“Sometimes the only way to really forget everything is to go to sleep.”

…

I woke up. I heard a scream from somewhere else. This did not cause me fear, I did not feel unsafe or uneasy. I believed this was normal, although I was unsure.

My room was entirely white, save for the writing. ‘Daisy.’ The word, or possibly name, was largely written on the wall across from my bed in marker. I did not know why. I got out of bed and looked at the wall next to me. There was a plethora of words and sentences written on there. ‘There’s no escape now.’ ‘She’s dead.’ ‘How could it have been you?’ ‘His name is Doctor Simmons.’ The name was familiar to me, but searching for a trace of him in my mind was like searching for a memory from your childhood; all was long forgotten.

I heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” I said. A man walked in. He wore a lab coat over his button up. He wore glasses over his green eyes. He had brown hair. I know this man. I think.

“How are you, Charlie?” The man questioned. I was too fixated on trying to remember to respond. He turned his head to the writing on the wall. He then pointed at ‘His name is Doctor Simmons.’

“Oh, yes. Doctor Simmons.” I remember him now. He had been my doctor for the past nine years. But what was he treating? “I’m well today, how about you?”

“Very well. Now, tell me Charlie, what do you remember?” He asked.

I scoffed, “That’s a very broad statement. Remember about what?” He then looked to the wall across from my bed. “Oh, Daisy?” I searched my mind. I thought of a flower. “Daisies are a flower, aren’t they?”

“Daisy Gallagher.” And then I remembered a woman. A woman I loved. I remembered that she was beautiful, but I could not remember her face. I remembered her laugh, her smile, her tears.

“Oh, yes. Daisy Gallagher. What ever happened to her?” Doctor Simmons had a somber look on his face. “What’s the matter?”

“Think back, Charlie. Remember that night.” I was puzzled and my face must have shown it. “November twelfth. What happened that night Charlie?”

Just then I noticed writing on the wall across from me. ‘I didn’t do it.’ ‘Don’t tell him.’ ‘It wasn’t you.’ And with that, I remembered. I remembered Daisy Gallagher in full. I remembered her beauty, and I remembered her face. I remembered her laugh, her smile, her tears. I remembered how she would complain, and it would drive me crazy. I remembered my temper, my axe, her blood.

“I think it’s time you get leaving, Doctor Simmons.”

“Charlie, what happened that night?”

“Leave now, Doctor Simmons.” I began to raise my voice.

“Charlie, we want to help you. You could help us learn more about brain injuries, think of other people you could help avoid your mistakes!”

“My mistakes? I don’t know what you speak of, Doctor.” I remembered it all now. This was an asylum, but I’m not crazy. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy. Get out of my room!” Doctor Simmons left with a scared look on his face.

It couldn’t have been me. I couldn’t have killed her, I loved her. I’m not insane, I’ve made no mistakes. I decided it was time for bed. Before I went to sleep I scribbled more words on the wall.

…

I woke up. There was manic laughter from another room. It was familiar. I sat up in bed and looked at the wall across from me. I noticed words scribbled across.

‘Daisy.’ I had always liked those flowers. I looked at the sentence next to it.

‘Sometimes the only way to really forget everything is to go to sleep.’

The bustling crowd Surrounding, but not there I hear them speak radio static The tongue of human affair I was never taught Yet their talk is familiar to my ear Words I have heard twenty times over But their definitions disappear I am drowning in the people But the air can reach my lungs Though there are many that surround me Every last one speaks in tongues

There were moments, I am fairly certain, where the world felt at peace. I was beside the person I loved and that felt like enough.

The faint memories of sitting by a fire on the warm summer nights ring through my mind. I would observe the embers that would fall to the ground and shrivel away. It reminded me of the attempts I made to tell you the extents to which I loved you, but the words would die out on the tip of my tongue. The sound of crickets and blazing fire, your breathing and mine… those were the moments I felt peace.

I can almost paint a picture in my mind of the mornings waking by your side. What had once been a cold room was overtaken by the domineering warmth you bestowed upon it. I would lie next to you and hear the birds singing their ballads, and I would wonder if they could love the way we did; if their song was meant for another as my silent symphony, never to leave my lips, was meant for you.

I can vaguely remember your face and the way you said “I love you.” How you would cry with beauty and grace, and laugh all the same. But I do not remember your name, when I knew you, or if I ever told you how much I loved you. As the cold walls of this room seem to close in like the reaper after his prey, I try to remember who you were. But I deny the truth that has taken your spot next to me: I have forgotten.

“It’s lonely in a cold, dark, desolate cell, don’t you think? They all say I’m insane, delusional, or, my personal favorite, a madman!” He started cackling. “Now I know we haven’t known each other very long, but you don’t really believe that, right?” There was no response. He started screaming, “ANSWER ME! DO YOU THINK I’M CRAZY? DO YOU? DO YOU THINK I AM A MADMAN?” He was cackling, but he stopped and stared at his stagnant friend. But only a second later he laughed wildly again as he told his idle buddy, “I remember now, walls don’t talk! Silly, silly me!” And the wall gave him no response.

