Apartment 2 Room #206

So, you’ve finally come. I was wondering when you shall show your face here, of all the resident of this building I must be the most interesting one. Why shouldn’t I be? I am the only person who has spent a decade of his life in a mental hospital; ergo it must be interesting to know how I cope up with the mundane day to day life.

People are afraid of me. They think that they would drop dead if they made eye contact. And why shouldn’t they be? Not long ago I was a raving lunatic who was straight jacketed, and thrown in a rubber cell. When I was sane before I never knew that there could be so many stereotypes that exist in this world. Or you could say that I was mad before, because I couldn’t see this world for what it is-An inflexible rigid martinet. However this was a lesson learnt long before I was certified. 

Look around you, you won’t find a single thing in this apartment that doesn’t serve a purpose. Many people who welcomed me here, who imposed on me to see what stereotype I fit in, told me that I lead a “Spartan” existence. They told me to buy frilly looking things, advised me on interior decorators, some even proposed to find me a girl because my apartment needed a “woman’s touch”. However this was before they discovered that I was institutionalized.

 So everything that lacked a woman’s touch was now attributed to my madness.

I don’t blame them. I learned my lessons long ago, in my previous life. What previous life? The life that I had before, the life when I was a pathetic drunk, spending the obscene amount of the money I had on booze. Then also I was a stereotype- a rich drunk kid or rather a brat, who is used to wave his money around and had his way. My neighbor also was a stereotype, another rich philanthropist who earned only for donating it. And by God, people had it all wrong. I never broke a single law in my life. I just drank. And he, he was a monster.

I remember that day, when I was leaving my apartment badly drunk and I saw him with a girl of around 15.  I dismissed it, thought that she might be one of his charities; he was usually involved with waifs nurturing them and caring for them. However I didn’t realize that he didn’t just nurture them, he forced himself on them deriving a sadistic pleasure from their misery.

When that girl disappeared, was killed by him, I told police that I last saw her with him. However I was a drunk the joke of everyone, my testimony was summarily dismissed. That was the last day I touched alcohol, in an instant I went from a bottle a day to bone dry. If I was not addicted, I could have saved her, I could have realized him for the monster he was. But I couldn’t. For all my lavish life, I couldn’t save her. I should have seen that hungry look in his eyes. I should’ve…

However I couldn’t have left him to his own devices. I didn’t. I entered his apartment, to apologize for my accusations. And I killed him.

You want to know how I did that? I tied him down, made an incision on his stomach, took two rats, pushed them inside and then sutured it. And then I watched. I sat there for all the time it took the rats to burrow their way out, and it was not long. And then I watched him bleed. And I sat there listening to his screams. And I sat there for a very long time even after he was dead. I was ready to face the consequences of my act. The killing of that bastard was reward enough for me. However I was again stereotyped.

The policeman who first apprehended me was a sudden hero for the media. He told them, that in his career he hasn’t seen such a scene. He said,”the criminal (that’s me), was unapologetic. He was calm, such calmness that only comes from madness. He was unremorseful, delirious, and his eyes. I can never forget his eyes. It was as if his stare could kill me.”

Adios…

PS: one more to come.