Briza

Asylum

When Griffin sat down, growling, Esther tried to ignore him. She usually ignored patients unless they seemed to spark her long-term interest, the way fifty-two year old Patricia had. Patricia had reminded Esther of a childhood friend, frame, height, love for coloring... Griffin seemed scary, but interesting. He reminded her a bit of Michael a 36 year old man that had only been admitted for two weeks! He used to pace back-and-forth the common area. He also screamed himself to sleep at night. She tried to avoid him because he seemed scary. One time he drew on one of her drawings. Secretly, she kept that drawing because she was madly in love with him. She only spoke to him three times during his whole two week stay, but she daydreamed about those three conversations daily.

All of a sudden, Esther felt a rush of excitement overwhelm her body when Aiden sat down at the table. She was not sure if this heart fluttering was a lack of medicine or maybe hidden emotions for the young man. She was hesitant to make any real connection with him, as she was hesitant to make a real connection with anyone in the facility. She had even put a wall between Patricia and her. Nonetheless, she was happy to have company, albeit, she was nervous, as usual.

Esther paused her coloring, looking across the table at Aiden, "Oh, why, hello, Aiden. I am coloring a delightful beach scene. Would you like to see?" She smiled gently at him. She did not want to scare him away, especially due to her unkept appearance. Esther generally tried not to care too much about her appearance--it seemed so vain, and vanity was one of the seven deadly sins.

Esther was an Orthodox Christian. She tried to just Stay Calm and Keep On Praying, but these tactics wore thing with her. She just was not that good of a Christian, which led to much of her grief--and sometimes episodes--she was so afraid she would go to Hell. She just knew her problems stemmed from spiritual problems. But with a blessing from her parish priest (who visited once a week to serve Communion), she was told to seek psychiatric help. She actually sought advice from three different priests before being exiled into the asylum. Esther wishes she had acted sooner, but she was so skeptical that anything was really wrong with her.

Could the visions she saw right before bedtime actually mean something? Was their a hidden puzzle that only select people could see? She could not be all crazy, right?

Asylum

Esther was coloring in the common area. She did this every day. It was her entertainment of choice. When she was not doing chores, she was usually found coloring, with crayons sponsored by Crayola. Pencils were too sharp of objects to let the inpatients use. Esther did not mind. She had always been a loyal supporter of Crayola Crayons, before any of her psyche ward entries. In some ways, the psyche ward was a dreamland. No one judged her or mocked her for coloring with Crayola Crayons because that was the absolute norm in the asylum.

She was coloring some summer-festive print-out a nursing staff had given her. It was a regular routine for her. When breakfast was over, the nursing staff would bring out the crayons and printouts. Occasionally, psychology students would visit the asylum and take notes of the patients. Esther was asked what she liked to do before she got put in the asylum, "Coloring with Crayola Crayons," she would always smile and act as polite as possible as to not frighten them. Unfortunately, she may have come off as creepy nice as opposed to polite and quaint.

Esther had not taken her morning shower, yet. Normally, she would awaken at six in the morning (and sometimes four, depending on her mood) to take a shower. Individual Therapy would happen soon, but this page needed coloring before her shower.

She had a rough night sleep and found herself being awakened by one of the staff members to be informed that breakfast was being served. She always thanked the staff. She did not want to be mean or scare them. They had hard jobs. . But also, she decided that a well patient would be polite and nice. Before the asylum entry, she had been having adult temper tantrums which involved verbal abuse toward her family. She even cut herself on three different occasions. She did want to be better, but sometimes, it was the nonjudgemental atmosphere that made her want to stay.

A new patient was being brought today, "Be on your best behavior," she was told, amongst other prep-talks about being nice and friendly and warm and loving and "Don't you remember the first time you were admitted into the asylum?" talk. Esther figured she was always on her best behaviors, except sometimes, during her episodes. She tried hard to be nice and friendly, she could not help it if her politeness was creepy and sometimes over-looked and rejected by the outsiders. Maybe, the newcomer would like coloring with crayons. Sometimes, Esther would get lonely. She used to have a friend, a fifty-two year old woman, who's husband was in a nursing home. Her name was Patricia. They would color together, but Patricia got better and left, without a number or address for Esther to use as contact.

Esther had been depressed with Patricia left, and flew into a manic, psychosis episode. Her nighttime hallucinations became worse. She started seeing the playing field of a chess board as she wandered halls during the daytime. She even went so far as to accuse the staff of killing Patricia as opposed to letting her be an outpatient. That was a rough week for Esther. She had been violent, screaming, hitting--herself and others. She had to be given shots to calm her down. She did not have to be strapped to her bed, but she did have privileges taken away from her.

Esther hoped nothing like this would happen, again. She acknowledged her wrongs, but occasionally her chemical imbalance would get the best of her, and she would start becoming paranoid that she would never leave, she would never get better, she would be doomed here until the day she died, that she would never see her parents or friends, again. . that she would be put to sleep just like Patricia--not that Patricia had been "put-down." But sometimes, just sometimes, these paranoid thoughts would start intruding her brain.

