I’ve been crazy for two years. For over a year and a half I’ve been conscious in this mental hospital.
I’m still here.
I’m going to ask him again. I’m going to beg him. I have to leave. I can’t stay here much longer or I’ll break again. I’ll just show up to the meeting today, as is normal, and knock on the door. When I come in, I will convince him I’m sane and he’ll have to start the process to let me go.
Don’t get your hopes up. He would have said something if he was going to let you go soon.
I stop in the hallway leading to the room and blink my tears inside. No, he will let me go someday. He wants me to get better. I sniff as I stride past the room where the piano is silent. He will see that I am sane and I no longer need to be kept here. I’m a woman ready to be independent and ready to return to her previous life. I’m no longer a danger to anyone. Please, Dr. Cruebel, let me go.
The door to the piano room creaks.
I’m shaking. I don’t know why. I’m completely rational. I have no reason to be shaking. I’m going to obey the rules and not get curious. That will show them.
“Kerry! You’re not supposed to leave the room yet!” I hear Sarah call from the hallway behind me. I can’t move. Thalia is scared of Kerry. Was she scared of Kerry because she knows that she is dangerous?
Is Kerry the piano player?
My head turns slowly. I want to look at her. I want to at least figure out who she is.
“Ashlyn!” Dr. Cruebel stands in the open doorway of the counseling room. He waves at me to come towards him, “Don’t turn around. Just slowly walk towards me. Kerry, return to your—“
“My name isn’t Kerry.” the soft voice breathes behind me. I begin to walk towards Dr. Cruebel.
“Yes, you are and you need to return to your piano—“ Sarah begins.
“Her name isn’t Ashlyn.” I lift my eyes to look at Dr. Cruebel’s face. My shoulders tense.
“I am Ashlyn. You need to obey these people.” I hear something between a gasp and a sob.
“Don’t you know who I am?” the voice chokes.
“Kerry! You are to stop right now and—“
Dr. Cruebel steps forward and reaches out towards me. He draws back at the last moment.
A hand rests on my shoulder. Something in my chest jumps, I know not from what. I reach my hand back and touch the bones wrapped in skin that hold me. I’m touching a dead hand. It’s decaying skin stretched over prominent bones. Does she want to fight me? Or am I amusement to her? The stiffness of my muscles begins to strain my neck as she takes her hand away and wraps her arms across my shoulders from behind. Her chin digs into my collarbone and I smell stale sweat. Her short, greasy hair pokes my face as she hugs me. Her breath almost makes me vomit. She binds me close to her with her arms. Her body is warmer than mine and I can feel its feverish dampness through her clothes.
“Please let go of me.” My voice is shaking.
“But—“
“Dr. Cruebel, get her off of me!” But, he looks at me as if entranced, “Sarah? Are you going to help me?”
Kerry’s sharp nails pinch my arms as she forces me to face her. I want to say her name. Everything in me wants to say her name. Her name sits in my mouth at the tip of my tongue, pressing against my lips. I keep telling myself that her name is Kerry. Her eyes search mine, hungrily. Her angular face grows perplexed. She wants me to say her name. But, that’s not her name.
“Don’t you . . . know who I am? Can’t you recognize me?”
Her name crouches in the bend of my tongue. I want to shout it. I want to scream it. I want an explanation.
“Ashlyn?” Sarah asks.
The pitiable child in front of me turns rabid. Her arms constrict my ribcage.
“Her name isn’t Ashlyn! What have you done to her?”
I concentrate on every ligament and tendon in my arms and hands as I bring them up behind her back. My fingers wrap around her arms and I deliberately push her away from me. She goes limp. Her blue eyes plead with me.
“But,” she says, “You know who I am. I can see it. You know my name—“
I shake my head.
“Say it then! Say who I am!”
I shake my head. Dr. Cruebel stands behind me and rests his hands on my shoulders. I feel his warmth radiate in the cold hallway. Those dark blue eyes have not left me. She tries to challenge me to say her name, but something in her has weakened. She can only shape her lips to form the words, but her breath is not in it. Sarah puts her right arm around the patient’s shoulders and slides her left hand around the woman’s elbow.
