“I tried to quit smoking recently and it didn’t go well. Go well is a bit of an understatement really. In the aftermath though I realized a few things about myself. Turns out I wasn’t addicted to smoking or some oral fixation, which sounds like I will suck on anything pointed at my face by the way. No, the reason I can’t stop inhaling dried leaves laced with additives and chemicals is because I am addicted to a much darker thought. I am addicted to the thought of death. Even if it is a slow drawn-out death. One filled with hacking and an overall weathering of my body as I watch myself slowly extinguish like the very thing I love. I am fixated on the thought of death to just stop myself from killing myself. Does that make sense? In some ways we are self-destructive.  That isn’t a new idea in this world. Some of us shoot shit into our veins. Others barrel down the road in hopes that a child doesn’t pop up in a school zone. I put something to my lips and take a deep breath. We as humans are addicted to destroying ourselves. On purpose or by circumstance we can’t give it up. I can’t think of one thing that I do that isn’t killing me in some way. Which may be a good reason to give up one that I know will, but why? What’s really in it for me?

Life always ends in the same whether we want it to or not. Right or wrong all we have in life is faith that we are doing what is best for ourselves even if it is not. Our judgements and our thoughts are ours, but sometimes there is no need to express every last one. The mind is a terrible thing to waste and sometimes hearing a piece of it can be too much to handle. Opinions maybe like assholes and everyone’s got one, but it doesn’t mean we want to hear them,” I spill out. “Yes, these are all valuable points Layne, but what were you thinking about at the time?” The lady with the clip board asks me. “I prefer Ambrose,” I inform her. “My apologies Ambrose, but please answer the question,” she says in a way that lets me know that she doesn’t care. This is another job. Another moron she has to deal with. “Those were my exact thoughts give or take a few on the spot additions. I tend to fixate on an idea and kind of “black out” or chew on that idea for a while. Well, until something else pisses me off or annoys me. Then I switch to that one,” I ramble on. She gives me a look that I have seen before. Everyone gives me that look whenever I try to explain myself.  Same look just before they roll their eyes.

“Those were your exact thoughts when you were,” she pauses to flip through some papers on her clipboard. “Ah yes, here we are,” she finally says before turning the clipboard towards me. She shows me a picture of the aftermath of my actions. I try to not look at the picture, but when it is basically shoved in your face it is hard to look away. “Those were your thoughts when you did this?” She asks again. I fidget against the restraints they have me in, “I mean give or take. Yeah, that is what I was thinking about.” She turns the clipboard back to herself and flips back to where she left off.  “How does it make you feel doing what you did to that innocent lady?” she asks me.

“Well, it doesn’t make me feel good, but let’s not throw around the word innocent so loosely. I mean if you would have heard what she had to say and the way she was saying it. My actions might almost seem justified. I mean in the right circle,” I try to joke. “Justified? This isn’t a joke Mr. Ambrose. I’d hardly call decapitating a defenseless woman in front of her children justified because she was simply informing you about the harm you were doing to yourself,” she says all butt hurt. “Words, words, words it is all about how you say them. That’s the thing about perception. I’ll tell you one thing. Those children learned a valuable lesson that day,” I say in a less playful tone. “What possible lesson could those poor children have learned from you that day?” She asks with fire burning in her eyes. “Besides the obvious? Those kids learned that sticks and stone will hurt them, but words will surely kill them,” I let off a dark sinister laugh.

Horrified the doctor gets up from her chair. “You are sick Layne Ambrose,” the doctor tries to say over all of my laughing. “You haven’t been paying attention,” I say in a low tone between all the laughing. She stares at me. Puzzled as I leap at her from across the coffee table. Dislocating my thumb before I leaped at her I knock her to the floor. I sit on top of her as she tries to fight me off. She isn’t strong enough to get me off of her. I pop my thumb back into socket and grab the pen the lays next to us. “Help,” she screams. “Help me,” she struggles to say as I put my hand on her throat. “Someone,” she fights to say as I stab the pen into her neck over and over again. She slowly stops fighting me, but I can see the life still left in her eyes. I release my hand from her throat as more blood rushes from her wound. A large hole in the side of her neck. “You think I am sick?” I ask her. “You think? Maybe the next one will be smart enough to keep their opinions to themselves,” I get up off of her and head back towards my chair. “I think we are going to need some help in here,” I shout as loud as I can. “This one seems to be leaking.”

Not based on a true story… they let me out for good behavior… that’s a lie… they let us out because we talk too much… apparently there is a limit to the amount of thoughts… even a doctor can handle… but they gave us some meds… so we can keep on working… which is good because the wifi in the asylum… fucking sucked… we really need to invest in better internet speed… no wonder most of them were talking to themselves… it doesn’t take much for someone to go a little… mad…