Keep Calm And Color On. Esther would tell herself.

She was just starting to become more open with individual therapy. Before she was scared and did not like admitting her wrong thinking--because that always resulted in more medication when the doctor was told. But, Esther was starting to admit, she did need medication. It was not her family conspiring to bring her down, it was her own brain producing wrong chemicals that caused her to be so slow sometimes, and out of touch.

Esther knew she would be prescribed more medicine after this visit. She was still seeing alligators before bedtime. And her panic attacks weren't helping her see straight or focus. Also, her persistency to color was a bit troubling. Esther thought of herself as an Asher Lev, but really, she was using art as a form of communication to hide herself, or so she was told. She should be engaging in other forms of more adult-like communications with the other inpatients. Esther was too shy and anxious and paranoid for such interaction. Six months of being here, and she still had not loosened to making friends (except maybe with her roommate and Patricia). The doctors knew she was under medicated, and Esther was having a hard time admitting this.

Orphange for the Unusual

Trevor started jogging, the best a six year-old could. He was pretty coordinated for a six year-old. He had not learned how to kill anything, yet, except for bugs and insects and if he was on extremely good behavior under individual moderation, he was allowed to kill some animal such as the crow. The Crow was the last animal he had killed. He had trouble bringing it back to life, and disjointing the soul from the bird was very painful the last several attempts. To be honest, he preferred it dead, and with that said, it was a wise decision to wait until he was a tad bit older to start dissecting souls from animals so large.

The crow's foot was no longer in Trevor's mouth, but in his arms. He cradled it as he jogged around the gym. He was excited for being able to preserve it, but he knew one day he would be able to bring it to life in a blink of an eye and kill it just as easily. His crow meant the world to him, in more ways than one.

The Demon Within

"What do you mean compete--I...What kind of competitions?" James asked, feeling awry toward the situation.

Asylum

Let's start!

Orphange for the Unusual

Trevor made way to the gym. He followed the group, or at least what seemed to Trevor as a group marching their way to the gym. He held his crow, securely, and inserted one of the feet into his mouth, "Mmym time!" Gym time! he said excitedly. Following orders was one of his biggest tasks, in Trevor's opinions. He remembered when he had a hard time following his mother's tasks. She would get angry and frustrated and . . sometimes he would get a spanking. He knew if he followed orders, she would be happy!

Werewolves Of Ravenswood

Sera watched the two make some small talk before he continued staring at his drink. He felt rather pathetic. He imagined some scenario where he was this extremely lively and outgoing person--but somehow, his creativity started to run low as he adventured into what might the conversations be. I'm not much of a conversationalist. Although, he could be quite witty. His mother did not approve of him being so low and hard on himself, but he could not help but feel she and her heavy handed parenting had something to do with it.

Then, again...

According to the Russian Orthodox Church, the personality was attached to the soul. Some people's personalities are nurtured more than others. Maybe his personality was never nurtured.

Pop, the bubble in the drink snapped. It caught him in the face. He was not even drunk, and he still managed to get a bit of drink on him. Perhaps, if his face weren't so mesmerized but the glass. God, I'm an idiot, Sera said to himself. He looked back at the two conversing, and then back at his drink. If I wanted to make things awkward, I could look at them all day long. Please, don't do that, Seraphim. Not today.

Cabin in the woods

CaptBoobgrab said
Noooo don't drop. Maybe if it's just a connection to Mr. X, you could say your brother is his apprentice or something. I don't know haha, it didn't really say what kind of connection anyway.

Thank you.

Princess Mizuki said
Briza: How does her secret connect to Mr. X? Why would he be interested in revealing that she is incestually interested in her older brother?

I hope this edition works better. ^_^*)p

Cabin in the woods

Princess Mizuki said
Briza: How does her secret connect to Mr. X? Why would he be interested in revealing that she is incestually interested in her older brother?

Ooooh, I must have read wrong; maybe I should drop; unless I think of something before the IC starts. I will work on that today. Do, please, forgive me for the inconvenience.

Orphange for the Unusual

Muh-thuh-fuh-kuhz, re-pronounced in Trevor's head. He was not sure what that was supposed to mean, but the voice sounded angry. His mother must have done something. Trevor picked up his crow and held it close to his chest. He remembered times when he was angry at his mother. He did not miss those times, but he did miss seeing her smiling face, especially that smiling face she would give his dad when he came back to the apartment after work. He squeezed the bird, and the stiff feathers still attached to the corpse. The feathers were stale with dried, darkened blood.

He stopped squeezing the bird and held its face close to his face. He puckered out his lips as to imitate the beak, "Gym time," he explained at last, in a quiet early-elementary voice. Inside Trevor's head, the bird had responded with an exuberant amount of glee.