THE SLIDE

 

Phillip had slipped into insanity slowly, as if tipping a tentative toe in a hot bath, carefully submerging oneself inch by inch. Most would have realized they were going down a dark path and clung out for something to grab hold of, to keep their head above water. Instead, Phillip felt he was glimpsing the truths of the universe and, instead of shying away from them, was deliberately running further and further down that rarely taken road.

He first glimpsed what he eventually came to think of as the Real Reality in sophomore math class. Phillip had been half asleep when the teacher loudly called his name, startling him to attention. His head jerked up to face Mr. Langan, the middle aged, pretentious jerk who had been trying to teach him algebra all year.

Phillip was not greeted with the sight he was expecting. In his teacher's place was a large spider. It was humanoid in shape and even wearing the tweed outfit Mr. Langan usually sported. Its eight eyes were all focused on Phillip. Spider limbs protruded from the coat's sleeves and Phillip could see the bulge of other concealed limbs beneath the jacket.

“Phiiiilliiiip,” hissed the spider.

Phillip shouted in astonishment and jumped to his feet, startling the students around him. But now that he was on his feet, the man's arachnid features had receded, leaving Phillip facing the visage of plain old Mr. “You need to study harder” Uptight Asshole Langan. His classmates were collectively staring at him as if under hive mind control. To Phillip, their concerned looks seemed more akin to suspicion and ill intent.

“I need to use the bathroom,” Phillip had declared, fleeing the classroom. He thought he could feel their malicious stares crawling on his back as he retreated.

Anyone else would have either dismissed it as a half-asleep hallucination or flight of fancy, but Phillip was a different type of child. He had never had a close friend in his life, unless his mother counted. More than that, he was cursed with an eternal ennui. Everything bored him to tears. Phillip was always infinitely jealous of the characters in the books and comics he read who were able to shed the boredom of regular humanity to go on magical quests, becoming friends with elves and superheroes. To Phillip, this creature he witnessed was his first chance at finding something better, something more, something grand in this bland landscape of plebeians and drones.

The more Phillip searched for signs that there was another reality than his own, the more he found evidence of it. Initially he only caught quick glimpses of it. Some things he saw out of the corner of his eye. He would walk past a student in the halls and see centipedes crawling over their face as they went by. When he would turn to look directly at the bug-covered child, they would look normal again.

Sometimes he would feel things, like short legs skittering over his own face, or hot breath on the back of his neck, breathing deep and harsh, growling, spraying spittle on him until he was almost ready to piss himself. “This is what I wanted to find,” he would tell himself as he sat paralyzed in fear, imagining what unseen beast was waiting behind him, possibly preparing to pounce. “There's more to this world.”

Phillip had taught himself to stop acting terrified when confronted with the Real Reality. He knew that society was constructed in a manner that would lead to those who could see the Other Side being hospitalized for “insanity”. It was a global conspiracy to make sure only those in Power knew the Real Reality was there, a way to make freaks and prisoners out of the rare, enlightened few. Phillip had long ago learned to suppress shrieks when the walls would bleed thick sludge the shiny color of spilled oil, or when worms would crawl out of the nostrils of the student sitting next to him in English class. As long as he was aware of the conspiracies existence, he could avoid falling into its obvious traps. Unfortunately, these unseen forces seemed to lay pitfalls and catch 22's at every major junction. Phillip feared he would eventually slip up and blow his cover.

Phillip had moved past seeing the Real Reality in tiny drips and drabs. He now lived there 24/7, and it was the false reality that he only would occasionally glimpse now. Phillip would walk down the street on a summer day and see dark, gelatinous, thick-veined monstrosities where the rest of the sheeple saw mere trees. The blue sky to him was a violent looking shade of purple. The sun, a menacing red eyeball. Phillip had come to realize the red eye was the God of this world. He knew this was no Christian God, and he doubted it cared one bit for the fate of the species that crawled this planets surface, but he still made sure to drop to his knees and pray to the angry eye in thanks for his salvation. It never did more than glare back, but Phillip liked to think it could hear him.

He kept his eyes trained on the ground every day, not wanting to look at the faces of his fellow students. Everyone around him looked rotten and deformed, like victims of heavy radiation poisoning. Flesh fell, melting from their faces, and he often wondered how everyone could keep from noticing. Phillip had not looked in a mirror for months now, knowing that he would look just as pitiful as the rest of the sorry species. That was one thing he almost missed about the false universe: all the good looking people. But now he realized that he couldn't pick and choose which parts of the world he wanted to keep the fake, sugar coated, pretty wrapping paper on. For indeed, he had ripped the skin off reality and now saw the bloody underbelly of it all, guts and entrails and bubbling bile in full view.

Phillip was growing to regret his descent into Universal Truths. He almost never slept these days now that he could see the snakes crawling around his walls, immune to gravity. They slithered the ceiling above him, waiting for him to drift asleep before dropping down upon his chest and startling him from his brief slumber. He was severely dehydrated now that all water took on a piss-yellow hue and tasted like pennies. Food all looked like rancid meat, even the vegetarian options. Sandwiches looked to have human turds and live baby mice in them, still pink and hairless and squealing for their mothers milk. Sometimes he would stare in horror as his fellow classmates ate those mice sandwiches, cringing as he heard those mewling cries cut off in sharp crunches as the students ground their hard human teeth against soft flesh, pink skin getting caught in gory chunks on teenage braces.

Phillip's sanity was long gone. He still presented a sane front to the people around him, but that facade was destined to fall. His mask was a house of cards facing a hurricane, a storm of insanity brewing on the horizon to blow all barriers away.

The ultimate downfall of Phillip was his fear of being touched. He hadn't liked human, skin-on-skin contact even when he still believed all the lies his eyes told him. But now that he had opened his third eye, he saw skin for what it was: sticky and rubber-like. When he saw people who were holding hands let go of each other, a thick, glue-like liquid would stretch between them, dripping loose skin all over. When couples kissed, chunks of their face and tongue would come apart when they dislodged from locking lips.

Phillip was now a Junior, and instead of Mr. Langan, he had Mr. Marsden as his math teacher. Phillip thought Mr. Marsden was a closet homosexual. The educator always seemed to be finding excuses to touch the male students, using the false pretense of an encouraging pat on the shoulders as an excuse for his queer, pedophile mind to get off of with some jailbait touchy-feely.

Phillip had been staring off at the wall, which to him was a writhing mass of tentacles, when Mr. Marsden appeared above him.

“And where is your homework today, Phillip?” asked Mr. Marsden.

“Oh, uh... I forgot it,” said Phillip.

“You've been forgetting it an awful lot lately,” Mr. Marsden pointed out.

“Uh... really?” said Phillip, despite being fully aware of his spotty homework record.

“Let's have a quick chat after class, Phillip. We'll see if we can come up with a plan to make up for this lapse,” said Mr. Marsden with a smile.