In a sudden moment he stopped laughing. He sat pale and unmoving, cold and dismal, and most of all, completely insane. He thought back to what he’d done, who he’d hurt. He remember going to a park and seeing dumb, gullible children singing one of their little lullabies. He began to laugh again as he said out loud, “Yes, Mary had a little lamb.” He giggled a little. “A perfect lamb to slaughter.” His insane laughing continued, until he fell completely silent on a moments notice again.

He began to sing Mary Had a Little Lamb, but a rendition you would never hear form a child’s lips. “I have killed so many things, many things, many things. I have killed so many things, like children in a park!” He began to cackle wildly, and that laugh was the sound of evil. He continued his song through his laughing. “I have held many things in my hands, dying things, no one understands.” His face fell pale again, and he was nothing more than a man awaiting death.

“I have held many things in my hands, and I have lost them all.”

Opening the cupboard Taking a peek inside The finest plates of China Property of groom and of bride

Taking plates out Setting the table now Knowing she could get out But never knowing how

Here comes the husband! Placing the food on his dish She baked his favorite meal Compliance with a side of fish

She’s staring out the window The summer vast and wide If she opened up the window She could let the warmth inside

But here she is stagnant In the ever cold winter Hoping, dreaming, praying But the frost has already bit her

“I love my husband I love this life Who would want more Than to be a housewife?”

Yet she is holding onto dreams She once had when she was young Of traveling the world Of basking in the sun

Now those dreams must be forgotten And she tells herself then, “Now enjoy today before it’s tomorrow And you’ll be opening the cupboard again”

If wishes fell like rain, then certainly I am a storm. If dreams flew like bees, then certainly I am a swarm. If we are seldom dreamers, then I guess I’m one of a kind. I live in the clouds with my soul, above my body and above my mind.

The snow was painted red, that’s what I’ll never forget. I had always found the rooftops of the city to be admirable when covered in snow, but not when the snow is red. I sat there quivering, his body in my arms, taking shaky breaths. He gasped for air, but he didn’t get much. He was bleeding out from a bullet wound to the rib. There wasn’t anything I could do. My only powers were strength and telekinesis I had never learned to fully control. So much had happened in the last two minutes that time seemed to stop, yet pass in a blur.

It couldn’t have been more than a couple minutes ago when I stood face to face with my enemy. We stood on the snowy rooftop, ready to brawl. We had been enemies for years, but we didn’t really know each other. We both wore masks and used aliases.

It was just supposed to be the two of us, no causalities. But just then the door to the rooftop opened wide. Low and behold, the only person I had and loved, Sam. He was a journalist who wrongfully hated my guys, he just didn’t know it due to the alias.

It all seemed to happen in a flash. My ears rang as a shoot was fired. Sam fell to the ground with a bullet through his ribs, and my enemy fled before I could catch him. I ran to Sam’s side and applied pressure to the wound through my tears; it didn’t seem to have any affect.

He couldn’t speak, but I could hear what he was thinking. “It’s your fault I’m dying! Why don’t you show you’re face and show the world who you truly are!” Although I swore I would never reveal my identity to anyone I knew, I couldn’t help myself in the moment. I pulled off my mask so that in his dying moments he’d know I was there for him.

You were the night sky; never-ending, full of stars that I placed my dreams upon. You’re hands are the hands of one holding a gun; steady, prepared to hurt.

Am I Icarus? It seems I’ve flown too close to the sun. I’ve been shriveled and reduced to dust. You are the grim reaper, you’ve brought death to my door. As I am prey, beaten and bleeding, you are the predator. You’re an animal who knows nothing of mercy and pity.

I am a patient calling for a doctor. The empty hospital halls, which symbolize my world, echo my own voice back to me. I am now nothing but a victim, telling the cops my situation. You are the robber, but you took much more than money or belongings. You are nothing but the bandit that steals. Don’t put to waste the heart you have stolen.

A young boy beings to set the table as he hears the tv droning on in another room. His mother, younger sister, and two older brothers are all working to get the house ready. Tonight was a special night. Guests were coming over for dinner, and they had to be the ideal family the boy’s mother had always wanted. The only one who wasn’t helping was the young boy’s father. He enjoyed what his wife deemed “incessant chatter” from the television set.

“Have you put out the silverware yet?” the boy’s mother asks. The boy had barely finished setting down the plates. “Why isn’t the silverware on the table yet?” His mother growled. Before the boy could respond she was out of the room to complete other tasks. The boy finished setting the table in fear his mother would start yelling at him again.

Having finished his tasks, the boy made his way into the living room and sprawled himself on the couch. Just when he thought he would be able to relax, his mother caught sight of him. “What do you think you’re doing?” She asked him. He knew she would start barking orders at him again. All she did was bark and growl, and for a moment all the boy could see his mother as was a dog. But the boy knew better than to keep his mother waiting; this dog knew how to bite.

“What do you need, mother?” The boy inquired as he jumped up from the couch, ready and at her service. She counted off task after task she needed done. He simply nodded and was off to complete each and every one.

Almost an hour later he had finished all his tasks. Not so much as a minute after, the doorbell rang. The boy’s mother rushed to the door and opened it wide. A man and his wife stood in the doorway and his mother greeted them with a big, fake smile. You could never expect a real, warm smile from her. To smile means to be happy, and you didn’t have to be smart to tell she never was.