People

    Prologue
   
    They bandage my arms now.  Ugly, tan bandages that start at my wrists and end at my elbows.  I hate these awkward bandages.  They are bulky and make my arms itch.  I'm not allowed to remove them.  They say my arms need time to heal.  But, I know that's not the only reason.  I think they are disgusted, repulsed, maybe even a little nervous around me.  They think that by covering my arms they can make it all stop.  They think they can save me, control me.  Shit, when it happens, I can't even control myself.
   
                                Chapter 1
   
    I'm lounging in the common room right now, what they call the living room.  That's where I usually spend my afternoons.  My current favorite past time is people watching.  That's what my grandma and I used to do when I was little.  We would sit on a bench and watch the people around us.  We would make up stories about what their lives were like.  Today I watch them and keep a journal of the lives they could have left behind.

      This hospital is like a zoo.  One minute everything will be completely peaceful, then with the blink of an eye, all hell breaks loose.  Just last week, Anya, a tiny fifteen year old girl, came out of her room covered in shit.  She had rubbed it all over her body, even her face.  It smelled so bad.  She just ran around, naked and laughing.  We all ran into our rooms and watched the show from our doorways.  None of the guards wanted to touch her, so it took them a while to calm her down.  I make sure to steer clear of her now

      My current victim is Eleanor.  I heard them say that tomorrow is her 70th birthday.  I guess they quit celebrating her birthdays a few years ago when she quit talking.  They used it as a type of punishment.  She doesn't even seem to know.  She speaks only once a week.  At precisely 7 p.m. every Saturday she get dressed in her red peacoat and floppy red hat and strolls down the hallway to the nurse's station where she askes Margerie if her ride is waiting.  Margerie is so used used to this routine that she doesn't even look up when she tells Eleanor no.  It's impossible not to notice the sadness that peeks through her eyes as she walks back to her room.
    .
    Eleanor fascinates me. Most of the time she wears a pair of dingy white sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt.  She sits in the ratty old blue recliner and stares at the t.v.  It never looks like she's watching it, more like staring right through it.  She looks so sad, so defeated.  But when Saturday arrives she is a totally different person.  She dresses up, her cheeks are full of color, and her eyes sparkle.  Every hair on her head is perfectly in place.  And she smiles.  A smile that you just can't help but return.  On Saturdays, she looks more like an old movie star than a crazy old woman.  This gives me an idea; I am going to interview her tomorrow evening when she's all dressed up.
                   
                          Chapter 2
   
    "Eleanor, many I speak with you please?"  I approach her on her way to the nurses's station.
    "Make it quick, my dear, my ride is waiting,"  She smiled, her green eyes sparkling.
    "Where are you going?"
    "To a party, of course,"  She gestured to her coat, "I am wearing my party coat."
    "Who is it that is picking you up?"
    "The limo driver," she winked at me, "it's a gorgeous black limo with a full bar.  we drink champagne in tall skilly glasses."
    "That sounds nice, and expensive."
    "Money is no object, my child.  Do you not know who I am?"  She frowned at me and looked down at her arm where a watch would be, "it's time for me to go, I musn't be late."
    I watched her walk down the hall toward the nurse's station.  I couldn't stand to see the look on her face when Margerie told her no.  Instead I went into my room and took out my journal.  My plan actually worked.  Who was Eleanor before she came here?  Was she famous?  Or is she just another crazy old woman.