“Come with me.”
“Sarah, wait a moment.” Dr. Cruebel says. I feel his voice’s resonation. He bends down to my ear. “Go ahead and say it . . . ”
I turn my face slightly and accidentally brush his goatee with my cheek. He moves away. If I say that name, I’ll never leave. If I don’t say it . . . I’ll lose her.
No, I’ve lost my sister already.
I stare down the pleading look.
“My sister is dead. I’ve had enough of your games.”
Everything becomes disjointed. I can see Kerry and Sarah moving but never moving or changing location. All noise is gone. Tunnel vision seeps in quickly, desaturating everything. I’m blocked off from all sensation by black. I can’t say when, but I realize my forehead is sweaty. The humming of florescent lights floats above me. I’m elevated in bed with my knees raised.
“There’s some space between the daisies and the scrapbook.” a male voice speaks, almost startling me.
“Here, hold the bear,” a female voice says, “ It will look better on top of the box.”
Wow, I’m sore. I feel like I’ve been beaten. Something hangs from my nose and I feel tape covering my face above my mouth. I move my right hand slightly and plastic slides across my skin.
“She’s moving again.”
“Ashlyn?” the female voice asks, touching my right shoulder. I squint my eyes open. My forehead contracts as I stare at the young woman who smiles down at me, visibly relieved. Her dark eyes are shiny. A clean-shaven, older gentleman gazes down at my face. He looks like me.
“Dad?” I scratch out. The corner of his mouth turns up and he smiles a wrinkled smile. My hand feels weighted as I continue to move it towards my nose. My fingers come into contact with a tube and I pull on it slightly.
“No, no, no,” my dad says, taking my hand off the tube, “You might still need that. Phone your mother.” he directs the last part to my sister.
“What is it?”
“Your feeding tube. You’ve been fighting a fever for the past two weeks.”
“Weeks?” I ask, “I’ve only been here for weeks?”
“Yeah, you’ve been sick a little longer than that. Your fever has come down considerably. You were 100 on the dot when they last checked.”
“Yeah, she’s awake . . . no, I haven’t . . . don’t know. Dad,” she turns to him, “ Mom wants to talk to her.”
“Put it on speakerphone.” he says. She clicks the rectangle in her hand.
“Can you hear me?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I hear my mother say.
“Here she is.” She holds the glowing rectangle close to my face, “It’s Mom.”
“Mom?” I ask.
“Ashlyn! Oh! You’re awake?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh! How are you feeling? Have they taken your temperature yet?”
“Uh . . . “ I look to my dad, “Help?”
“Not since I told you last.”
“How are you feeling, Ashlyn?”
“Like I’ve been hit?”
“What happened? You’re breaking up . . .”
“I’m what?”
“Speak louder! I’m having trouble hearing you.”
“I’m not feeling well.”
“Is it getting worse? Call the doctor!”
My dad rolls his eyes and takes the phone.
“She’ll be all right, honey. Just get here.”
“You’re breaking up. What was that?”
“Just—“ the object beeps, “It dropped.”
“I think she was driving here already.” My dad sighs and hands it back to her.
“I’ll try again in the hall.” he says and takes his own rectangular object out before leaving.
“Kiera?” I ask . . . my sister.
“What’s with the look?”
“You’re not dead.”
“What?”
“You’re . . . I’m so confused.”
“I’m confused. What are you talking about?”
“I thought you were dead. You . . . drowned.”
She takes my hand.
“I’m here. Ok? I’m not leaving you anytime soon. You got that?”
My throat chokes as I nod. My eyes turn to my bedside table. It’s buried under get well gifts.
“Where did those come from?”
“Relatives. Who else? So,” she sits back in her chair, playing with her rectangle, “You dreamed I was drowning?” I look at her. Dr. Cruebel seems almost a distant suggestion.
“I dreamed I was in a mental institution for two years.”
“That’s weird.”
“In my mind I spent two years believing you were dead and that I couldn’t remember anything. It was terrifying.” she looks away to her rectangle.
“I see. What else do you remember?”
