Black Bird

Black Bird

By Eellusion



The Smudged and blurry hands stay there, pressing against the glass, still and cold. It's a lonely sight beyond that window: a dark and decrepit room; dripping pipes leak onto walls with peeling moldy floral paper, as the floor boards peek through moth eaten carpet at odd angles, splintering the ground.

I lean closer to the window, trying to look out at the other children playing, my hands still by my side and my eyes blank. All I see in the window is a girl, ragged and small, blank eyes and snub nose. This is how I see myself, see this room.

I hate this place, the smell makes me sick, the people and there convalescing tones, the tests and treatments, the blinding white linoleum floors that squeak under rubber soles, the sick green walls that subdue the patience. Hospital, the Hell of my life.

A constant tapping on my window grabs my attention, past my reflection and filthy hand prints are two small beady dark eyes set either side of a black beak, the tapping stops and the black bird looks at me, knowingly. We stare each other down, shuffling closer to the window I push my nose against the dead glass. He flew.

Alone again in my empty world. The park below full of other children and joyous laughter. They taunt me. They get to run. They get to play, to laugh. They get freedom and all I get is silence, isolation and imprisonment. I get a crow that flies from me, turns and runs away like the rest of them.

Night time; it comes quick here, like a giant metal vault slamming down around me, locking me in.

The orderlies do their rounds, checking each patient is in their room, taking whatever meds need to be taken. The doors that need locking are locked. The patients need restraints or sedation are restrained and sedated.

At night, in the dark the screams replace the day’s laughter. Screeches, banging and cries of wild animals flow down the barren and abandoned halls from the high security patients. I feel my wrists, they ache, they pulse.

I lay awake tonight like all nights, staring at the wholeness of the darkness, it engulfs me. I see the crow, in my mind’s eye, he flies free over buildings and pollution, over trees and mountains, over seas and oceans into cloud and clear blue skies.

I resent this bird, his freedom. I resent his belonging to the trees, waters and skies. He is content.

Each day starts and ends for me. Doctor Michaels talks to me, checks up on me. I never reply, why should I?

He is back, my little black friend. His feathers bleak and dull, he perches on the window sill, tilts his head and looks at me. I look back, he squawks, he turns, he flies.

But this time I do not turn away, I watch him, my heart fills with ache and falls heavy as he flaps his wings and catches the wind, off into the distance.

Doctor Michaels asks and asks me to join the group; "even just to sit with them will do you good". I don't want to sit with the group, they are all crazy, I am not. But Michaels' old blue eyes plea with me, I join. Sitting in a circle around a small table, the psych at one end on one of the plastic chairs that farts each time you move. The table stands alone with nothing but a box of tissues and a small old doll for company.

Looking around I see them; twitching, fidgeting, rocking, chattering some even screeching intermittently. THEY are ALL crazy.

He didn't come, not today, not in the rain. Pelting hard my window, the drops of rain chase each other, melding together and fall faster to their end. He didn't come, he left me staring at my distorted reflection, my hollow face. Why didn't he come?

Two days pass, it rained. He still didn't come, when he did I ignored his tapping, I turned from him and would not look until he flew away, where I watched him leave and felt guilty.

Michaels grey voice asked "what are you forever looking at out there?"

What is it? I want to yell back at him, what does he mean, "what is it?". instead I glare at him and walk away. Has he never seen my crow? Has he heard it tapping? No. my crow is my own, he is me, my freedom I cannot have.

Michaels stands beside me as I watch my crow pecking the small creepy crawlies on my window. Using my nail I tap back, the crow taps back. "It's a beautiful day outside" is all Michaels says, why does he not see my crow?

Am I as crazy as the rest of them? If so then I do not care, I have my black feathered friend.

I join the group. I sit two seats down from the psych and listen to the banter of the others, their crazy stories, their jolting glitches and I smile; yes I AM CRAZY.