| POOR MR. NICHOLS He wasn't crazy! There was no way. He didn't feel crazy, not one bit! So why was he locked up in this damn place? The nurse came over, looked at him, sitting forward in the chair, and set a tray down on the table beside him. "You need to eat, Mr. Nichols." He continued staring at her face, not moving a muscle. She sighed quickly, and turned, walking out of the room. He closed his eyes and sat back. He wasn't crazy, there was a mistake. He looked over at the tray beside him. Obviously this place didn't get much funding, there was some sort of meat with gravy... He felt sick just looking at it. He looked out the small barred window, to see a plain brick wall about 4 feet outward from it. Same as every day. He stood up, and moved a few feet from the chair, then was restrained from the straps holding him at the chair. He had forgotten. He sat back on the chair. And looked out the window. The nurse re-entered the room, carrying a pitcher of water. He simply stared at the nurse again. "Mr. Nichols, I really don't like you staring at me like that. Here, I brought you some water." "...I'm not crazy..." The nurse stopped, "Yes, I know, Mr. Nichols." "Then why am I here?" The nurse smiled, and walked over to the small table, pouring a bit of the water in to a glass. "Because you gutted your daughter, Mr. Nichols. Same reason as yesterday." He smiled, and sat back in the chair, "Oh yeah... that's right. Why does that make me crazy?" He said, adjusting the strap on his wrist. The nurse simply stopped pouring, and looked at him nervously. He looked down, and licked his lips. The nurse sprinted, but he caught her by the throat with the straps. She layed on the floor, choking. He wasn't crazy, he thought, as he broke the glass sitting on the table, and took a long shard in his hand. I'm just as sane as anyone. Why was he there? He didn't understand... |