Anomal (eBook)

Chapter 1: Marked by fear

Me. Just me alone. I spend hours upon hours, days upon days, months upon months in this very building, just because my parents thought that I am problematic. Trapped in a different country at the age of sixteen, far away from the ones I love. I’m not losing hope to return back home one day, but I can’t say when this is going to happen. I love remembering the time when I was free. Not surrounded by four brick walls. Enjoying life, growing up, being freed of any kind of problems but this isn’t the life I have been living ever since I turned fourteen. My parents didn’t know what to do with me and thus I have become an inmate of this prison about two years ago. But I am not a person with any malicious intent. I am not a criminal.

“Stefan! Time for lunch!” says a female voice upon opening the door of my room.

“Already?” I reply, “What’ve you got for me this time?”

I glance at the door behind me, while sitting on my bed.

“I ordered french fries and a schnitzel with a mushroom cream sauce for you.” the overseer says. A woman with a golden heart. Her name is Leonie and just like me she’s from Germany. Unlike others she takes good care of the problems I have and treats me like her own child. Our health is what keeps her going. It is what keeps her heart beating, so she can help us overcome our problems.

“So, are you coming?” Leonie asks. I put on my slippers and follow her into the dining room. It’s not until late evening that I am able to lay in bed again. Knowing that going into the dining room is a heavy task for me every day and the mere thought that the day is about to start does not sit right with me. It is a chore that drags on and drains all my energy. Lunchtime is the only time when the patients from all three districts meet, comparable to meeting up with friends at school. Inside this madhouse you can’t really have many social interactions with different people, so everyone is taking this one chance during the day to meet up with other patients even though our freedom is very restricted. No matter where you look, there is always at least one security guard watching you. Not to mention the portraits on the walls that give me goosebumps even after two years.

“I told the other overseers to bring your friends to table seven.” Leonie says with a smile on her face. Seeing her smile fills me with joy. I thank her and go the table. The warm feeling of security does not last long though, since the amount of monitoring intimidates me every time I step through the door. The portrait on the northern side of the dining room is the most harrowing thing. Lucifer Madieu, the founder of the mental hospital Madieu in Odense, Denmark. But I know this man as the person who established a high-security-prison for mentally ill people. On TV he represents himself as the White Knight who acts for the good of all people but in reality, he more closely resembles a stone-cold ruler whose true intentions are unknown to us. His “heroism” is nothing more than a facade trying to trick us. It is our pain -our unhappinessthat keeps him going! A disgusting creature! If our therapy does not achieve the expected results within a certain amount of time, the methods used switch to a destructive extreme. It goes as far as involving so called “aggrandized therapy methods”. There were patients who I haven’t seen for multiple days at their regular place and once they had returned, they were traumatized. These people seemed like patients from the third district afterwards. Nobody knows what causes these “aggrandized therapy methods” to be implemented into one’s therapy plan as well as what exactly they are, since nobody wants to share their experiences.

Anyway, once again I’m taking a seat and wait for my lunch. Barely a minute later I can welcome Claire to the table. Long black hair, one eye covered up by it, dressed up in black, skin as white as a sheet. Truly a beauty, especially when viewed in the right light and that’s exactly her problem. Photophobia -the fear of lightthat is what she has to deal with. Always equipped with the black umbrella which she holds towards every light source. Someone like her will never feel comfortable in a room like this. White walls, huge windows towards the south and the sun shining brightly and lighting up the room. Almost unimaginable that her parents sent her all the way from France. Claire is eighteen years old and a patient from the first district. Her fears are taking quite a toll on her mentally but she poses no danger to other people, unlike me. I am from the second district and that alone is anything but good. Patients from the second district can go absolutely crazy when confronted with their fear or, in other words, we pose a danger towards our surroundings. It was not because of a murder that I was sent here but rather because of my violent outbursts which led to my father ending up in the hospital one day. But it was their fault because they always made me face decisions. That is my fear. I suffer from decidophobia, the fear of decisions. From day to day, I feel how my stay in this building is dragging me down. I am not making any progress. Kind of ironic that I have not faced these “aggrandized therapy methods” yet but I do not want to complain. As usual, Claire is sitting in front of me.

“So,” I open the conversation, “what’s on the plan today?”

“The usual,” she responds, “but I can finally call my parents again.

Might make going through the day worth it after all.”

It’s nice to see that her parents have not abandoned her. Not everyone shares that lucky fate.

“Sounds good!” I reply, “I’d like to as well but, you know, only people from the first district can.”

“Sorry. I didn’t want to remind you of your bad situation.” she mumbles with a slight tone of shame in her voice.

I begin to smile, lean over and whisper to her, “Hey, they’ll change up my therapy methods today. Maybe I’ll get a shot at getting into the first district within the next couple of weeks. Seems worth it to me, honestly.”

The horror solidifies in Claires face.

With a squeamish voice she asks, “They’ll change your therapy methods? Stefan, they are talking about the ‘aggrandized therapy methods’, don’t you realize?”

Part of me is aware about this but I am still hopeful that everything will turn out differently. The eastern door of the dining room opens, and all eyes wander to the person stepping in since every patient from this part of the building is something like a celebrity in this hospital of sorts. Every patient stepping through this door is from the third district. It does not get any worse than this. Overseers need to take care of them twenty-four hours a day since they pose a threat to themselves and others, or, to be upfront about it, these people are ticking time bombs. The thought that they are allowed to dine at the same time as us is still odd to me. Unlike us, their overseers and a security guard come into the room alongside the patient. Both of them received a special training to deal with these people to ensure total control over the patient at all times. If either me or Claire would go crazy, one of the general security guards would take the necessary measures to ensure everyone’s safety. This usually includes assisting the patient out of the dining room. Patients from the third district on the other hand will be stopped with the full force of the special security guard within two seconds and their overseer administers strong sedatives that can even lead to a coma. To prevent us from getting on each other’s nerves without even realizing, everyone wears a nametag where not only the name but our mental illness is written on in its technical thermology, Danish, English and German. One third of the patients are connected to Germany in some way and either speak the language or understand it so it makes sense. All of my friends speak German but on the other hand I do not have a lot of friends. Then again one of them is actually stepping through this door at this very moment. His name is Luuk and like the others from his district he’s closely followed by his overseer and a security guard, which are a necessity for him. He’s only eleven years old and suffers from panophobia, the fear of everything. Nobody can imagine the pain he has to endure. It’s a miracle that he even spends his time with us, let alone calls us his friends. Continuously shaking, he advances towards our table and takes a seat next to Claire. She lays her arm around him, and he nestles in her clothes. He’s not even doing that on his overseer. Claires must be very special to him.

“Hey Luuk,” I say in hopes of relaxing him, “everything going smoothly?” He lets loose his firm grip on Claire and nods. He asks quietly, “Could you decide on what to eat today?”

I sit back relaxed and respond, “Do I look like a guy making decisions?”

Claire starts to giggle.

“Leonie does that shit for me.” I assure Luuk. He looks worried anyhow, since, for one, he cannot remember the name of my overseer and he was caught off-guard by my vulgar vocabulary.

Luuk’s overseer looks down angrily and reacts with a slightly enraged tone, “Language, young...