The Asylum (Horror)

Here is a flash fiction exercise. 1,102 words and 2 pages in length. I wrote this as an exercise for the book I'm working on now, Dreamland. What I am trying to convey is this. To make the reader uncomfortable in the skin of the character, yet still readable. I have a few metaphorical phrases, but most of the story is direct. I don't know if I should go further with this story cause I like the premises and I guess, this would be more of a prologue.

This is intended to be 1st person view and should not change. The goal of this exercise is to maintain pov, paint a creepy hard to read, but want to read picture. (hard to explain. Like, you're afraid of the what she's gonna do, but keep reading cause you want to know what she's gonna do). The story starts out in present tense and goes to past and back to present. Please let me know if it confuses you and leave feed back if you wish. This is horror, but has no real gore. I'm trying to establish mental horror.

~The Asylum~


Upon the shadows of night, I trace my frail fingers across my rustic cell bars, a foot by foot gap in this cold brick wall. Of all my visitors, the most common is the mere rays of the moon. A deep sorrow I can’t seem to escape in my cell. Even when I play along with the friends I create in my head, none of them remedy this loneliness. No matter who I paint in my head, NO ONE fills this void I’ve burdened since ‘it’ happened. It’s not so much that I regret killing her, I just…
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Everyday, just a mere whisper to my memories, and a chat with a psych to bring it all up, every secret I hold. There is no escaping his prying venomous blue eyes infecting my confidence and replacing it with insecurities. Never has someone trespassed upon me like he has. Of all things I dread of the day, his scolding voice, scruffy auburn beard, thick wavy locks, and undeniable skill. I hate him. Everything about him. AND TOMORROW, I must attend another visit with him.

As for tonight, I sit alone in this cell where not a sound is made. Well, at least in my head. The constant screams and vile words of those around me keep my sleep at bay. Night after night, screech after screech, all I long for is a simple silence. A silence that would be never ending.
This blackness I hope to never again see. And on this night as the moon hangs high, clouds envelope what little moon light that descends upon me. Darker than usual and accompanied by a foul musty scent, I embrace the cold touch of the moon once more and abandon the tiny hole in the wall. Not much to my cell, a toilet barely functioning and a bed torn to shreds. Not by me of course. I suppose they wouldn’t spend the big bucks on petty criminals deemed criminally insane.

The sane wouldn’t have trapped them like I did. They wouldn’t of lured them…Not like I did. I had to of been insane to do what I’ve….

They love me, my family. They must love me. I have yet to see them, but I doubt they would miss my last day on this earth. Too bad it’ll be behind glass. A priest often tries to scare me, to try and infect me with his religious insanity. Stating time and time again, I’ll see those who I’ve slain. I doubt so. The after life? Nothing less than a stupid ghost story.

What am I saying, I’ve taken no ones life. No one that deserved. No one at all. The memories I etch upon my arm with a single shard of glass. ‘Escape! Never again!’ Some say. At one time, they were fresh, exhilarating, the scent of blood. The same scent as death itself.

Oh how I miss it. As for now, my memories are nothing more than scars I’ve carved all over my body. Everywhere but my pale face and the middle of my back. The mild touch of blood tampered hair staining my cheeks. Oh how I miss thee. I would bathe in them, wear them, BE THEM.

I see nothing wrong with what I do. I see the media and everybody is too busy being somebody else. I actually become other people and I’m insane? No. It’s those who claim a false state of being called “NORMALITY” that are insane. Common sense and the usual are only figments of our wildest dreams.

The secrets each person holds, I’ve been holding for a lifetime, the darkest fantasies to vanquish those who oppose me and reap vengeance upon anyone who has wronged me. Fantasies that only the ‘normal’ wish they could fulfill. Oh, how one would cringe to see the things I’ve seen.

To peer unnoticed for days, weeks, and months; returning to the same roof top to watch my next trophy. Oh how I love the way she touches her own skin, so soft, so perfect. Each movement she made, all in a desperate effort to become beautiful. To be beautiful, I must be her. To have her milky white skin, thin waste and cherry red lipstick and not to mention her beautiful face. Flawless, yet she mars it with pigs’ blood and fat. Dammed make-up.

Standing atop the tin roof of an abandoned warehouse, I knew what I had to do. I must make my way across the street in the pummeling rain, rendering each street light as a blur. Nothing thrilled me more than the chase, how I got to her apartment building was just a mere flash to me. Can’t remember it, all I could think of was her raw beauty. HOW MUCH I NEEDED TO BE HER. With my scars all over me, it’s no doubt she would fear me upon sight. Knowing this, I wore a dark hoodie exposing the sides of my cheeks and none of my hair.