Mr. Marsden walked past Phillip to collect the homework from the students behind him. As the teacher walked past his student, he gave the boy a friendly pat on the shoulder, as if to let him know that he wasn't in too much trouble or anything. By the time Phillip saw the hand coming for him, it was too late for him to dodge it. To him, Mr. Marsden's hand was bleeding from the seams of his fingernails. They were smeared in a dark substance that almost looked like excrement.

Mr. Marsden's hand made contact with Phillip's shoulder and Phillip finally snapped. He jumped to his feet, screaming “GAH! Get it off!”

The whole room was staring, incredulous.

“Get what off?” asked Mr. Marsden.

“Your slime! Get it off of me!” Phillip shrieked in a higher pitched voice than he would have expected he could even make. And indeed, in Phillip's eyes, Marsden had left him covered in slime. Chunks of Mr. Marsden's skin had fallen off against Phillip's shirt. Phillip was frantically trying to brush it away only to find he was just smearing it around even worse. Mr. Marsden's hand now looked like the skin and meat had been shredded from his fingertips, leaving just bone protruding from torn, melted tips.

Every eye in the room was on him, and literally. Eyes ran from sockets on long stalks stretching towards him from the faces of his peers. They slapped and flopped against his grimacing face, leaving sticky trails behind like snails. The ghoulish faces of the students melted into vicious sneers.

Phillip fled the classroom, shrieking in fear. He ran down a hallway where the walls and floor looked like internal organs, feeling as if he were running through a birth canal. He fled the school to the busy streets of downtown Langley. Cars that flew by looked like huge, furry beasts with humans sitting in their jaws, unaware of the fact they could be swallowed whole in an instant. The flowers in a nearby garden appeared as rotting fish to him. Despite their decayed state, the fish squirmed and made puckering noises at him, their rotting eyeballs spilling out from their fleshy skulls.

Fleeing the trout garden, Phillip accidentally ran face first into a Stop sign that had been directly behind him. Phillip was knocked out when his skull cracked against the pavement. It was the first good sleep he had gotten in months.

 

 

 

 

DOMINANCE

 

“Good afternoon, Andrew. My name is Dr. Franklin. I trust your intake process went smoothly.”

Dr. Franklin offered Andrew an introductory handshake, which Andrew enthusiastically took with both hands. Grinning broadly while pumping away at Dr. Franklin's hand, Andrew said, “Oh, pleased to meet you, fine sir! Quite an establishment you run here!”

Freeing his hand from Andrew's manic greeting, Dr. Franklin said “I see the evening finds you in high spirits. I must say, that is a rather unusual attitude for someone in your shoes. After being admitted, most people find the transition quite jarring. Most are anxious. Yet you seem excited.”

“Where else would I rather be?” said Andrew. He held up his hands in gesture at his surroundings, beaming as if he had entered a luxury spa, not a psych ward for teens that looked like it needed ten coats of paint.

Dr. Franklin felt that Andrew was mocking him, but he sounded as if he genuinely meant the words, rather than loading them down with sarcasm.

“Tell me, Andrew. What about this do you find so appealing? Is there something you are excited to accomplish here? You know that you need help and are excited to receive it?” asked Dr. Franklin.

“Actually, I wanted to be here so I could meet some more like-minded individuals,” said Andrew.

“Like-minded in which way?” asked Dr. Franklin.

“You know,” said the smiling Andrew, raising his eyebrows as if in punctuation. “Crazy.”

“So, you think you're crazy?” asked the doctor.

“Well, I must be crazy, fine doctor. Because if, God forbid, I wasn't crazy...” Andrew's happy facade dropped for the first time as he took on a grave tone. “If I wasn't crazy, that would mean it was all real.”

This was what Dr. Franklin had been waiting for Andrew to bring up.

“I've read your file, Andrew, but I was hoping you could tell me about the events that led to you being sent here. In your own words,” requested Dr. Franklin.

The maniac grin was back on Andrew's face. “Of course! I knew you'd want to hear it. It's quite a fascinating story. Except for the part where I'm bonkers. First of all, the incident with Mrs. Carmine wasn't the first time these symptoms have occurred with me. This was just the first time they took hold in such a public manner. So anyways, Mrs. Carmine was an English teacher. I never even had her, but everyone in school knew she was the meanest bitch in the place. She was such a cunt that-,”

“Please, Andrew, watch your language,” said Dr. Franklin. Dr. Franklin deeply disapproved of cursing. It was one of the lessons his mother drilled deepest into him.

“Oh, yes. Pardon me, fellow gentleman. We shall continue this discourse in a far more civilized dialect. Forgive my street talk, that is simply how one of my generation must speak in order to avoid being socially ostracized. Proper grammar is a sign of weakness in the jungle I hail from.”

“Yes, I hear high school culture has greatly changed since my time as a youth,” said Dr. Franklin. “Please, Andrew, continue telling me about what happened with Mrs. Carmine.”

“As I was saying, that odious old walking cataract was the nastiest slice of cheese in Moldy-Milk City. And this one poor sap, a freshman named Jacob, well, he was Mrs. Carmine's son. Now this kid was one sad sack. He walked around school like a noose was around his neck and he was just waiting to jump. And sure enough, the day came where he did. Little Jacob Carmine took a long walk off a short stool. Is that an expression? I forget.

“Anyways, Mrs. Carmine missed a week of school, supposedly grieving. Of course everyone felt bad. None of us were friends with the little freak, but it's not like we hated him or anything.

“But then came the day where she finally came back to school. Everyone was hugging her and wishing her well, and I swear, she didn't even look upset. She seemed to be reveling in the attention.

“That was when I heard the voice.”

Andrew paused, and Dr. Franklin couldn't help getting annoyed. 'Is he trying to be dramatic? Move it along, buddy.'

Andrew suddenly hooted a quick laugh, as if he had heard a good joke, then resumed his tale.

“I always assumed people with schizophrenia were claiming to hear voices because they were afraid to admit that they were actually the one thinking those horrible thoughts. Like, 'Oh no, I could never want to choke the life out of my spoiled brat child, it must be a Voice In My Head telling me these things'. But once I started hearing the voice, I knew it was something vastly different than just my own dark thoughts. This was like a real voice. It has a presence, like... the same way you can 'feel' when someone real is talking, like loud noises making a vibration. When the voice talks, I can feel it vibrating in my head, like someone left a radio on with the volume too loud.

“I was already walking towards Mrs. Carmine before I knew what I was doing. I pointed directly at the wretched old bile-bag and yelled 'She did it! It's her fault Jacob killed himself!'

“'How dare you?' some self righteous student tried to interrupt me.

“'Mrs. Carmine found out Jacob was gay. She found his porn stash that he thought was so well hidden from her under the loose floorboard in his room. He never even got to have his first kiss and she made him die for who he was. She told him he was sick, evil! She told him he could go sleep on the streets and get raped to death by shit-covered homeless people if that was the lifestyle he was so into. She sent him to his room to pack his things, and that's when he hung himself in his own closet. And here's the kicker! Mrs. Carmine walked in on him mere seconds after he began the act of suicide. She could have cut him free long before any permanent brain damage would have occurred. Instead, she just stood there. He watched his mother glare at him disapprovingly as he passed painfully, horribly, into the void. He was still conscious when he shit himself! She laughed when that happened and called him 'disgusting'.'

