Hidden Place

by

 

Claire

 

She staggered through the streets, tears streaming down her face. For the past hour or so she’d tried sorting out her thoughts, trying to work out who she was, how to act normal. It was hopeless; some hidden part of her was screaming that good was bad, right was left and that she’d completely lost her mind even though she was perfectly sane.

            As she passed a lit doorway overshadowed by a flashing neon sign, eerie electronic music floated to her head, whispering unwanted thoughts in her head, yet it was possible that the music had always been there, and that she’d only just noticed it. She continued her lurching walk down the dark road, the music staying locked in her head. She was aware that no one was out, and that behind each curtained room she passed were men and women warping their souls, defying all moral values Life had ever dared to thrust upon them. She felt nauseous again, and knew it was partly because of the drugs they’d given her.

            Them, at the “house to make her better”, where the walls and floors padded her falls, where the sharp objects that beckoned to her in her delirium were no where to be seen, yet also where the locked doors and uniformed people daily told her she had lost her mind. She had told both that she wasn’t crazy, and though the uniformed people had tried stopping her, the locked doors had kindly let her go home.

            Where was home? Home was where Father was, where he was still alive, not bloody, not crying, not being beaten by other men. That was home, yet she hadn’t been there since Father had died. Home was where Father was, so she must go to get Father to get him to bring her there.

            Smiling as her head cleared for the first time as she managed to answer her restless mind, she grabbed a bottle cap off the road and slid it across her wrists, hoping she would find the right path to him. The music stopped in her head and she let out a sigh of relief.