His arms rebelled with
fury against the tight restraints; movement, at least in the physical world, was
not allowed.

Dreaming was always something Timmy had looked forward to back in his early
childhood days. He would dream of dragons and trains, heroes and villains, the

good things in a child's mind. But now, no dreams came to his fractured mind,

only the single haunting notes from a song that was slowly driving him

completely insane. The notes followed day in and day out, spurring violence and

depression, hallucinations, rage, and despair. All at once his eyes opened.

A trickle of blood slowly crawled its way down his nose and dripped onto the

bed. His eyes darted about the room with a frightening rapidity. He searched for
goblins, ghosts, and the demons that taunted him. None could be found. He

focused on the blood that resided on his face. The warm, iron tasting stream

both pleased and disgusted him. Young Timmy smiled; the songs were gone, he

hoped forever. No more melody, no more voices, nothing but silence... and that

was when the pain hit.

The first wave was like a small pin-prick inside his skull. His smile

loosened a bit, a fraction of worry creased his lips. Thoughts slowed down,

trying to analyze the source. The second wave hit with one hundred times greater
force and sheer agony. A scream, unlike any ever heard from Cell 152, echoed

throughout the halls. Other patients screamed in response and still others began
babbling incoherently at the noise. The guards summoned the on duty nurses, and

they ran, as a group to Timmy's cell.

Now a dull throb crept into the background of his mind. More blood

trickled down his nose, in both nostrils. Tears formed, like dew on a morning

flower, and burned as they flowed down his wrenching expression. Another wave,

another scream. Now dots of pure, blazing light formed in front of his view. He

reached out to one, but, grasping air, he fell in writhing agony.

The door to his cell burst open and the medical crew erupted in like human

lava. Their tense voices began to fade to his ears as blast after successive

blast of mind-exploding pain ripped apart his very being. Consciousness

flickered, faded reality stepping in and out of his awareness. A few voices

broke through the static "noise" that his brain was sending him.

"He's hemorrhaging again. Get my 40 cc's of Thorazine. Prep the emergency

cart stat!" The voices seemed to grow more distant. Timmy was only vaguely aware
of the hands that were lifting him off his soaked bed. The outside halls that he
hoped so much to see now melded into a swirling whirlpool of nothingness. The

last pain of sheer agony enveloped him as a purple cloak. A towering wave of
of feelings washed over him, sweeping with it all the pain, regret, and guilt

he had ever felt. Now, he stood, staring at a mirror in a brightly lit room.

A voice as warm as the purest, cleanest flame beckoned him from the source of

the blinding light. But the mirror tempted him, as he turned his head to look

into it, his mind jerked again...back to us.

The only light that illuminated him now was an emergency room operating

table. Of all the swirling sounds of near consciousness, the one most apparent

now was the unsteady beeping of an EKG. It wailed and chirped, and to complement
its message was a terse, female voice; he heard her.

"Blood pressure unsteady, pulse erratic." A man's cool voice soothed his

mind;

"Get the blood cart ready, start IV, I'm going to try to relieve some of

the cranial pressure... has anyone informed his parents yet?' Then the voice of

an uncaring and decidedly hostile woman;

"What parents? The brat's an orphan, besides, who would want that crazy

little creep anyway?" "Nurse, get this woman out of here IMMEDIATELY!" "Yes

doctor!" From afar, Timmy barely heard his last words to fall from human lips.

"Why waste your time? Just let the little twerp die, save us all some

time!" He could discern a strange sound, a familiar sound, what was it? It

brought back warm memories to his mind. "That sound...what...I can't." WHIRRSSHH
WHIIIRRRRRR WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR CCRRUNCHHH "...oh yeah...a drill." The bright

light exploded into the room, destroying all that he was, all that he knew.

Silence.

Memories emerged like dreary, undead creatures from moldy graves. There was
music playing now. Timmy stood, confused. But he was not on the ground. For that
matter, he did not even have feet. Somewhere in the distance, the music

increased in tempo. He found it pleasurable, and begun to hum along. It was a

strange tune, fast and familiar. Timmy sought to step forward, but merely fell

on the ground. Upon impact, the ground rippled and bellowed out hysterical

laughter.˙This understandably terrified poor Timmy.

"Stop that, it tickles!" Timmy's mind went into overload at that point. He

knew the ground wasn't supposed to talk. As he looked up, Timmy noticed the only
friend he had known in the asylum. He was an old, black man with no teeth and

thin smoke-white hair. The man's name was John. Timmy remembered that John had

cut his own throat with a shard of glass from a broken mirror.

"But that was years ago," said Timmy to no one in particular. "Tim, my boy,
damn good to see you boy, welcome!" As John spoke, the slash in his esophagus

moved up and down in a sickening reminder of his fate.

"Where are we?" asked the young boy, surveying the wonder of this new

location. "We is here, thas all I know!, now come along, we bes be gettin along

before Otto comes!" John led Timmy by the arm towards a source of red light. The
trees themselves seemed to form a path for the two newfound friends to journey.

"Where is here, John?" Timmy asked in amazement. "Well Timmy, it's hard to

tell, I been here so long I can't remember, and there are others here too.

Bertha and Betty, the twins from Bellvue. The teenager from Texas, all of 'em

are here. We sit, and talk, and play." "Play?" asked Timmy. "Well not mebbe play
fer certain, but we have games, no, I guess you could say we play!"

"What do you do?" By this time, Timmy was very interested.