“At this point, everyone was too invested in hearing my story to cut me off. Mrs. Carmine had collapsed to the ground in sobs. She looked up at me and asked 'How? How could you know all that?'

“And then, for the first time since the voice had started speaking to me, it wrenched control of my mouth from me and spoke of its own accord. The voice coming from my mouth sounded dark, like growls from the bottom of a well. It said to her, 'I know what happened because your son is down here with me!'

“That was when Mrs. Carmine screamed and lunged at me. And yes, maybe I punched her square in the nose, but it was purely self defense. So, yes sir, kind doctor, to answer your previous question, I must be crazy! Because if I'm not, then that means the voice isn't just in my head. If I'm not crazy, I'm possessed by the Devil!”

'Whackjob,' thought Dr. Franklin as he looked upon Andrew, who was grinning madly, appearing proud of the tale he had just told.

“Had you ever had any violent outbursts before this?” he asked.

“No sir! I'm as peaceful as an old hippie, only I never had to burn out all my brain cells on PCP to get there. I even got a CAT scan in case I had a tumor. So, I must be crazy. No way I would ever make up such wild, offensive stories. Or intentionally hit my teacher! Even if she was about to tackle me like a bull. I would have ran away or something if I had been in full control of my mental faculties, that is. And all that shit the voice made me say, at the time, it felt so true. It always feels true when He's saying it,” said Andrew.

“How often does the voice speak to you?” asked Doc.

“These days...” trailed Andrew, his grin not matching the somber tone his voice was trying to achieve. “All the time.”

“Even... right now?” asked the tentative doctor.

Andrew nodded. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes seemed fit to flay.

“What is it saying?” asked Dr. Franklin.

“Well see, this is how I know the voice isn't real. Because it thinks it knows all about you. The things it is telling me about you, they are far too depraved for a man of your good standing to participate in. If what it is telling me were true, especially about the way you treat some of the less reputable patients: why, that would make you absolutely deplorable. I can tell you are surely not the type of man who would abuse patients, who would intentionally cut his patients toenails as deep as possible, back before you got enough promotions to get out doing grunt work, leaving the tip of each toe bleeding when you were finished. But alas, that is what the voice whispers to me. It says that you look down on patients, and have thought me a whackjob since entering the room. It also tells me to ask about your relationship with your mother.”

“My mother? Kid, everyone has issues with their mother, that's hardly some brilliant insight,” said Dr. Franklin, getting annoyed. 'Did I used to cut patients nails too low on purpose?' Dr. Franklin hadn't thought about it in decades, but he had. That was one of those things he liked not remembering.

“Well, you're talking about the standard mother issues. The ones that arise between children who had healthy relationships with their mothers. What the voice is telling me, it says your relationship with your mother was farther from normal than anything Freud ever touched upon.” Andrew paused and saw that Dr. Franklin was beginning to sweat.

“You're full of it, kid,” said Dr. Franklin.

“I'm not the one saying it, dude. I mean, sir. It's the voice. I told you, I'm crazy! It's not like these things are true. The voice... it wants me to ask you why you hate swearing?”

“Enough!” yelled Dr. Franklin.

“What happened the time you violated the no-cursing policy?”

“SHUT UP!” Dr. Franklin screamed.

“Jesus man, it's not me! I want the voice to shut up, too. I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to offend you. I thought you wanted to know what it was telling me,” said a coy Andrew, his voice sincere yet his smile mocking.

“Ahem, I think this would be a good point to stop for the evening,” said Dr. Franklin. “It's late and you should probably get settled in before dinner. We can pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

“If you really want to,” said Andrew.

 

 

 

GIRL TALK

 

“So, my mom told me that if I ever hung out with Joel again, she would call the police. It's such bullshit! It's not our fault we fell in love. We live in a world where my boyfriend could be thrown in jail just for the crime of not loving the right person!”

“Isn't Joel a 25 year old coke dealer?” asked Chris.

“So?” asked Arie, which was short for Ariana.

“Well, aren't you only 16?” asked Chris.

“Actually I just turned 15, but I'm glad you can see how mature I am and assumed I was older. But that's what I'm talking about! You thought I looked older than I was. What does age matter? What is the real difference between 15 and 18 besides a number? The laws are oppressing us, locking people up for the crime of loving each other! I feel like I'm trapped in one of those depressing Shakespeare plays my school is always trying to get me to pay attention to,” decried Arie.

“So your parents sent you here for dating older guys?” asked Chris.

“Oh, that's just one of the many bullshit excuses they came up with to justify shipping me away for this brainwashing seminar. They said that my stealing their prescription meds was the final straw. Well, if they would get me a proper doctor to get me those meds in the first place, I wouldn't need to be stealing them, now, would I? You see, my parents are rich. Like, rich rich. They think I'm an embarrassment and want me to get some re-educating, a little mandatory attitude adjustment. Like finishing school, but on another level. But fuck them, you know?” said Arie.

Chris shrugged noncommittally.

“This is bullshit, I shouldn't even be in this room,” said Chris.

“Okay, Christina, we all know you're not a dude, unless you have a cock you want to show us to shut us up. You really think the boys would want you in there with them, leaving tampons around and seeing them changing clothes?” said Jessica from across the room.

One of the Maplewood counselors stuck their head into the girls room. “Lights out in 10,” she told them, quickly departing.

After a beat, Chris continued “Come on, though. This is driving me crazy. You might not believe me that I'm really a dude inside, and trust me, right now I wish I wasn't. I'm not used to being around so many girls, it's freaking me out. All my friends are guys. This sucks, I want to fuck every girl I ever meet, I can't be left like this! If I wasn't already crazy when I came here, being stuck in this room will send me over the cuckoos nest in no time.”

“Really? You want to bang all of us?” asked Arie, curious and complimented.

“Well... not her,” said Chris, pointing at Jessica.

“Fuck you,” said Jessica, throwing a pillow at Chris. “You're all just jealous that I'm the only one in here getting some.”

This was true. Jessica, while far from the most attractive girl in the female wing of Maplewood's resident teen psych ward, had been hooking up with one of the overnight counselors. Unlike the day counselors, the night crew never actually gave counseling. Their job description involved watching TV for hours while the patients slept. And occasionally having sex with the overweight Jessica, who refused to ever change out of her Spongebob pajamas during the daytime.

“How am I supposed to get any sleep surrounded by chicks?” asked Chris.

“It's your first day here, so I get that your overwhelmed. I know you would rather have one of the boys showing you the ropes, but I'm who they assigned to do it. If you can't handle having someone you're attracted to helping you out, I'll give my Buddy duties to Jessica.”

