Abigail Pt. 1

The people here terrify me. They watch, observe, take notes, feed me pills, use words that I don't know to describe things I don't know about. I don't honestly remember why I'm even here anymore.
Last thing I remember was making dinner for my family. We lived in a decently sized ranch style home. The basement even had settling cracks along the foundation. We had been there for five years. My husband and I had been together for eight years. Within the first year of marriage I became pregnant with our son Timothy. He was born on time, a fine and fit baby he was. Eight pounds exactly, such a pleasing weight to the arms. It was as if your arms new just by holding him that he was well. 
Two years later I was pregnant with our daughter. We named her wednesday, she was born on a Wednesday as well, as luck should have it. A beautiful baby she was, seven and a half pounds. Petite, yet strong. "She could hold her own!" said my husband, Johnathan. 
Johnathan was a hearty, strong, well versed working man. He was quiet alot, but when he spoke, it moved mountains. The deep voice boomed through the house. Never a raised voice, though. 
His ways were tested in the fifth year of our marriage. We tried for another child. Seven months in I had a miscarriage. I was very sick. They kept me in the hospital for some time. Very weak, small appetite, lackadaisical demeanor with similar motivation. I was very much so in the doldrums. Even Johnathan and the childrens voices couldn't pull me out.
It seemed hopeless. Johnathan's eyes dulled considerably with every visit. That was my turning point, I believe. I began to regain my strength, my motivation. He didn't come for a week, once. That was my breakthrough. I stood and walked to the nurses station with a smile. I told them, "I would like to go home now."They looked puzzled, but they grabbed the telephone and called John to tell him the news. He was ecstatic, as was Timothy and Wednesday.
They arrived in the old Cadillac we owned. I missed the smell of the interior. I must have fallen asleep in the passenger seat.
But when I woke. I was at the stove. My right hand in a mitten, my left elbow on my hip, my right hand hanging in the air with such grace. I had my polka dot apron on, with the appropriate rags in the pockets. I opened the stove and pulled out the meatloaf, which somehow I knew was in there.

Johnathan was no where to be found. Neither were the children. I still don't know where they are. I ask the doctors daily, I tell them, "I'm better! Tell Johnathan to come get me!" But they never listen. They just look disheartened and walk away. I WANT OUT. I miss my husband. My children.


Please pass along to whomever you can. I need a higher authority to tell these men and women that I'm better and that I can leave now.


I beg of you.








Written by Abigail Williams.


Sunshine Manor (care institute)
1590 Mule ST


Patient showing signs of severe PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder), generalized anxiety disorder, depersonalization disorder, manic depressive tendencies, occasional schizophrenia. After her court dates she was sent to us for mental evaluation. She was ruled out of life in prison by insanity. It was a unanimous decision. 
Daily medication dosages have stayed relatively average. She shows signs of progression from time to time. Regression is still prominent. Twenty-four hour surveillance starts next week for qualification of new treatments.

Serval Pt. 1

And, you know? 

Maybe it's true what they say about me these days. Maybe I have just turned into that crazy man down the road. Always out on his porch during the day with a crying can of beer, a stare that sends children running for the hills, and adults to not let their children out after 8pm. But personally I feel just the same. I wake up the same, I eat the same, I watch television as I always have, and I go to sleep just the same as always. I suppose it holds true that what you find normal may not be normal in others eyes.

It all started with a simple walk to the grocery store. My purpose was to get some milk. The heat was worrisome in my mind to the milk's longevity, but I figured it would be gone just as quick as always. I was walking along the sidewalk that ran parallel to Sunshine Street. I came to the intersection of Sunshine and Mule to cross, I must not have been paying attention all that well. I heard a tire squeal then I saw black. 

When I came to, I only remember hovering over him with my fists clenched tight and the swelling in my knuckles beginning. He was a man in his early twenties...I think. It was hard to tell. His blonde hair strewn with slowly coagulating blood and his face hardly recognizable. I had aimed for his nose at first from the looks of it. Then his cheeks and jowls. His left eye-socket was crushed in, and the eyeball looked as though it was ready to fall out. 

I was just as shocked as an on-looker. I don't remember a thing, only black. 

They dropped the charges on me, seeing as I was struck by the young man's vehicle. He spent some time in the hospital. I always wanted to visit him but could never muster the courage. He had some plates, screws, and some other reconstructive surgeries. But I will say, I saw him not long after he healed and truth be told he looked better than he did before. At least from what I slightly remember. The "good lookin'" gene doesn't run too rampant in these parts, I'm sad to say.

From then on it was a silent shunning of sorts. Sure I wasn't charged, but the people still don't like it. 

But I still went and got my milk. And when I came back, the cats were happy. Joshua was happy too. He had been in the basement for two weeks now without anything to drink. His happiness was more of a scrambling to sustenance than purring with eyes shut and ears back. I had to put a bungie on his chain so he wouldn't break his own neck from these situations. He would get too excited and run for it, catching the end of the chain oh so quickly. I fed him a banquet nightly. Soma, vicodin, xanax, and simple tylenol PM. Valium for his anxiety and spasms. And that was usually it. Maybe the occasional sedative when he got out of hand. He was a good catch though. I had to up the dosage for his morning xanax though, he got too accustomed to what I had him on. It's always a game to see who wakes up first. His meal is usually what I don't eat at lunch, it's better than tossing it away I suppose. 

He doesn't say too much anymore. He used to yell alot, but I think I've got that calmed down. 

But, yeah, I suppose it all goes back to what's normal in your eyes might be insane in other people's. I wake up, eat, and go to sleep just the same as always.

Written by Serval Servas.

Sunshine Manor (care institute)

1590 Mule ST

Patient consistently showing signs of Schizophrenia. Electro-conductive therapy Starting tomorrow eve. Any effect will be a positive effect.