The well: no escape

in #writing6 years ago

Life is sad, so much effort and little pride, whose place lay in the deepest well. Mary Shelley could not stand being trapped in the same pitiful pit with no way out, locked in a rocky fortress swallowed by the darkness of a prison that the devil himself had not created so perfectly, why she had to live such a torment ? The nights were cold and the days fateful, besides that he did not stop crying; in question the world had been very unfair to poor Mary Shelley. The humidity consumed the filthy and oppressive mud of the well, his vision adapted to the darkness in the eternal nights, Mary could not stand the stay in that place, she is a disoriented woman and was frightened by the restlessness of her confinement. The only thing that she had besides her clothes rolled in the dirt of the days, was a pocket watch that did not help more than the disconcerting sound of the tic-tac-tic-tac hands that sonar did not let her sleep, however she did not conciliate the dream days before the discovery of the clock.

A game had taken her to a stumbling block and this one to a terrible misfortune. Taking her where she now finds herself in a prison full of her own hardships and the madness that engulfed her without remorse, thus letting her soul be torn from her body by her own demons.

Mary was as cueca as the well in which she remained, she had no one to talk to and enjoy the delights of life, for this life was bitter and full of mistakes she had made through her years, she hated to be in that Damn well reminded him how miserable and unimportant his existence was. He raved in melancholy thoughts his head was filled with twisted ideas of how to end his life before the pit did it in the slowest and most terrible way possible, without food or water it would last very little, however his death would be slow and painful, since her mental health pushed her into her subconscious making her fall into an alternate reality, sometimes she talked to herself and others believed that her condition was just a terrible nightmare. Every once in a while he dreamed of a beautiful meadow and gardens full of rose, which detached her from her earthly bonds.

When he woke up, he only wanted death.

One night he had an existential crisis caused by the dehydration of his battered body, suddenly a woman materialized, it was his living reflection his subconscious played a deadly trap.
From the other end the woman began to speak.

-How have you been Shelley?

Mary frowned as she answered.

-I do not understand. Why is that question? Or maybe you have not seen in the conditions that I am. It's been some time since this deprived of life- said Mary.

"How many times will we fall into them, I told you that such a well does not exist!" The woman said.

-Well, very good then Where am I? - Mary said scratching her left shoulder.

-Arkaham Asylum- It was the woman's response.

The woman did not look away from him, while the silence took over the place.

Mary felt surprised and uneasy, because of her look and the response of that woman.

"I know I know there's something wrong in my head, but I'm in a well," Mary said with conviction.

-How are you? If I tell you that these conditions are nothing more than a product of your imagination by a mere trauma of childhood at the age of 8 years and about to die drowned unless you were rescued, this place is nothing more than a memory happened a long time ago. Just think about the farm ...

The woman was interrupted.

-Enough curse! That is not true, all this is real and I know that, you are nothing more than a figment of my imagination, "said Mary, exalted.

-Shelley! Everyone sees what they want to see, "said the woman.

-Do you know something? I do not want you to pronounce my last name again or I'll break your face- Mary said angrily.

The woman stretched out her hand and tilted her head affirmatively.

-Okay Mary, just take my hand and you'll see the reality- said the woman.

Mary sighed and thought: maybe it's a demon? Surely my time and the truth come with frankness, hell does not sound so bad compared to this well.

-Vale I follow you- Mary said with a little concern.

The two women shook their hands.

Everything around her began to take the shape of a room, with a bed in which she lay reclining, everything was fused in a white color and the woman was now a kind of man with a tie, and with one of her hands she held the Mary and with the other the clock with its unbearable sonar.

Mary, feeling bewildered, withdrew her hand from the man.

-Who are you? - Mary asked scared.

In the expression of the man it was possible to visualize a smile of pride.

-Why I thought Miss Shelley was lost, who am I? You should know, some years ago I have treated your condition, but if you do not remember it, I am Mr. Bernard Lown, your psychiatrist and hypnotist, because you think that I have this clock is not just to see the time, "said Mr. Bernard, stretching the watch your patient.

Mary looked at him, but walked away, curling into a ball on the bed.

-Don't touch me please- said Mary.

-Miss Shelley, they do not hurt you, rather I want to help you, it's the first time we spoke without touching the issue of a well, "said Mr. Bernard worried.

-What exactly does the doctor do? - Mary asked, recovering herself and taking a seat in the bed.

-I'm not a ... but you know forget it, but if you want I know I'll tell you with pleasure, some time ago that I'm dealing with a mental disorder caused by a childhood trauma according to what you told me, was caused to the age of 8 years on his father's farm when he played at the edge of a well and had a slight inconvenience when he fell, he suffered a severe concussion, was rescued in less than 24 hours before he drowned, but the trauma of that tragic day the pursuit the rest of his life causing his head to be divided into a vivid memory that adhered to reality and sleeping pills for a girl of 8 years are not good ...

Mr. Bernard was interrupted.

"You do not know me!" Mary said before jumping on Mr. Bernard.

Bernard was surprised covered with his right arm before Mary nails his nails in his face, causing him to moan a little and then with the weight of his opponent to fall to the floor, then with quick fingers and strong grip his patient could take His tie and began to strangle him with his hands, but Bernard reacted quickly enough to use his hands and take the wrists of his patient and prevent their strength was greater.
Mary started screaming.

-I DO NOT KNOW WHAT I HAVE DONE, MERESCO DEATH! - Mary said aggressively without stopping to strangle Mr. Bernard.

Bernard was beginning to change from a pink to a light purple and a worried blue, but something worried him in his agony, apparently Miss Mary had a huge strength, although he was taking her by the wrists, so he thought of hitting her but this he went against the rules, taking the alternative that he had developed with so much effort several years ago, since his adrenaline was fierce and he could not move his tie because it would destroy his neck by pressure; With his last sighs of oxygen he said loud and clear a phrase before the beast, which had as patient, expelled the little air that his lungs had causing them to explode like nuclear bombs, he would hate himself for that, but he had something to do for his Life: You are submerged!

When Mary heard that phrase she shuddered and everything around her began to change, she was back in the well, but this time the walls crushed her and the water ran through her nose, reaching her lungs with a feeling of claustrophobia. He knew that none of this was real but he preferred to be in a lucid dream, than to face his miserable reality.

Mr. Bernard omitted an important part of his story, once he was taken out of the well he fell into painkillers and sleeping pills to oppress his trauma, nevertheless the side effects are always found, at his 8 years he hallucinated with monsters and without thinking one day he took a hunting knife, then stabbed his father multiple believing it was a kind of nocturnal creature.

They saved it from the well, however, at what price? Causing the death of the loved one who most loved in the mute his father: Eward Shelley.

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