How did I get here?
It seems as if—
where am I?
I was just—
why?
No.
How did it get to this point?
I miss you.
Hello?
Can anyone hear me?
Please help me!
I can’t seem to—
Why can’t I move?
I want to go—
I don’t have a home.
I miss you.
The blood is on my hands—
I want to forget.
No!
I can’t.
It hurts.
I love you!
No.
No.
NO.
Why did you have to do this?
Why did you have to—
How could you leave me?!
I miss you.
I
M i s s
You.
Come back.
Why did you slit your wrists?
I watched you—
No.
You
are
Alive.
I just want—
When—?
How—?
I was just with you...
How did I get here?
Insane Asylum
Sleep wants me more than the screaming stuck in my parched throat so close to my ears they ache. When the barking begins my eyes open and I see the damage without surprise because I know the bright lights in the room do not lie. Pit bulls and Rotweillers bite at my skin unable to draw blood pulling my organs out for sport. How they got in here is not my concern, how I get out of here is. I know where I am because I've been here before or maybe I never left. Someone get a leash and put it around my neck. I'll be your dog, and you can be mine, sharing a kidney pie.
Déjà lu.
He's my husband, so I know he knows best.
We headed up here yesterday, and I underestimated how long it would take to pack. Luckily, Sebastian managed to pack some of my things once his bag was ready.
It was an awfully long trip to get here; I attempted to lighten the conversation and said that our drive was reminiscent of Odysseus' journey. He did not find this amusing, and told me not to speak about literature that I did not understand. I was pleasantly surprised to see that he had at least brought my embroidery work, and I rested, knowing that my growing discomfort in the carseat could at least be channeled later into fierce needlework.
Today I finally got a good look at the room I collapsed in. Last night I was able to unpack my clothes, undress, and then I only remember the texture of the bedsheets. It's an ugly room, with mismatched shams and sheets, with a small vase holding wilted flowers. There's only a small window here, one that's nearly part of the ceiling, so there's no chance of me peering out of it or even reaching it with my longest finger. Wait, my luggage is gone. I am only in my shift, so I cannot make it out very far if there is anyone else in the house. Also, where is Sebastian? There is no other imprint on the bed, so I must have slept alone. I shove and kick the bedsheets off of myself and stagger out of bed. I get a better look at the wallpaper–I'd never noticed it before. It is a ghastly shade of yellow; one might say it looks like the ugly stepsister to marigold. I reach out and stroke it, and bits of the paper flake off. Old glue and bits of mold now skip about in my palm. I shivver and rub it onto the bedsheets. Now to find Sebastian. I scour the room one more time. A bed–a bed most peculiar!–it has only round edges! And it's nailed to the floor! And the vase is stuck, or glued I should think, to the dreary dresser. There is not even a pitcher or basin for me to refresh myself. I guess at the very least, I will wash my face if I cannot find Sebastian. He must have gone out for a walk. He mentioned plans to go walking or hunting today. I must have overslept. I reach for the door.
I said, I reach for the door.
Why isn't the door opening? Pangs of fear are rising in my belly. This is precisely what Sebastian wanted to come here for–I've been having night terrors and attacks of 'hysteria,' or so the doctor said. The plan was for me to come here, relax, and go home in four days. Let me reach for the door one last time, and I'll dry my hand first in case it was moist and slipped about on the handle.
Nope. That door is shut. And now I think I've begun to understand why the room is sparsely furnished, and why I have no other clothes besides a nightdress to cover me. I swear I see something in the corner of my eye. I want to think nothing of it, but I think it was a girl. A girl...in the nasty wallpaper. Lord help me, and Lord, while you do that, I hope you present my husband with some version of chloroform today.
________________________________________________
@nijahwrites #feministliterature #theyellowwallpaper #basicallyafanfic #shortstory
Context:
This is based off of the novella "The Yellow Wallpaper" by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, but I put a little spin on it. I loved that novel, as it deals with how men used the concept of 'hysteria' to control and castigate women. Think late 1920's cars, long gowns, and controlling husbands. (Also, 'déjà lu' in French means 'already read' so I alluded to this being a rewriting of the story anyway) Thanks for such a fun challenge!
IF I’M NOT MISTAKEN
My nails are filed down to the quick
My hair is all tangled; all the windows I've licked
Last night I walked and danced in the rain
If I'm not mistaken; I've gone insane.
My mind filled with paranoia; I'm angry and sad
I'm pretty sure the nurses have killed my Dad.
The people here are drinking my blood that they've drained
If I'm not mistaken; I've gone insane.
I'll sleep when I'm ready; I'll swallow the drugs
I'll pick at my arms crawling with bugs
I'm not an animal; I refuse to be trained
If I'm not mistken; I've gone insane.
Is this real, or am I mistaken?
Do you keep a record of the drugs that I've taken?
Surroundings are unfamiliar; they've altered my brain
If I'm not mistaken; I've gone insane.
Closet Mind
I ain't no scientist, no brilliant mind.
But I know I'm not at the movies of any kind.
The walls are all soft like fresh toilet paper.
The sounds in the room are like air puff vapors.
I only have one bed, and no windows at all.
I have a cushion on the floor, in case I happen to fall.
I went to sleep in a puddle of liquor throw up.
And wrapped in a new white jacket is how I woke up!
My bedroom don't look like this.
this cell isn’t so bad , actually
the walls are not padded,
baby proofed, yes.
the door is locked,
but I have six keys.
the fridge is stuffed,
and I am hungry.
I try to be sincere,
under the mask,
I don’t mind getting hands dirty,
yet always wear gloves.
the booze are all gone,
yet the alcohol I use generously.
the road is closed,
but my feet are tired.
The morning's come
i need to sleep.