“Fuck that,” said Jessica. “You're stuck with her.”

“Please don't call me 'her',” asked Chris.

“And what will you do about it if I don't?” Jessica asked.

“Um... constantly whine about it,” said Chris.

“Okay, fine, you're a dude. Leave me alone,” said Jessica, going back to cutting her toenails, sending clippings scattering across the floorboards.

“Could you at least try and aim your nail clipping shots towards the trash can?” Arie asked.

“What? Who do you think I am, Serena Williams?”

The room they were in had eight beds in it, seven of which were occupied. The girl who had been sleeping in the eighth bed had left this afternoon after staying for 14 days. The girls had heard that the hospital already had a new girl lined up to take the spot early the next day and everyone was curious to see what kind of girl would be joining them in the morning. You never knew what you would get when a new patient came in. For instance, none of the girls had expected the new girl to be a guy, but here Chris was, rocking a short haircut and an athletic clothing style. If Chris had tits, he was strapping them down something fierce because none of the girls could see evidence of it, and Chris had elected to change into his pajamas in the bathroom as opposed to in the girls bedroom like everyone else was.

In the far corner, a girl of Asian descent named Mayuri was on her knees beside her bed, whispering in prayer. Nobody knew much about Mayuri. She had been there the longest of the girls, yet rarely spoke in Group, and never when the girls were hanging around socializing in the room. She wore very plain clothes and never tried to fix herself up in the morning before going to Group like the rest of the girls would.

Fiona had the bed beside Mayuri. Fiona wore hip-hop themed clothes and liked to think of herself as a gangster. Her boyfriend back home sold weed and her parents were worried she would get into harder drugs than just the ganja as more and more heroin overdoses cropped up in their small community. She was usually the one to take control of the asylum's sole radio, keeping it tuned to the local rap station, currently booming Badd by the Ying Yang Twins (Feat. Mike Jones) at a volume completely inappropriate for how close to bedtime it was. Fiona got along with Arie best, but was also friendly with Jessica and Diane.

Diane was in the hospital for bulimia. She was nice enough, but had a bit of an attitude. This often lead to conflicts with Jessica, who liked to think of herself as the resident bitch, and took Diane's attitude as a challenge to the coveted Bitch Throne.

Then, there was the pink haired Leah. She was obsessed with Japanese culture and was what the rest of the girls liked to call “an anime nerd”. Leah had tried telling them that the proper term was 'weeaboo', but they seemed content with 'anime nerd' as a stronger summation of the situation. Leah was disappointed when she learned that Mayuri, who was Japanese, cared very little for anime or the aspects of Japanese culture that Leah was so enamored with. She was currently curled up in bed, reading a Sailor Moon manga before lights out.

Fiona came over to join Chris and Arie's conversation. “So are you attracted to me, too?” she asked Chris. “I'm not trying to flirt or anything, I'm not into chicks. Just curious.”

“Um... I'm not a chick,” said Chris.

“Oh my God, we get it!” cried Jessica.

Chris did, in fact, find all of these girls (besides Jessica) attractive, to varying degrees at least. Take Leah, the anime girl. Chris wasn't a fan of cartoons, but he did find the pink hair look on this short, voluptuous girl to be a major turn on. As for Mayuri, Chris thought she was cute enough, but ultimately too petite and nobody he would have gone out of his way to flirt with on the outside with her baggy clothes and plain style. Diane was also a little too thin for him, and he reflected that bulimia doesn't look good on a girl, but she still had a cute face. Arie was the best looking of them all, dolled up in ridiculously expensive outfits, designer labels even on her pajamas. She also had the body type Chris was most into, round in all the right spots. He hated that he was judging all these girls on their looks more than personalities, but hey, he's a teenage boy, what else could anyone expect from him?

Diane was blowing on her freshly painted nails, trying to get them dry before lights out. From her bed, she asked Chris “So you never fucked a dude?”

“Hell no!” Chris cried. “I'd rather puke.”

“You're a freak,” said Jessica. “No wonder your parents sent you here.”

“I'm not here because I'm trans,” rebutted Chris. “I'm here because...”

An awkward silence filled the room as Chris trailed off, as nobody here knew why Chris had been admitted yet. He was checked in that afternoon and was pretty quiet during evening Group therapy, saying he would try to share more tomorrow.

“Let me guess, you were thinking 'boo hoo, poor me, nobody understands me because I'm a tranny, maybe I should kill myself'. Then you cut your arms up with a bunch of superficial cries for attention,” said Jessica.

“Fuck you,” said Chris, suddenly angry.

“Why else would you be wearing long sleeves all day in this hot place? I see right through you, buddy.”

Chris looked ready to leap out of bed and attack. Everyone in the room was staring, waiting to see what would happen next. He glared at Jessica, mentally counted to ten like his therapist had taught him, then said “You're just lucky I don't hit girls.”

Everyone chuckled, Jessica included.

“So, what did you all think of that other new guy, Andrew?” asked Arie.

“God, he's adorable!” said Diane.

“You'd never guess he was freshly admitted, given how happy he seemed during Evening Group. He may be hot, but he sure is weird,” said Fiona.

“I call dibs on him,” Diane said. “After Morning Group, I'm going to get acquainted with him. I'm sick of Jessica being the only one in this place getting some.”

“You can have him,” said Fiona. “Besides, I'm looking to hook up with Shawn.” Hannibal was a fellow 'gangster', as Fiona liked to see themselves. He wore shorts that sagged halfway down his legs and shirts so baggy you could fit two more Shawn's inside them.

“If you and Shawn are looking to seal the deal, I've got a plan I've been meaning to run by you all. I think, if the price is right, Rich would let us all sneak out of our rooms for a mini party!” said Jessica. Rich was the night counselor Jessica was hooking up with. He worked from 10 pm til 6 am. After midnight, the only people really watching over the patients were Rich and one other counselor. There were doctors, security, and other staff scattered through other various wings of the Maplewood hospital, but not enough where Rich worried he would be caught in his late night liaisons.

“Wait, really?” asked Fiona.

“OMG! A party? Please don't be teasing us, Jess!” squealed Arie in excitement.

“Well, can you guys get me some money to give him?” Jessica asked. “If I can pony up tonight, tomorrow we could all sneak out after hours. He would even get us some beers and a joint, he said. We just need to stick to the Common Room, it's the one room with no cameras, and to clean up before going back to sleep. Then Rich will take our empties and Febreeze the weed smell away. We just need $100.”

“Hell yes, I'll cover this!” cried the rich Arie. “Let me run to my locker and grab some cash.” Maplewood had lockers where all the patients could safely store their personal items that would be promptly swiped if left unattended in the bedroom areas.

The female counselor from before popped back in. “Okay ladies, lights out,” she said, extinguishing the lamps and closing them in with the darkness.

“I'll be right back, I'm just running something to my locker,” said Arie.

“Be quick,” the counselor instructed.