“Every day. I had no idea who I was. It was too real to be a dream.”
“But it was a dream.”
“Yes, I know. It just . . . everything seemed so real. I kept trying to figure out what was the truth. I started out thinking I was some pony princess who got turned into a human—“
“What?” she says to stifle a laugh.
“Then this doctor convinced me I was Ashlyn Marlowe and I created the fake world of Equestria to recover from the fact you drowned. I kept dreaming and waking up and there were these patients everywhere . . . I was terrified.” I repeat, looking at her. She rubs my shoulder with her hand.
“It’s ok. I’m here. I’m not leaving.” I nod.
“I’ll be ok.”
“I mean . . . I assumed you would have some dreams. I didn’t realize they would be nightmares. Well, they’re over now.” she says definitively.
My mother bursts into the room and assaults me with concern. After I can finally sort out her constant stream of questions, we establish that I am going to get better. I won’t be here much longer. Once my temperature stays under 100 for 24 hours, I’m free to go. Though I’m happy to see my mother and the rest of my family, I can’t help but think this is all wrong. They chat above me more than with me. There is only so much that can be said. I grip Kiera’s hand tightly until she has to leave.
I’m alone in the hospital again. All I have to keep me company is the pile of presents next to my bed. I’ve seen that bear before. It was the same bear the one girl kept holding and crying into. There is a scrapbook next to a vase of potted daisies. Charlotte loved daisies. How I remember that, I have no idea. They’ve bloomed already into small yellow and orange suns in the middle of a brown and orange eclipse. A square box rests between the bear and the scrapbook. On top of the box I can see a small crystal vase holding a single lavender rose.
There is a sprig of yellow bird’s foot with it.
I want to pick the vase up and hurl it against the wall. Yellow bird’s foot? The teddy bear? Charlotte’s favorite flower? That photo album and the box probably also contained things to leave me guessing. Is this another layer? Yet another nightmare to leave me confused? Yes, I know my mother’s voice. I can recognize my father’s voice in certain words or phrases. I know . . . I know my sister’s voice.
This tube in my nose irritates me in so many ways. I want to rip it out and yank all the needles out of my skin. I wake up to this? A fever where what I eat has to be pumped into me? Or have I fallen asleep and I’m in a nightmare? Memories of the mental hospital dilute the longer I am here. Specific details stand out but I can’t recall everything like I could when I was there.
Why am I sad? This is reality. I’m finally released from the mental ward. I have a life waiting for me that’s even better than the one I hoped to return to when I was dreaming. My sister is still alive. My sister . . .
No! I wasn’t dreaming. Dr. Cruebel is real and Sarah will come to wake me up soon.
I feel tears fall down my cheek. I know better than that. I can’t have them back. Dreams don’t continue where you leave off. Even if I fall asleep again, I can’t have them back. I want them back. I would take all of Sarah’s snark, all the maddening speculation, and all the other patients just to have it all back. I want to be crazy again. I want to know it was real. I want it to be real and to be back in the hospital, trying to get better.
What if I say her name? Her name has stayed pressing at my lips for me to release it. The name I wanted to say the moment I heard her speak:
“Luna.”
No magic spell. The fluorescent lights hum above me. The tubes stay plugged into my arms and shoved down my face. The teddy bear and flowers sit at my bedside. I'm too late. I passed my test and I'm free from the mental hospital. I'm safe now.
I'm Ashlyn Marlowe, whether I want to be or not.
"Ashlyn?" I turn to glare at Kiera.
"Leave me alone."
"How are you feeling today?"
"Why does it matter?"
"Ever since you got back . . . you've been different. Is something wrong?"
"Always."
"Tell me. I'm your sister." My glare intensifies. My sister? My sister. No, I can't have my sister back.
"Leave me alone."
"Ashlyn. I'm sick of this. These past few weeks you've been . . . . Why are you carving up your headboard?"
"Just felt like it."
"Why? I mean . . . it's pretty, but what is it?"
Home. It's home. It's the cascading waterfall. It's the stained glass. It's the path to the statue garden. My heart stirs. It's home. It’s the castle I spent so many centuries in. Even if I can't see it in person, I can see it with my own eyes.
