Parallel Time (Sequel to I. AM. NOT. INSANE)

Authors note: This is the sequel to I. AM. NOT. INSANE (which for some reason didn't appear on the competition page. Does anyone know why?). It would be better and make more sense if you read that one first, but if you don't want to, here's a synopsis: A girl has been in an insane asylum for 284 days, ever since that fateful day where she killed the boy. She keeps a stolen diary throughout her time there and it ends with her on the verge of escape.

For those who have read it, here ya go! The sequel you've been waiting for. I will now stop rambling. :)))

I stop at the door and falter, just for a second, looking down the corridor which I have looked down hundreds of times before. 

Then I run.

I run and I don’t look back.

I’m never going to look back. 

A Helper- just a nicer name for a guard- stares at me, shocked into silence, and then as I edge closer and closer, he suddenly moves. His hand goes to his communicator, with desperately relaying a help message into it. Sirens go off, louder and louder, piecing my skull, making it hard to think. 

I can see the door.

I need to get to the door.

It’s the only thing that matters right now.

I stumble and trip, my head pounding, with unintelligible thoughts roaring and racing across my mind, but I stay on my feet. Just.

The guard has earmuffs on and is steadily advancing, with his taser held menacingly in one hand, and a cold smile plastered across his face. 

Oh God.

Maybe I should have thought it through a bit more…

He comes closer and closer, his taser lacing through the air to hit my back. It hurts like the devils, with tendril of electricity snaking around my arms, my legs, my whole body while it shakes and loses control. 

I can’t get up.

I can’t run.

I can’t do anything, but wait to be taken back to my room, the one without a window for another 284 days of imprisonment. I can’t do that. I will go insane.

Suddenly, another alarm starts. The shower alarm. But I’ve already had my time? 

And then I realise.

It’s not mine.

It’s my neighbour, who spends most of his time screaming and shouting and pounding on his door. I can see him running now, towards me, towards the guard, his arms flailing. He connects with the guard who is promptly knocked off me, and crumples against the wall, his taser now dead. The prisoner man grabs me, but the tendrils of electricity lace up his arms, causing him to fall back. 

Fall back into the incoming guards taser. 

7 tasers hit him across his back, his neck, his head.

I think he died quickly.

I hope he died quickly otherwise he will be tortured for helping me escape.

And I will escape.

Grappling the wall, I half stumble half sprint to the door. The guards are preoccupied with the man, who I think they weren’t supposed to kill, just maim. They look panicked and shocked. It gives me enough time to run, and the metal door is there right in front of me. I grab the handle like a lifeline, and pull it. It takes effort, but the door swings open, with a clang loud enough to wake the guards from their stupor. 

But they’re too late.

I’m already gone.

I lock the door behind me, and smash the handle, which creates an impenetrable deadlock.

I’m free.

***

I breathe my first breath of fresh air in 284 days. The air is hot and stuffy, but still hundreds of times better than the asylum's. 

The world has changed so much since I was last year, It’s almost impossible how much it has changed. Where there were people, there are now ghosts. Where there were buildings, there are now shells. Where there was noise, there is silence,

I don’t know where to go, but my legs seem to have a mind of their own. They wind down street after street, all of which look the same, until I get to the shop.

The shop.

My life changed here. This was the last place that I was a normal human, until I was branded with the label of ‘murderer’. I don’t know why I came here, but so much has changed. 

I walk into the shop. It is abandoned like everything else here, but I still see all the people who witnessed me murder accidentally hurt that boy.

 I see the shop assistant who stands by, clearly in shock. There’s nothing she can do, except stare in horror at the blood and… at me. Her eyes latch onto me, with a terror like no other alive in them. She looks at me like I am some kind of monster. Which I am. How could I hurt that boy?

I see the man shy away from me, dropping his apples, which I go to pick up and offer to him, but he pushes it away, like I’ve offered him the devil. Maybe I am the devil. Surely no one except the devil could do what I just did. 

But worst, worst, worst of all, I see him. The boy. With his face sliced in half, the knife still wedged between his teeth, where it wouldn’t budge through the thick bone. His limbs stop spasming, and then he lays still, the ugly gurgling that came from his ravaged throat finally silenced. I almost sigh in relief. Almost. I could never feel relief after seeing his body, what I had done to it. I didn’t mean to.

I didn’t mean to.

But I don’t suppose anyone will believe me, no matter how many times I repeat those four words. I will always be labelled as a murderer. 

I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t my fault that he looks looked like Daniel, who even in death would always torment me. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t my fault. 

Blame Daniel- even though he’s dead and buried. 

I see Daniel in the corner- just his ghost, laughing and teasing me. He knows what I have done and why. He knows. 

He will never leave. I will always be stuck with his ghost. 

His and the boy’s.

I see the blood pouring across the floor, spreading out around my shoes. In my shoes, staining them a crimson red.

I still see the stains now.

It seeps into my shoes, my socks, my soul. I can’t look. What did I do?

Something so bad, I tell myself, something that you will regret for the rest of your life. Something that will never leave you. From now on you will see

the lifeless boy’s mangled face on the floor, with his mother clasping his body, tears streaming steadily down her face, only pausing to snarl at me, like the wild animal everyone perceives me as. I turn to run, to try to leave everything behind. My feet move, but not fast enough, never fast enough to escape the scene that will never stop haunting me.

I run from the shop. I’m not sure what compelled me to go back, but it didn’t do anything except make me want to return to the asylum where I belong. I roughly push the doors, and take a deep breath.

I feel the security guard’s hands wrap around each arm, pinning them against my sides. A second one approaches, gun cocked and safety off. Clearly my life is not a priority. Their voices grate against my ears. I don’t understand what they are saying, but their message is made clear when they lock my hands in cuffs. Sirens wail and people shout. 

So many orders are being thrown about. Paramedics come for the boy, who has no chance of survival. Police come for me, the girl murderer who deserves a punishment so bad she would rather die. A young woman is by my side, pushing me towards the car. I lurch forward, legs unsteady, and I almost fall, but I don't. 

Somehow I make it to the car. The door locks behind me, with an officer already sitting there with a taser. 

There are no cars waiting to escort me now. There are no cars at all, or buses, or people. It has turned into a ghost town like so many others. No one can survive more than a week or two up here with no protection.

 Including me. 

I need to find a bunk, my family, my friends, who I hope will forgive me. They were probably told I was dead, the easiest way and no doubt the kindest too. I have a week, maybe less, maybe more, but there are only three options left. Either I am lucky and I find a bunker, or they find me and take me back or I die.

Who knows? 

I look up and see an eagle-like bird. Even though I think my mum thinks I’m dead, she’s still up there always watching over me.

I take another deep breath and start to leave the town.