Hours later, Jessica snuck out and fucked Rich. Afterwards, she gave him the money to set the party in motion.

 

 

 

LIFE'S A BITCH

 

“You're such a sack of shit, Ralph,” came his girlfriend Wendy's voice as he was trying to smoke a pre-work joint.

“What's up?” Ralph Sanderson asked as she walked out into the backyard where he was toking. Before he realized what had hit him, she had hurled his cell phone directly at his face. It hit him dead in the mouth as he was inhaling from the jay, causing the joint to explode in fire and ash. The phone bloodied his upper lip.

“What the fuck, babe?” Ralph cried, even though he had a bad feeling he knew exactly what it was about.

“Really? You've been hanging with Christie Turner on the nights I have work, and you're going to ask Me what My problem is? Fuck you, Ralph,” yelled Wendy.

'Welp, that cat is out of the bag,' he thought.

Wendy was still ranting and raving, but the bit of weed he had smoked before she sniped his joint had been enough to zone him out. She sounded to him the way adults sound in the Charlie Brown cartoons. All he heard was a muffled droning from her as she packed her things, pointed accusingly, screamed, and at one point collapsed in tears before finally vacating the premises. Sure, Ralph could have heard what she was saying if he had tried, but he couldn't have cared less about her laying the guilt trip on him, and he had a pretty good idea what she was saying without ever actually hearing it.

Ralph picked up the remnants of his joint, tore up the paper, and emptied its insides into a pipe. He was reminded of the Native Americans, who would open up their kills and utilize every organ they could scoop out to avoid waste.

A murder of minutes later, he was in his car on the way to work. Ralph was chain smoking cigarettes so nobody would smell weed on him. The Clash was blaring on his radio. Not the hits like most people played. No, Ralph listened to full albums and deep cuts. London Calling and Rock The Casbah were for poseurs who wanted to look punk rock in Ralph's eyes. Telling people his favorite Clash songs were This Is England or Remote Control always showed them his superior musical tastes, leaving his pompous ego feeling properly appraised. If one more person claiming to be a punk told him that Should I Stay Or Should I Go was their favorite song, he was going to snap.

He pulled into the Maplewood employee parking lot at 5:55, ready to work to 6-2 shift. There would be an hour of downtime as the inmates... ahem, patients slowly woke up, then he would help serve them breakfast, followed by Morning Group. Ralph hated Group, especially in the morning, for it was when the patients were at their whiniest. Instead of talking about their issues as the meeting was supposed to encourage, they instead used it to complain about the quality of the hospital, as if they thought a psych ward was supposed to have the amenities of a stay at the Hilton.

As Ralph got out of his car, he saw Dr. Franklin also about to enter the building. Dr. Franklin was the head doctor in the teen ward where Ralph worked as a counselor, and while he usually didn't come in to work for another 2 hours, it wasn't unheard of for him to come in early to get a head start on a busy day.

“Good morning, Dr. Franklin,” greeted Ralph.

“Ahem, yes. Good morning, Mr. Sanderson,” said the doc.

“Early start today?” commented Ralph.

“Oh yes,” said Dr. Franklin, sipping coffee from his Thermos as if made weary by the mere mention of morning. “We have two new patients coming in before breakfast. One is being transferred from the main hospital. They kept him there overnight after he was admitted yesterday following a severe breakdown where he ran wild, screaming nonsense, until he knocked himself out against a Stop sign. The second patient doesn't sound as disturbed. His parents complain of a deep, emotional disconnect within their son, they'll be giving me more details when he arrives. I tried telling his father that this was rather early to begin intake, but he insisted he not miss work over this whole thing and wants to 'get it over with', to use his words.”

“Sounds like a pleasant fellow,” said a sarcastic Ralph.

“Yes, yes,” said Dr. Franklin. “We already can diagnose the young chap with Daddy Issues before ever meeting him.”

Ralph chuckled. Dr. Franklin had a habit of making jokes about patients behind their backs. Ralph thought that, in this line of work, a good sense of humor might be the only thing keeping Dr. Franklin sane.

“Didn't some new patients come in after I left yesterday?” asked Ralph.

“Oh yes,” said Dr. Franklin. “There is one new girl named Christina. She was admitted for displaying suicidal tendencies. She cut her arms up a little, but nothing that looked like a serious suicide attempt. Clearly a cry for help, and help is what we will be providing her. The biggest obstacle with this patient is that she seems to believe she is actually a male and refuses to answer to Christina, only to Chris.”

“Jesus, another one of those?” said Ralph.

“Unfortunately,” said Dr. Franklin. “This Gender Dysphoria disorder seems to be popping up more and more lately. And what's worse, many mainstream psychologists are trying to claim that it isn't even an illness, claiming we should indulge these patients in their mental illness and allow them to play God and be whatever gender they feel like. That's like telling our schizophrenic patients 'That voice in your head? He's real! Embrace him! He's your new best friend!'”

Dr. Franklin had become surprisingly animated during this rant, and he could see Ralph eyeing him strangely.

“Pardon me,” said Dr. Franklin. “I only get so passionate on the topic because of the other new patient I processed last night. He is a clear cut case of Multiple Personality disorder. In fact, he almost seems proud of the fact. He brags of having a voice in his head. This Andrew child claims to be terrified of it, but if you saw the glee on his face as he discussed his disorder, you would know he is far more troubled than our overage schizophrenics, who usually seem ready to collapse from the mental strain of carrying the voices.”

“I can't wait to meet him,” joked Ralph.

“I implore you, Mr. Sanderson, do not take this Andrew fellow lightly,” lectured Dr. Franklin. “He strikes me as a skilled manipulator, and he uses the voices he hears as an excuse to try messing with you. He tries to get in your head. So, when interacting with this child, keep guarded. If he says anything strange to you, and I mean anything, I want to be the first one to hear about it.”

 

 

 

SALVATION

 

“Stop touching me!” screamed Phillip as the orderlies strapped him down to the ambulance gurney.

“I'm sorry, kid, but we need to get you loaded up. I promise you that as soon as you are safely secured, I won't touch you again until we get where we're going,” said an orderly.

To Phillip, the orderly had the face of a dead possum, blood coming from its nose and mouth, eyes glazed white and bulging from sockets. It spit blood on Phillip just by speaking. Phillip stopped using words and just screamed.

“Kid, I'm going to sedate you in 5 seconds if you don't calm the fuck down,” said another orderly. This man was tall and black in reality, yet appeared as a massive leach to Phillip. Phillip forced himself to stop freaking out, if only to keep the leach from sliding its wet body any closer to him.

The gurney he was being strapped to looked covered in green mold, which Phillip was desperately trying to ignore. The straps wrapped around his wrists felt like tongues. The ambulance they loaded him into looked like all automobiles did to him, a monster. Normal car doors liked like mouths, but being loaded into the back of an ambulance was a wholly new experience and, to him, he seemed to be loaded into the monsters cavernous rectum, and the inside of the ambulance seemed slathered in fecal matter. As the ambulance drove along, every bump and shake would cause shit to drop from the ceiling, landing on the cringing Phillip in thick smacks.