"It's where I should be."
"You're not making any sense. You belong here."
"Then, why can't I dream anymore?" I ask, turning my face to her, "Why can't I even have nightmares anymore?"
"Not everyone remembers their dreams."
"No, you don't understand: I. Have. Dreams. I dream of nothing. It's empty. This whole world is empty."
"Ashlyn, you're not making any sense."
"Send me to the insane asylum then!" I shout, crouching on all fours, "Get me out of here and put me where the mad ones go."
"We love you. We're not giving up on you that easily." I turn away from her and throw my knife onto the floor. "Please, let me talk with you." Talk with her? How can I talk with her? She doesn’t understand. I have to go . . . to go back. I have to make this right. I have to at least see if it’s in ashes.
"I have a lot to think about." I spit at her. Her sigh irritates me.
“Let me know if you need anything, ok?”
I ignore her.
She hugs me. It’s empty. I can feel it’s hollowness. She can only imitate a hug. She’s not real. Her arms let go and I feel her get off the bed. Her shoes pad across the wood floor as she exits my room. The stairs creak with each of her steps and the bells on my door ring to signal her departure.
Does she know? Is she aware that she doesn’t exist? Or am I wrong? Will she exist after the sound of her car disappears? How real is this fake world? Real? What am I saying? Even the patients seem more real than her and the rest of my family. I've tried to dream here but I can’t. Every night I sleep to experience a blank wall. Am I selfish? Constantly wanting a different world than the one I am in?
I pick up the teddy bear in my hands and feel its fur. The illusion here is enough that if I want to believe it’s real I can. Why would I want to give up Equestria for this? I look back to the carving. It's hideous. It's not even close to what Equestria would look like. It's not my home.
Yes, I know who I am, or at least, who I once was, or, more accurately; who everypony wanted me to be. If I had just realized sooner I might be back home . . . in my real home. I drop my head and close my eyes. If I had realized sooner? I’ve really known who I was the whole time. I just wanted to give up. I looked in my sister’s face and told her she was crazy. I rejected Luna . . . again. I gave countless notes away without reading them. Twilight would have every right to hate me. I hug the bear to my chest. It doesn't help anything. Does she know what I've done? Is Twilight hurt right now? Is she crying or angry? Does she still miss me? What will happen to Luna? WHat will happen to Luna now that I've failed her again?
It's my fault. I asked for this, fought for this, and gave up everything I had to be here. I set the bear down. The album scratches the top of the always empty gift box as I lift it to my lap. The pages are crowded with the perfect, happy family I wished for. I get tired after two pages but I keep turning them to remind myself of what I've done. This is what I rejected Luna for. This is what I gave up everything to get. I can’t shake the depression swelling in me. I’ve lost my real family. Everything I've worked for is gone. Why didn't I think of that when I refused to say Luna's name? All I had to do was say it. Instead, I got my wish: a chance to be boring again, unhampered by responsibility, no longer worshipped, just nothing.
“You win, Discord.” I say to the emptiness as I close the album. I wipe the tear as it threatens to spill over my eyelid. “Is this what you wanted?” I challenge the ceiling beams, “Are you happy now? Is this the only way you could have used your magic for good on me? Do I just live here and die after getting my wish?”
I have no right to blame him, but shouting feels great,
"Is this your revenge? For what?" I stand up, panting, letting the album fall, "Why did you do this to me? What good am I if I stay here?" my voice echoes and rings at an empty pitch I can't stand, "Answer me!"
I take a deep breath that cracks, "Bring me back home! I have to say I'm sorry! I'll step down and give everything to Luna. I have to tell her I'm sorry! I have to . . ." my sob interrupts me, "Help me, Discord. I'm sorry." I fall back onto the bed to sit, "I'm sorry . . ." and voice my emotions over and over. The tears grow more fervent with each repetition. Soon my tears are the only thing that can speak for me. I curl up on the cover of my bed and sob. My music comes back to taunt me.
The years now before us, fearful and unknown. I never imagined I'd face them on my own.