"We just play! Watch this my boy" and with that, John transformed before

Timmy's very eyes. The antique, slender black form twisted and metamorphasized
into the shape of a large red ball. It began bouncing up and down and stirring

up red dust. The red light bathed everything. The trees now swayed left and

right, joining the song in the background and forming a hauntingly happy chorus.
"Ya see Timmy! We play!" said the ball, and with that shot straight into

the air and slammed into a nest. "OOOooops," said John on his way down. High

above the two friends circled two forms. The larger of the two began an angered

descent unto the ball and Timmy's horrified form. The creature was a red striped
falcon, and it was not happy. As it swooped onto the ground, it spoke in a

clearly disturbed manner.

"YOU˙FOOL, you shall spoil my young's sleep! AWAY! AWAY˙I˙SAY!"

But Timmy just stood there in terror, and the ball reverted to the elderly

John.

"Now now Thelma, this here's Tim. He's new, just arrived today." The bird

also began to contort and change, the process looked painful, but in the end, an
elderly lady stood before Timmy and his wide, disbelieving eyes. She was hunched
a bit, and had scars all along her neck and head. Her breath came with some

difficulty.

"I didn't know, John. I'm sorry. Hello there young man, how are you?...

welcome to here." She smiled a yellow, aged-toothed smile. Timmy stammered and

fought for words, but they fell short. "I haven't yet explained to him... you

know... the way." John frowned to the woman, who looked unceasingly at Timmy.

"Been a long time since we had someone new. You'll love it here, nothing

to do all day but play" "J-Just play? What kind of place is this?" asked the

now inquisitive Timmy. "You'll see, come along now," John said as he changed

back into his familiar self. "Bye now," said Thelma as she soared back into

the red sky.

It was then that Timmy noticed that everything was red here. The ground,

the sky, the trees, the plants, the road, everything. And the song was growing

louder and louder. Everywhere there were things singing the annoying, familiar

song. Huge plants asked Timmy how he felt, the ground chuckled with every step

of Timmy's non-material feet. Seemingly all things felt happy, content, some

parts of the rolling, red hills, simply detached from the terrain, and floated

over their heads, trailing red bits of soil and singing the same song. It was

too much for Timmy, he cupped his hands over his ears and yelled out

    "SHUT˙UUUUPPPPPP!" The song was so loud, that it drowned out his very

thoughts. The pair came closer and closer to the source of the light, it was a

large, red door. The knob looked suspiciously like a hand, and Timmy sobbed

openly now at the deafening singing.

    "Now Tim, don' get upset, you are supposed to be happy now, you hafta be

happy! DON'T GET UPSET NOW TIM! YOU CAN'T BE UNHAPPY!!!" But every word, no

matter how much energy John put into shouting it, was washed away by the insane

singing. Timmy's eyes bulged outward, his mind froze, all the feelings and

emotions he had ever experienced in his life, the car accident that killed his

parents, his sister's murder, his own suicide attempts, his foster parents,

school, the asylum, all coiled up and finally exploded with the force of a

small nova "RAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGG" Timmy cried out to the nonchalant red sky,

and collapsed. And everyone else kept on singing.

When Timmy regained conciousness, John stood above him, wiping Timmy's

forehead with a damp green cloth. Timmy's eyes immediately focused on the

beautiful green hue.
"You're OK˙kid, you're gonna be fine! You can go through the door or you

can stay here and play with us. You passed the test."

When Timmy rose from the ground, he saw that everything had restored to a

normal, more appropriate color. The large door now reflected his own image. He

looked at himself, he was healthy, but slightly transparent. John did not

reflect. "Go through kid, you've earned your peace. I'll miss you." Little

Timmy was too confused to respond, he simply stared at himself and tried to

remember how he got here in the first place. One last glance was cast at John,

who turned and faded away, saying in the background, "Good luck, kid."

A single hand reached out, the palm facing away, the fingers extended.

Timmy could not remember the last time he stood on his feet, unaided, unguarded.
He looked around. The light cast on a gloomy scene, covered with with a bitter

smelling mist. There was not a sound, save for the unceasing whir of the drill

and an occasional thud sound of it encountering a hard substance. He looked at

the scene: it was himself, on a white table. Dark red stains spread near his

head, the drill boring steadily through his skull. No voices, but Timmy could

see the EKG, it was flatline. He worried now as the doctor ceased drilling, all

of the people assembled around him looked up at the large analog clock, and then
down at their own watches. It was over. But no sooner had Timmy thrust his hands
toward the image, than had the image simply faded from the mist. Now, all that

remained was the mirror and the light. It called, soothed, calmed. The light was
pure and warm, and Timmy sensed that there were answers in the light, but he

also remembered his friends in the mirror; they were back there, back in the

fun place.

Soft voices caressed Timmy's mind. All he could see here were the soothing

tones of the light. He wanted the light, sought it, there was warmth and peace

in the light, a calm satisfaction he had never known before. But just as Timmy

was about to step into the light, he fought back another tiny, miniscule voice

calling out to him from the mirror. "You're OK˙kid, we'll miss you..." Timmy

had never really had many friends; John was the closest thing he had. John

didn't seem to mind that Timmy wasn't perfect. And with all the pain and sorrow

he had known, the mirror looked more and more like a really great place to be.

Timmy's mind was made up. He stepped away from the light. Surrounded by

the dissolute mist of his death, he walked toward the mirror. His face distorted
quite concerting in the image as it smiled at him in return. He knew there was

no turning back. Despite all of the answers and warmth in the light, his mind

needed to be set free, to play. A single hand outstretched into the liquid

surface of the mirror. His fingers felt a strange chill as his hand submerged

in the smooth mirror up to the wrist. He smiled. No fear, just happiness and

joy, he would get to play with his friends in the mirror, forever. He stepped

through, his entire body feeling the numbing cold as he melted into the mirror

and entered the realm. His tragically tormented soul was finally set free in the
land of eternal happiness.

-GWoP