The last thing she would ever see would by my ice blue eyes. I made sure of it. I couldn’t help but smirk as I knocked on her door knowing how beautiful I was going to become. Sooner than I anticipated, she answered with only a single question.

“Do I know you?” Where the last words she would ever say. Fully prepared, I drive a sock into her gorgeous mouth and tackle her to the floor.

Without question, I see how small she really is, no comparison to my size. I’m not huge, but I’m slightly bigger than her. Some what erotic and filling me with nothing more than erotic emotions, I gaze unto her terrified eyes. Without a word, she screams fear from the windows of her soul.

“Shhh, I’m not going to kill you.” I softly whisper unto her perfect eyes. Her fists fly and I catch them as I smirk, pinning her down to the floor completely immobilizing her. Every quiver and muffled scream, the thrill of the hunt. If only she knew how much I admire her beauty. Her skin, hair, eyes, lips, and everything else my body rubs against.

She was my first, the very seed that blossomed into such a gorgeous thing. As the years progressed, I became more intricate. I had to of been to ensure my own beauty’s survival. I knew they would one day get me. I knew I would slip somehow, and I did. I gracefully walked into their trap. Yet, all the while, they failed to realize it was them who were walking into mine.

I wasn't creeped out at all and I would not classify this as a horror. It started it off well but became very ho hum as it progressed toward the recollection of his deed. Very detailed and telling. The other flaw in this story is the use of capitalization which, instead of giving the desired effect you were perhaps looking for, it did not.

The following lines confuse what you have already written:

As for tonight, I sit alone in this cell where not a sound is made. Well, at least in my head.

Even when I play along with the friends I create in my head, none of them remedy this loneliness.

Why, on this particular night does he lack those friends?

I would have preferred a continuation of his tortured state in the asylum with snippets here and snippets there of his crime rather than a full detailed account. IMO it would have had a more chilling effect as the reader got to know the character this way. You asked in another thread about the use of metaphors. The opportunity presents itself here as you narrate in the present, use poetic madness throughout as your character sups on his memories.

I think a rewrite would turn this into an interesting read indeed.

Thank you, I wrote this and published it with little-proof reading and I did it on purpose. I guess to try and get opinions at a more raw level if that makes sense. I am considering re-writing this because I am noticing a few things I failed to do, such as establish it's actually a woman who is obsessed with being beautiful.

I'm not so much concerned with the story being complete since it's an exercise for the "big picture" but your feed back is welcomed. I realize it appears hacked and what not and it may appear I do not care for the piece in general, and no I am not expecting the critics of this to do my work for me. NO WAY. I guess this is kind of a experiment?

I did wonder about whether it was a woman or not. As to whether it appears you care for the piece or not, only you can answer that. When critics review your work, they often make suggestions on how it might read better, not because they think you want them to do your work for you but because they see potential in the story. Believe me, if the story is utter rubbish, nobody is going to try and save it! You sound like all the writing you're doing is an experiment so go for it, test the waters but don't forget to take on board some advice that you receive otherwise you're only ever dipping your toes in the ocean and never really swimming. You've got the writing skills, the imagination and the gumption to post your work on Lit-Net. So consider each review and ask yourself, does this critic have a point?

Personally, I'd love to see your work develop on Lit-Net

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Delta40

I did wonder about whether it was a woman or not. As to whether it appears you care for the piece or not, only you can answer that. When critics review your work, they often make suggestions on how it might read better, not because they think you want them to do your work for you but because they see potential in the story. Believe me, if the story is utter rubbish, nobody is going to try and save it! You sound like all the writing you're doing is an experiment so go for it, test the waters but don't forget to take on board some advice that you receive otherwise you're only ever dipping your toes in the ocean and never really swimming. You've got the writing skills, the imagination and the gumption to post your work on Lit-Net. So consider each review and ask yourself, does this critic have a point?

Personally, I'd love to see your work develop on Lit-Net

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I think you misunderstood what I said. I do greatly consider advice, hence why I posted that metaphor thread. To see what people feel towards it. I just don't want someone to come along and think I want them to do my work for me. I wrote this a few days ago so it's still vivid in my head. I'm already mapping out ideas to pull the final strings together for a rewrite in which, I will edit this one, and repost the new one. When a finished product is created, it's probably been rewritten more than once, if not three times or even four to five. I know that from experience. I am willing to re-write it not for views but to further my technique because what I think is awesome....well I might not have painted correctly or just might have painted the basic outline. Therefore, this piece could be entirely different before I claim it a Short Story and no longer just an "exercise".

I look forward to reading it if you post it here then!