When the ambulance arrived at its destination, Maplewood Hospital, Phillip kept his eyes squeezed shut tight so he wouldn't have to see the monsters as they manhandled him out of the vehicle. The gurney was wheeled to the front door, where security stood by as he was unstrapped.

Once inside, the intake process involved a long series of questions, like “Have you ever thought about hurting yourself?”, “Have you ever thought about hurting others?”, and “If we need to sedate you, would you prefer pills or to be injected with a sedative?”. Phillip did his best to give the appropriate answers, hoping soon they would give him a room in which he could be alone, close his eyes, and pretend the world wasn't this monstrous, inside-out version of itself.

His hopes were dashed when he was led to what seemed to be a Common Room, with fellow patients sitting around eating breakfast. The eggs they ate looked green and rotten, and the toast appeared to be raw meat rather than bread. It was a sunny day, and the Red Eye of Phillip's angry sun God was staring through the window at him, casting his crimson glare over the sitting area. The curtains which lined the window looked like long strips of skin, as if someone had been flayed to the muscle and their flesh used to decorate the room. Phillip sat in a corner, as far from others as humanly possible. He tried ignoring the fact that the chair felt like there was something alive inside it, squirming around under the fabric. An orderly who looked like a cockroach in human clothes handed Phillip a plate of food. He poked at the green egg with his plastic spork and it responded by bubbling puss from the point of contact. Phillip decided to pass on eating until his body became more demanding for nutrients.

Patients slowly trickled into the room to eat their breakfasts. One girl sat down in the chair beside Phillip. He visibly cringed away from her.

“Jesus, new kid. I was just coming to say hi,” said a girl who looked like a goblin wearing a human mask, the true monster face showing itself around the masks eye-holes.

“H-H- uh...” Phillip's face contorted as if he was physically pained by this encounter.

“Nevermind, dude,” said the girl, who promptly relocated to the other side of the room and began chatting with another girl who looked like she had been hit by a car.

'Phew,' thought Phillip. 'How am I ever going to get through this?'

That was when Andrew entered the room.

For half a year, Phillip had only seen devils and ghouls in place of fellow humans. One counselor, dressed in white, looked to Phillip like a human-sized used tampon. One male patient only had a mouth for a face, and when the mouth opened, Phillip could see eyes inside it looking out.

But Andrew was different. He looked normal! Not just normal, but beautiful, like an angel, radiating white light behind him as he walked. Andrew's smiling face was the first refuge from the storm of insanity Phillip had been lost in for months. When Andrew and Phillip locked eyes, all of Phillip's pain washed away in an instant.

“Well, well, well, look what we have here,” chuckled Andrew as he approached the beaming Phillip.

“You... what are you? Are you an angel?” Phillip asked.

“I am,” Andrew replied. “I am a fallen angel. Would you like to help me rise back up?”

“My life is yours,” said Phillip.

 

 

 

GROUP

 

“Good morning everyone. We have a few new faces with us this morning, so let me explain how Group works,” said Ralph.

Ralph scanned the room. He hadn't been properly acquainted with Andrew yet, but was keeping Dr. Franklin's warnings about the kid in mind. Andrew was sitting in the left corner on a couch with another new admittance, a boy named Phillip. Phillip was reportedly suffering delusions but seemed sedate at the moment. When Ralph had entered the patient Common Room where Group is held, Andrew and Phillip were already clumped together, Andrew talking while Phillip attentively listened, yet speaking low enough where Ralph couldn't overhear.

Diane was also sitting on the couch with Andrew and Phillip. Ralph had noticed her repeatedly shooting Andrew little looks. Ralph could tell Diane seemed to have an attraction to Andrew, and made a note to not leave them alone together in the future. All of the counselors were trained to notice when patients of the opposite sex were getting too close and to shut it down before it could start.

Hannibal and Shawn were sitting by each other. They had made fast friends in Maplewood, Ralph assuming it was due to them being the only black patients currently admitted. Hannibal ran with wannabe gangsters and had been sent here after his first run in with the law. Hannibal had tried resisting arrest, and now was here as part of the terms of his probation, to deal with whatever demons were causing him to lash out at the world. Shawn was similarly here for anger management. Shawn claimed the only time he wasn't angry was when he was smoking weed, which Dr. Franklin noted to Ralph as the Catch-22 that addiction uses to make you feel trapped and dependent. Dr. Franklin just knew there was a combination of legal drugs that could surely have the same effect without the social stigma of marijuana. He planned to have Shawn doped to the gills before being discharged so he could safely brag that he got the troubled child off harmful, illegal drugs.

Fiona, Arie, and Jessica were in chairs clumped around Hannibal and Shawn. Fiona was wearing baggy Phat Farm clothing, while Jessica was still in her Spongebob pajamas. Arie, not wanting anyone to forget she was rich, was dressed as if she were about to go out with friends rather than getting psycho-analyzed.

Roberto was also sitting with that Group. Roberto was the youngest patient in the facility at 12 years old. His see-saw mood could swing at any given moment. Right now he was laughing along with his friends, but he could get set off by the slightest thing and be banging his head into walls before anyone even realized he was losing it.

Mayuri, Leah, Chris, and Randle were sitting on a long couch that ran along the right wall of the room. Randle was the other new admittance this morning besides the delusional Phillip. Ralph wasn't sure just what was wrong with Randle and neither did his parents, teachers, or anyone else, hence him being here. His parents said he had suffered mass hallucinations and flights of fancy early in his developmental stages of childhood. He had since been cured of his delusions, but now spent his life in solitude, living like a virtual recluse. Randle never raised his hand in school, rarely spoke to fellow students, and only answered his parents with the shortest answers possible. He never showed them the love a normal child naturally displays. In fact, they felt he treated them like strangers. They claimed they had always shown him the utmost love and care a parent could, but Dr. Franklin had told Ralph the parents seemed to talk about the child as more of a burden than a loved one. They talked about sending their son to Maplewood the way someone would discuss leaving their car with a mechanic for repairs. Dr. Franklin had a feeling the parents weren't quite as loving as they claimed. He planned to probe Randle to find their shortcomings. Dr. Franklin would find a diagnoses for the child, but also wanted to discharge him saying “Yes, he does suffer from a form of mental illness, but he also suffers from your lack of...”. Whatever there was a lack of from these parents, he would find it. Ralph had noticed that Dr. Franklin seemed to almost get off on blaming parents for their child's shortcomings and often seemed to rub their noses in their faults during patient discharges.

“So, to start Group off, we're going to go around the room,” explained Ralph. “Everyone will talk a little about how they are feeling this morning and rate their emotions on a scale of 1 to 10. 1 being the absolute worst day possible, 10 meaning you are walking on sunshine. After that, you are to give yourself a compliment.”

