The Incredible Account of My Employment in a Sanitarium

Part 1

Pure silence on white tile. Tile. Tile. A spotless white covers the walls. Upon it rests a mathematical grid of grout. The walls mirror the purity of the silence. Slowly, my eyes begin to trace the grout grid. Angles. Lines. Vertices. Then the faint whir of an air conditioner kicks in. The hypnotic hum lulls my drowsy mind. Until, I hear the pounding of the clock. My eyes race to locate the source. They fix upon a small white clock camouflaged amongst the tile. Tile. So much tile. Harder and harder it pounded. Blinded by billions of tiles and assaulted by the sound of ticking. Hammering harder into my skull, the tiny wall clock becomes a church bell and consumes my consciousness.

Then, the door clicks open. It’s a wonder that I heard the tiny noise over the roar of the ticking reverberating through my brain. That simple noise ripped me violently from my intense reverie. Silence again. Relief. Footsteps mar the silence and echo through the room as a man in a suit jackets enters. Only the sound of his footsteps dance off the walls as he seats himself opposite me. Our gazes meet. Immediately, he wavers and breaks the connection. He decides to shuffle papers in his hands instead. He nervously clears his throat before speaking.

“Mr…” (he squints at the paper in his hand. He needs glasses.) “…. um…. Mr. Forsythe? Charles Forsythe is it?” he finally manages to say.

I nod in approval. Not expecting this reaction, the woefully blind man again chooses to shuffle his papers. Up until this point, my brain cells had been priming themselves to cleverly meet the inquisition, but it was clear that this would be no interrogation. Indeed, it was hardly an interview. It seemed more like an awkward formality. You would not find a more qualified man for the job. The blind man spoke more awkward words and asked more vague questions to which I gave satisfactory answers. I will not suffer you the words this boorish man spoke to me. Suffice to say, he left the white room in a terrible hurry. Not unlike a bird freed from it’s cage.

Again, I sat and waited. With a thump, the air conditioner proceeded to shut itself off. Silence once again descended upon the tiny white room. Soon, my eyes began to ache from the intense glare of the tiles. Those tiles. I rub my eyes and close them for a moment. In the darkness, the door opens behind me. Opening one eye, I see another taller and more intelligent looking man enter. His business-like air prompts me to rise to meet his outstretched hand, which he shakes with an uncommon vigor.

“Mr. Forsythe, I want to congratulate you. We’ve decided to offer you the position. I hope you’ll accept it. We’d be lucky to have you, sir.” He was clearly flattering me, but I didn’t care. I had gotten the position. Upon accepting it, he respectfully escorted me to the gates and gave me instructions for my commencement.

Walking back to my apartment, I took a short reprieve on a park bench. There I smoked my pipe and absorbed the diversity of activity within the park. Finally, my mind’s vast scope narrowed to a point and considered what I would encounter in my new occupation. Many fanciful notions filled my head of men screaming, rambling, and mutilating themselves. Though this would indeed be present, I did not have the capacity to consider the incredible nature of those individuals which one does not believe to exist in such an environment.

Comments? I am currently writing part 2. I'm also brainstorming an idea for a story to enter the ACSI contest this year. Gotta make it good...

God Bless,

Stanley