There was always a way back before. I open my eyes. There has to be a way out. Am I going to lie here and feel sorry for what I've done? Or am I going to die, saying I fought? Am I going to die, trying to return? In a beat of my rushing heart, I'm kneeling in front of the box from the hospital. The cover clatters against the floor. I know there has to be something about this box. Every time I’ve opened it in the past it’s been empty. It can’t be empty. I’ve tried shaking it and testing it for a hidden compartment. This time, I don’t need to. A black leather journal sits inside. Pages stick out and the leather is scuffed. I snatch it out and open the front cover.
My name is Screwball.
I frown. What is this? Why would this be left here? Then again, it would never be left here if it wasn't important. It has to be my key out. I wipe my eyes furiously and continue.
For now, my dad calls me Sarah Cruebel. He said it’s for a game we’re about to play. I haven’t seen him for awhile but that’s changed . . .
I sit, hunched over the book. The words glide under my eyes, sometimes through a wall of tears, sometimes above burning cheeks. Screwball. So, she really was his daughter? At every mention of my name I feel self-conscious, embarrassed. I had no idea . . .
But, I still don’t understand the burning building. Why was the hospital burned down? Was that another world or the same world but another time? When the sun sets to my right, I turn the light on to continue reading, ignoring the protesting in my hunched back. While so many questions are answered in the diary, I still don’t understand. Maybe by the end it will all be answered. What is this section she’s scribbled out? Why did I keep dreaming that I was drowning? Why would Lucy attack her when she seemed to be recovering? What really happened that night?
There is a knock on my door. I glance outside but it is too dark to see if a car is parked in the driveway. I don't remember seeing lights pull up to the house. I close the journal and lay in on the bed where it sinks into the quilt. I glance towards the knife, sticking out of the floor, and hesitate before I lift it. No matter what it might be, something is off about this.
The person knocks again. I enter the dark hallway and feel the carpet under my shoes. The blade is bare as I hold it in my right hand. I can hear my heartbeat. What is the worst that can happen? Can I be killed? What difference would it make? My heart jumps at each creak from the boards under my steps. I descend the stairs cautiously. The knock comes again as I reach for the door handle. I slide my fingers over the curved metal and place my thumb on the latch. The gears of the door grind and click, pulling the bolt out of the doorframe. I draw the door towards me and peek around the edge.
Sarah.
Shivering in a grey sweater that is too big for her, Sarah Cruebel stands at my doorstep. Screwball is on my doorstep. I throw away the knife and hold her tightly before I can think about what I am doing. I don’t care what I am doing. I know why she is here. She stiffens at first but since I have her arms locked against her body, she can’t do anything else but accept my hug.
“You have no idea how happy I am to see you. Come on in . . ." She shakes her head, "Are you here to bring me back?” I ask her. She says nothing but as I let go of her she reaches into a messenger bag and pulls out a pink and brown camera. She won’t look at me.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“It’s how we went back and forth. This will bring you back to Equestria.” she holds it out to me, “Take a picture of yourself.”
“Bring us you mean?” She looks away, “Or have you been banished?”
“No. I’m not banished.”
“Sarah . . . Screwball, I saw your diary.”
“I know.”
“I’m not finished with it. But, do you know—”
“It’s ok.” Her hands shudder as she plays with the dials on the camera, “There wasn’t much after the first few entries. I don’t know everything.”
“Screwball.” she looks up at me, “I am sorry for how I’ve hurt you and your family. I didn’t realize—“
“It’s not your fault. It’s no one pony’s fault, really. Besides, that wasn't the reason . . .” she stops herself.
“If I had known—“
“Would anything really have been different between us?” she says, her jaw shaking. After a moment I sigh and shake my head.
"I am so sorry." I say one last time.
"I," she closes her blue eyes and takes a deep breath, her hands steady, "I'm sorry too." I touch her arm and she pulls away.
“Shall we head back home then?” I suggest.
Her jaw trembles as she presses a button on the camera and a light begins to flash.
“Tell my dad, I love him.” She says, and thrusts the camera into my hands. Before I can say anything, the flash goes off and I leave that world behind.
She doesn’t come with me.
To Be Continued . . .