“Yo Ralph, what the hell, man?” said Hannibal.

“Is there a problem, Hannibal?” Ralph asked, despite knowing full well what the problem was. Hannibal had been raising this complaint daily.

“You reek of cigarettes again! It'd be one thing if you let us smoke, too. But you can't force us to quit smoking while we're here and then come around with that smell wafting off of you. It's totally unfair,” railed Hannibal. Shawn, Arie, and Jessica issued a chorus of agreements.

“You guys know we can't let patients under 18 smoke. Do we need to go over this every day?” asked Ralph.

“We actually do,” said Hannibal. “Because you keep coming in here smelling like an ashtray and rubbing our faces in it. Same for Dr. Franklin. Couldn't you guys spray down with Febreeze or something like I do when I smoke weed and then have to see my parents? It's just common courtesy, dude!”

The truth that Ralph was never going to tell them was that he and Dr. Franklin loved the outrage their odor would spark on the daily. It helped remind the kids of exactly where they stood in the hierarchy here. Ralph wished smoking laws hadn't gotten so strict, otherwise he could smoke indoors right in front of these whiny brats, blowing smoke in their faces, forcing them to see the relaxation wash over him with every puff.

In the corner, Andrew suddenly barked in laughter. Ralph looked over to find Andrew looking him dead in the eyes, chuckling to himself.

'What a freak,' thought Ralph.

Andrew laughed harder.

Hannibal didn't notice how Andrew's eyes were locked on Ralph, and he thought Andrew was laughing at him over his cigarette speech.

“What's so funny, you little asshole?” asked Hannibal.

“Whoa, whoa. Hannibal, language. And he's not laughing at you,” said Ralph.

“Really? Then what's he laughing at? Hey, new kid? What's so funny? You've been acting snobby ever since you got here last night. You wouldn't even look me and Shawn's way. You think you're better than us?” Hannibal asked.

“You want an honest answer?” smirked Andrew.

Hannibal was suddenly on his feet. Ralph's hand went to his pager, which he could use to call security and get backup in an instant.

“Hannibal, sit down!” yelled Ralph. “New kid, shut up and wait your turn! Everyone chill the fuck out and let me run this Group!”

This surprisingly did the trick, Hannibal quickly sitting back down.

“Now, if anyone has questions or comments, they can bring them up when it is their turn, and in a civil fashion. Hannibal, if you have concerns about how a roommate is treating you, there are far more appropriate ways to bring it up. On your turn, we can address it again in an orderly manner, have an open dialogue. But we are starting off with Mayuri, and then will work across the room towards you. Mayuri, how would you rate your feelings today?”

Mayuri was the quietest patient they had, and her answer was no more than a whisper. “Maybe a 5?”

“That's not so high a number. Can you tell us a little about what's got you feeling down?” asked Ralph.

Mayuri seemed to be deeply considering her answer to this question. Ralph could almost see it in her eyes, the way she mentally retreated into herself to seek out the right answer. As she thought, the lights in the room flickered. This seemed to be happening frequently these days. Ralph was thinking of telling Dr. Franklin that they needed to call an electrician.

In Mayuri's head, she considered telling Ralph the truth. She had lied when she said she felt a 5. She felt like a 1.

'I should just tell them, tell everyone, at least then they could handle me properly,' Mayuri thought.

“You know you can't do that,” Akuma whispered in her ear.

'Why can't I, though? Of course they will think I'm crazy when I tell them, but maybe I really am crazy. Maybe they could make you go away,' thought Mayuri.

“You know full well that I'm not just in your head. I have proven it countless times before. It is evident even now. You can't be oblivious to the fact that our little chats always cause electrical interference. The lights in here even now are going aflutter. Also, if you try to tell them the truth, it will force my hand. They will be hurt and it will be your fault, just like the last time,” said Akuma.

Mayuri shuddered at those words. No, she had not forgotten the lesson Akuma taught her about tattling.

As the lights continued flickering, Andrew jumped to his feet as if startled. 'Skittish kid,' thought Ralph. Ralph saw that Andrew was staring at Mayuri with the oddest look on his face, a blend of shock and fascination.

“I've never done anything but keep you safe,” said Akuma. “Just keep going along with their program and we'll be out of this place in no time. Tell them what they want to hear.”

Mayuri snapped back into focus with the Group and whispered, “I'm feeling really anxious. Not about anything specific. It's just... everything is making me feel sad. And stressed. Both.”

“Good girl,” cooed Akuma.

“Make sure you bring this up when you talk to Dr. Franklin later, Mayuri. In the meantime, there is part two of the sharing. Do you have a compliment for yourself?” Ralph asked.

“Um... no,” she said.

Ralph sighed and moved on to the next patient.

“Leah, how are you feeling?”

“I'd give today a 7. I'm not feeling down but I'm not necessarily happy, either. I finished a really cool drawing of Bulma from Dragon Ball, so that cheered me up a bit. Does that count as a compliment?”

“Sure,” said Ralph. “Next up is Chris. How are you feeling today?”

“I'd give today a solid 4. You guys are really screwing me up on this rooming situation,” said Chris.

“Yes yes, I've been made aware of your complaints. I'm sorry, but legally, we are obliged to keep things how they are,” said Ralph, although he was fairly sure this wasn't true. “And your compliment?”

“I will compliment my self control for not yelling at you the way I want to right now,” said Chris.

Randle, who was unsure what situation Chris was complaining about, realized he was going to be next. He had just been admitted and was not looking forward to all this participation the hospital seemed to encourage.

“Next up is Randle. It's nice to meet you. I know you just got admitted and you look a little overwhelmed, so take your time,” said Ralph.

“Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, too,” said Randle, who, to Ralph's utter surprise, stood up, crossed the room, and shook Ralph's hand in greeting. 'How mature,' thought Ralph. 'Although now I need to Purrell my hand. I hate when the inmates touch me.'

Andrew laughed again. Then he whispered something to Phillip, who nodded approvingly.

Back in his seat, Randle said, “This whole day is quite a blow to my usual schedule, so I will have to give it a 3.”

“That's fair,” said Ralph. “And your compliment?”

“I suppose I will praise my packing skills. I think I did a fine job selecting all the best amenities for a long stay in a hospital. I chose all the warmest socks. I also remembered to bring my own toothpaste, which is a vast improvement over the kind a hospital would offer,” said Randle.

“You must need a strong toothpaste to wash the taste of cocks out of your mouth,” said Shawn. Hannibal and Roberto burst out laughing, as they had both been thinking about what a fruit this Randle guy seemed to be. Between the slight lisp in his voice and his pretentious attitude, Shawn was just saying what they were all thinking.

Randle's face flushed bright red, but he held his tongue.

“Come on, Shawn. That's not nice,” said Arie.

“What? The dude sounds like a faggot. And he's moving into my room! This is fucked,” declared Shawn.

“Enough!” shouted Ralph. Everyone silenced, and Ralph took advantage of the temporary peace to move the Group along. “Roberto, you're up.”

