THE CUBICLE

 

THE CUBICLE

CHAPTER SIX

Michael woke up in the asylum feeling groggy and tired. He had spent the last few weeks in the wretched place being tortured by the male nurses giving him vile potions and injections. He became delirious and weak. The air inside the confinement smelt of dead bodies and human urine a ghastly smell.

He would always make sure to cover his nose whenever eating meals for he was sure he would throw up. The small chamber resembled his room back in Harlem. He almost kind of felt at home despite his current predicament.

There was a huge metal door with a small window attached to it, a surveillance camera and a small window high above where he slept. There on the floor was a small worn-out mattress of which he slept on.

There below the window at the corner of a concrete wall was an electric outlet. He had tried to short circuit the door but there was no current. Shit he thought. He would have to try another way to break free.

Every six hours he was given a bathroom break where he would use one of the washrooms from the ward. There he saw other patients some playing checkers other chess while some were completely drugged out, drooling from the corners of their mouths like zombies.

He had a bad taste in his mouth out here: metallic and chemical.

After careful scrutiny by the nurses, he was let go from the cubicle and into the ward. There he interacted freely with the rest of the patients. The asylum was dark and it looked ancient, as if in a long-lost dream.

Some kind of dark pungent mist lingered in the air. In every ward was a stationed small room for one of the male nurses. These nurses were diabolical, they would fight the inmates sometimes beating them into a pulp if they did not comply with the rules.

The biggest commandment one would break is to refuse to take medication, if one had not followed the rules. Brute force would be made and hell would rise. In each ward there were almost ten beds but the patients were far less.

There was no outside time for fresh air. Just pure horror in doors. One could not tell from day and night, within the cursed asylum, everything seemed to have one palette and the only way they could differentiate between night and day was through the meals.

In the mornings they were given a cup of tea, bread and some oatmeal, during the day for lunch was mashed potatoes with some beef or white rice with some bean stew on special occasions it was spaghetti with meatballs, at night it was a thick vegetable soup with hard bread or some cauliflower with rice.

Michael hated the food but he had no choice but to comply. Every fortnight a medical doctor would come and examine the inmates giving him new prescriptions, if need be, also some injections.

And how are you feeling Mr. Murdock?

Are you hearing voices Mr. Murdock?

Are you sleeping well?

Those questions were always the same, mundane and seemed to vex Michael. He knew no better than to lie unapologetically. That was his only way out of here. His ticket. It didn’t matter what he said, he had been in this position way too many times. As long as he kept a cool demeanor, he would be out of there.

Out of all the inmates there was one in particular they called the Joker, a mad chap, that all the patients avoided. He always wore a straitjacket to restrain him from fighting other inmates and also a grilled mouth guard. He looked horrific like something out of a horror flick.

He would always speak in some kind of ancient tongue laughing hysterically in between pauses. The other inmates were frightened by him. Especially after he bit off an ear of one of the male nurses.

He was flogged so bad he couldn’t walk for two weeks as the rumors were told.

A couple of days later, Michael was released and his freedom was given back to him.

A bag filled with his clothes and belongings were handed to him begrudgingly.

Finally, he thought.

He took the subway train back to his apartment. Only to find it was locked from the outside. Damn he cursed under his breathe while holding the keys. He peered over the corridor and saw Dante his drug dealing neighbor had moved out. On the door was a foreclosure notice that read that the apartment was up for rent.

Michael was bewildered and shook. He took out his phone and called is sister, straight into voice mail.

He had nowhere to go…

Nowhere to call home

Will this be the last of him?

Pain and misery crushed his soul and the weight of the world rested upon his shoulders…

Is this my final reckoning?

He asked himself.