The Ghost of Sherwood

One morning I decided to go on a run before work, I was walking down the street when as I rounded a corner I ran into a man who seemed to be in a big hurry. He stopped and apologized, introducing himself as Pink, I thought it was a strange name at the time. He seemed a bit tipsy, even this early in the morning so I made small talk with him for a while. I learned few things about him except what he did day to day, which wasn’t very exciting, he tended to avoid or talk around anything that had to do with his past or his family. Around 5:30 I said goodbye, we had talked about maybe meeting up at the bar later on.

I reached the park in little time and started jogging. As I ran, the leaves on the trees and the bushes made no sound, it was quiet and still. No one was out except me, I felt alone, but at the same time like I had the power and freedom of many. I ended up by the pond, it was perfectly still, not a ripple or splash disturbed it. It was as if the fish had all flown away, leaving the pond empty. As I stared at the pond, I saw a man’s reflection. As I scanned the opposite shore for the man, I could not see him, when I looked back down, his reflection was still there. I looked closer and saw a face that I recognized, it almost looked like my own, but that could not be possible. I looked at the clothes he wore, they were the exact ones I wore when I was trapped in the mental institution. I shivered and glanced around to make sure no one was around. I decided to leave the pond, taking the quickest route out of the park and heading home to take a shower before work.

A Life Not My Own

Sometimes, before I go to sleep at night, I think about what my life could have been if my parents hadn't sent me away as a child. I could still be living with them in New York City, but instead I'm barely getting by in a town smaller than a few skyscrapers. But I can't change that now, I can only know what I did and hope that what I do now will yield better consequences later.



As a kid, my parents took me to church every Sunday. I learned a lot from the Sunday school tracher and I had fun. One day, after church, I imagined myself to be David and tied a big rock to a rope. I swung it over my head with as much force as I could muster pretending I was slaying the mighty warrior, Goliath, and saving my people; but I ended up hitting my head, which gave me a tremendous headache, and a little bump on my head, which my parents overeacted about.

My protective parents put me in an asylum so that I wouldn't cause harm to myself, or others, again, because the inceident with the rock was not the first time, or at least that's how they explained it to me.

The asylum, or as the "doctors" called it, the Center for People with Special Needs, was like a jail. Every day was the same, I woke up to the same old breakfast, eggs- scrambled with cheese, and some kind of juice. Then they would personally announce that we would have the next two hours for free time, as if it was a deviation from the schedule or something. We had nothing to do in these free periods except read a short list of approved books and play board games and attempt to solve puzzles with missing and broken pieces. If it was nice enough, which it never was, we were allowed to go out in the cement courts and play with deflated dodgeballs. Next came lunch, almost as miserable as breakfast unless you were able to sneak some of your own ingredients into your PBJ's. There was always enough food for everyone, but never enough for seconds or thirds, as everyone would have liked. After lunch, we were separated into groups for team-building exercises in a big gymnasium with observation rooms on the upper floor. At this point in the day, I felt like a mouse in a cage, the doctors would observe us and record what each of us did like we were experiments that they had to study as if they planned on dissecting us later. after dinner, and no dessert, they locked us into our rooms for the night.

Occasionally I would wake up and hear the sounds of the doctors making rounds, the shuffling of their elevator shoes on the tile floor and the whistle that signalled their coming and going, that was not necessary but always present. Sometimes there were other sounds too, some that couldn't be explained until the next day when I noticed that some "patients" were missing, always the quiet ones that would be easily missed, probably because they wouldn't be missed. I noticed though, and that wasenough for me, strange things happened in that plce, and I didn't want to stay to find out.



I wake up some morningsin a cold sweat because of detailed dreams of what happened to those missing kids, the ones that disappeared in the middle of the night. I dream that it could have been me, and I am happy that it was not. I will die before I return to that place, I can only pray that I will not have to make that choice.

Crimes Outside the Castle

I woke up this morning to find myself tired and unwilling to raise myself from bed. I had to look twice at the clock to make sure that what I saw was correct. It was 7:50, ten minutes until I had to be at work over at the bowling alley. I suddenly had enough energy to get out of bed and hurry out the door. I didn't have time for a quick snack so I ran down the stairs hoping that my boss wouldn't fire me for my latest string of late arrivals at work. I had no savings since all of my income went to my basic needs, if I got fired I would have to live on the street until I found another place to work.

It was 7:55 when I rounded the corner of Benson and Popular. Across the street, I saw an old man exit Isabella's Cafe and be approached by a tall, dark man wearing baggy clothes and a medium sized man with a scraggly beard. The old man seemed to jump back in surprise because of what he saw in the tall stranger's hands. I could not hear what they said but I saw the gun, the strangers were demanding the old man to empty his pockets. From where I was standing, the old man was safe as long as he adhered to their demands, so I set off for my job, hoping that I would not be late.

It was 7:58 as I ran into the bowling alley, by then I assumed that the stranger with the gun and his accomplice had finished up and escaped with their stolen goods. I hoped that the old man was okay; to make sure, I decided that after work I would make a visit to the police station to give them a statement of what I saw.