“I'll give today 8. I'm looking forward to kicking Hannibal's ass in a rematch on that Playstation basketball game later. I'll compliment my video game skills, I'm killer at the slam dunk,” said Roberto.

“Fiona, go.”

“I'll give today a 9, I think the new meds are really doing the trick,” Fiona said. She didn't really think the meds worked, but she was truthful about the 9 answer. Her real source of happiness was that she was planning to sneak out of her room that evening to hook up with Shawn during the planned party. She hadn't told Shawn this news yet, but doubted he would mind. “I'll compliment myself on... my hair. I think it looks really nice this morning.”

“Alright. Next up, Jessica.”

“I'm also feeling a 9,” said Jessica, even though she felt a 4 because she had barely slept last night and the sex with Rich, the night counselor, had been inadequate. She never came from his efforts and had to finish herself off in bed to get an orgasm out of it. “I'll compliment myself on making the best out of a bad situation. Being here should make me miserable, I'm sure that's what my parents wanted when they sent me here, but I feel I have remained remarkably positive.”

“Why did they send you here, anyways?” asked Chris.

“For being too cool, obviously.”

“Hannibal, how are you feeling today?” asked Ralph.

“I was feeling a 9 until you came in here smelling of cigarettes. Now it's more like a 6,” said Hannibal. “I'll compliment myself on the fact that I didn't make a bigger deal about it.”

'But you did make a big deal about it!' thought Ralph.

“Your turn, Shawn,” Ralph said.

“I'm feeling like shit, fuck your numbers,” said Shawn.

“Can you elaborate on that?” asked Ralph.

“Man, I'm just pissed off. I'm about to punch somebody or something. I'm fucking angry, what else can I say about it?”

“Can you give yourself a compliment?” asked Ralph hopefully.

“Fuck no! I mean, sorry man, I'm not mad at you, Ralph. But fuck, ask me later, maybe I can calm down a little,” said Shawn. Everyone knew Shawn was here for his anger issues and understood that if he was too worked up to cooperate, he would come to them once he felt more comfortable. Ralph let Shawn end his turn unfinished.

“Arie, how about you?” asked Ralph.

“I'll give today a 10,” Arie said. “I've been feeling really good about myself and am growing fond of all my roommates. I hope we all forge friendships that will last past these walls. I know Chris is having trouble acclimating, and helping him through it is making me feel good about myself. Like my parents always say, you need to give back to the community. They are richer than God and always make sure to keep some local charities alive, really giving back to the little people. That's what I want to do here. So I'd like to compliment my selflessness.”

“Diane, the spotlights on you,” said Ralph.

“Well I'm giving today a 1. That breakfast you served us was abominable. You guys know I have issues with food. Couldn't you give me something healthier, like a fruit bowl?” asked the bulimic Diane.

“I'll be sure to mention it to Dr. Franklin later,” said Ralph. “And your compliment?”

“I'd like to praise myself for managing to keep my breakfast down,” Diane replied.

Now for the moment Ralph was dreading, Andrew's turn. Thankfully, Hannibal hadn't used his turn to continue his fight with Andrew. However, the demented grin on Andrew's face made him look like someone ready to stir the pot, so to speak.

“Andrew... would you care to tell us how you are feeling?” asked Ralph.

“Well, since you asked,” began Andrew. “I will start out by letting everyone know that today is definitely a 10. Look around us! Where else would I rather be? And all of you are such an amazing cast of side characters for my little adventure. I couldn't have asked for better roommates. I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you better over the coming days.”

“Don't even try it,” said Hannibal.

Andrew didn't let the jibe derail him. “Now, I believe I was asked to compliment myself. Well, where do I start? How long do you guys have? So many positive attributes to choose from. Ah, here's a good one: I'm a people person. I look forward to demonstrating this over the upcoming days.”

“cough faggot cough,” joked Hannibal.

Andrew suddenly locked eyes with Hannibal. Andrew glared with a fury that his smile seemed unaware of. “Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal. You, of all people, shouldn't be accusing others of being homosexual,” Andrew said.

“Ex-fucking-cuse me?” said Hannibal.

“Hey now, everyone-,” began Ralph, but Andrew talked right over him.

“Remember Uncle Glenn?” asked Andrew. “He sure remembers you, Hannibal. I know you like to tell yourself that what happened wasn't your fault, that he attacked you, took advantage of you. He was the adult, should have known better. Uncle Glenn is in here with me, and he says the truth is an entirely different tale. He says you came onto him. He never would have considered doing such a thing to a child if you hadn't led him on. Little Hannibal, always giving longer hugs than the other children, being overly affectionate with adults when no boy your age should have been to cuddly towards grown-ups. You should have known where that would lead you.”

“You're fucking dead!” shouted Hannibal, who leaped across the room towards the blond boy. Shawn barely caught Hannibal in time, catching hold of Hannibal's shirt and holding him back from tearing Andrew apart. Ralph had already hit the button on his beeper to call security and had joined Shawn in holding Hannibal back.

“Let me at him!” yelled Hannibal.

“You need to calm the fuck down!” yelled Ralph. “Security is on their way right now. If you don't take a deep breath and chill right this second, they are going to sedate the shit out of you when they get here.”

In spite of his rage, this got through to Hannibal, who stopped struggling against Ralph and Shawn.

Seconds later, two security guards barged into the room. “Is everything okay here?” the lead one asked.

Ralph looked Hannibal in the eyes and deemed the youth calm. “Just a misunderstanding,” said Ralph.

The security guards left and Hannibal took his seat, still shaking from adrenaline but not trying to act out any longer.

Ralph turned on Andrew. “Get out of here,” he said.

“Excuse me?” said Andrew.

“You heard me. Out. That was bullshit. We'll be talking about this later, new kid. This place has rules, you don't get to make up stories about people like that,” said Ralph.

Andrew's calm and collected demeanor finally broke for the first time. “Fine,” he snapped. “I'll be looking forward to that conversation.” Andrew stormed out of the Common Room and retreated to the male bedrooms.

“Now, we are going to act like civilized human beings and finish Group therapy,” said Ralph. “Phillip has not had a turn yet. He just got here today and this is a terrible first impression to make. Phillip, how are you feeling?”

Phillip looked at Ralph. The counselor looked to have the face of a fish, with a mouth that looked more like it was gasping for breath than talking. Bile was running from his mouth in thick globs. “Ah... ah... 2.” he finally spit out.

“Could you tell us why you feel so down?” asked Ralph.

With Andrew gone from the room, Phillip felt terrified. Andrew had been the first normal looking person he had seen in months. Phillip just wanted Group to end so he could go back to Andrew's side and bask in his presence.

“I... uh... I don't know...” Phillip mumbled.

“That's alright,” said Ralph. “I'll talk to you after Group and try to help you get acclimated properly. I bet you'll be feeling at home in no time.”

'Please don't,' thought Phillip.