They say that "In this life, we're set to fail." I do not disagree with this statement, but I do think it is unspecific. Failure is never an option, but giving up always is. Whether its true or not, I am experiencing it right now. I am lying face down on the road, there is blood everywhere. After a few minutes of disorientation, I realize that the blood is mine. I look up and see a large amount of flashing lights and the silhouettes of people standing around me. My whole body is sore. My skin feels like its on fire.
A wall of fire.
Now I remember. The car exploded. Suddenly, my body is rolled over onto a stretcher. I am picked up and put into an ambulance. The doors to the ambulance close along with my eyes.
I wake up on a bed. Everything I can see is bright white. I must be in a hospital. I look around and see that I am handcuffed to the bed. That's not normal. They must know who I am. As I fully regain consciousness, a male doctor walks into the room. He is talking about something, but I'm not listening. The name on his name tag says 'Jack'. I leap out of the bed, forgetting that I am handcuffed to it. The entire bed flips over. I pick it up and slam it down on the chain attached to the handcuff. The chain breaks like a raw noodle. I run at Jack, punching him with every ounce of my strength. After a few minutes, someone notices the commotion and runs into the room, pulling me off of Jack. The police shortly arrive and throw me in the back of their car. But I don't mind now.
The deed is done.
They don't take me to the prison this time. They drive me to a mental institution. When we get there, I am escorted to a padded cell. They strap a straight jacket on me and leave me in there.
Here, loneliness takes on a whole new meaning. The only people here are me, myself, and I. And occasionally the janitor walks by, whistling show tunes from "The Sound of Music". Two weeks go by in this cell before they finally let me out. They bring me to a break room where they sit me down and talk to me about my case. After an hour of discussion, they leave me alone for a while.
The janitor wanders in and offers to show me around the institution. I'm sure it does against the rules, but I oblige and walk with him. He knows this place inside and out, knows every story of every dent in the walls. When we get to the sound-proof cells, he offers to show me inside.
"A marvelous feat of engineering" he says. I take a few steps inside and look around. I hear the door slam closed behind me. The door is locked shut and the janitor is staring at me through the window. I run to the door, slamming on it, telling him to let me out. He just shakes his head and stares at me. After a few minutes of futile efforts, I stop. He opens the small slot used to push food through, and I ask, "Who are you?"
He responds, "My name is Jacob Samuels, but you probably know me better as Jack."
He walks away, and the impact of this sentence crashes down on me like an atomic bomb. I stand motionless in awe and wonder. Two months later they find my body, but it was too late.
My life had been over the second I opened that mailbox.
