Twenty Years in a Sane Asylum

The letter of a psychopathic woman, explaining her life in an insane asylum.

To whom it may concern,

        When a girl is given eternity to do nothing but stare at cold white walls and think, she can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the thoughts that are trapped inside her head, begging to be set free. Emeline has been crying more and more often, begging that I share our tragic story. She would do so herself, but she was never given the priveledge of learning how to write. Consequently, I must bear this burden alone. I implore you to read this very carefully; examine every word and take it to heart. Our story is not one to be taken lightly, and my hope is that action will be taken once everything is understood. 
        I had done nothing wrong. I was not crazy. I was nine years old, and the year was 1855. I was a normal child, and my only fault was being born to a poor family. While mother worked in an assembly line at the textile factory, Father claimed to be searching for work. He lost his job due to injury from a hunting accident, so this was a believable lie, but a believable lie is all that it was. I knew what the reality was, but no one believed me. Every day, an hour after Mother left for work, Father would send me to my room to play with my new marbles that he had bought for me. He thought he could hide me from her, but I could hear her laughter from their bedroom. When I confronted Father, and told him that I would tell Mother if he didn’t stop, he said I was hearing things. He exclaimed that I was hearing voices and would be committed to the New Jersey State Insane Asylum as soon as he could sign the papers.
        I thought he wouldn’t be able to keep me in there. Surely, the doctors would see that I am in fact sane, and would return me to my home; maybe even a better home. So when he turned in the blanche papers with “lunacy” written in blood red ink, I thought nothing of it. I was and still am obviously not insane. I did nothing wrong, so they wouldn’t be able to keep me. It’s immoral and inhumane to keep a sane person in an insane asylum, so surely they would see that there was a mistake. I was horribly wrong. They clamped down on my shoulders with their pale, clammy, talon-like hands and drug me into a cold, white hell! They left me there for what seemed like eternity, alone. I couldn’t help but wonder about the psychopathic murderers that might reside behind the walls of my cell.         Sitting in silence for so long must have caused my hearing to advance, because I began to hear what was happening outside of my cell. The scratching and screaming from the maniac in the next room against those frigid white walls was enough to drive anyone to hysteria. Although I know this to be false, it sounded like she was in my cell with me. Her voice echoed, reminiscent of a ruthless killer in her mid-twenties. I could tell by her screams that she had spilt blood, and that she would no doubt spill more if the opportunity presented itself. While I was pondering this, the door to my cell opened, and I saw a sight that I hadn’t seen since God knows when: a human being. Not just the occasional hand and arm that slipped a poor excuse of nourishment into my cell; a whole, little person. She was an emaciated, quiet girl with a halo of curly blonde hair. As her escort, the nurse, pried the child’s hand off of her white cloak, she turned to address me in her stone cold voice,

        “Elenor, this is your new cell mate.”

I didn’t respond; I couldn’t even look at the nurse. I simply stared at the little girl. She stared back with big blue eyes, and held the skirt of her pink, lace dress. I’d never before seen such a perfect picture of innocence. We stood like that for what seemed like the longest time, just looking at each other. By now I was twenty-seven, and looking at her made it feel as if I had traveled back in time. She reminded me of myself when I was a child, before that wretched asylum stole my childhood. Suddenly the door closed, and we were both startled out of our dream-like state. I decided to try to figure out what her disorder was, if she even had one at all.

          “What’s your name?” I asked as softly and calmly as I possibly could.
          “Emeline. I like pink.”
          “Well, why---”
          “I like to rhyme all the time. Momma got annoyed with me, so she sent me here.”
          “So you did nothing wrong?”
          “I didn’t do nuth’n. Look at my purdy pink button!”
  
She pulled a small pink button out of her dress pocket. She smiled with pride over her treasure, and I smiled too.              We grew to be great friends over the next few years. After Emeline arrived, I noticed that the scratching and the screaming in the next room had ceased to exist. I suppose the maniac died, or lost her will to disturb the others inside this hell. Although, it didn’t seem like much of a hell anymore. Emeline and I talked about our prior lives, and our future once we were discharged. She could never imagine what her future would hold, but I could. I would go back to my family and prove that I am not insane, and I would take Emeline with me, so she could prove the same thing to her “folks” as she called them. Fate, however, had a different escape planned for poor Emeline.
        Emeline got sick. She got very sick, and there was nothing I could do for her other than offer her some of my food to eat with her own. I watched her slowly deteriorate, and I started to hear the screaming and scratching from the other room again. Another maniac must have moved in. Emeline never heard the wretched sounds, so I deduced that her hearing must have gotten much weaker when the illness set in. She got to the point where she could barely move, and she couldn’t speak at all. I fed her day after day, and meticulously braided her perfect blonde hair. She always loved it when I played with her hair. I held on to the hope that the nurse would one day bring medicine with the food, and that I’d get to hear Emeline’s voice again. To my horror, the wicked, wretched witch never tried to help her, so Emeline died in my arms. I had nowhere to put her, so I laid her cold, pale body in the corner. Too grief-stricken to cry, I wallowed in sorrow and anger.
        I heard a knock at the door and knew it was time for my daily bowl of slop, but suddenly I heard her. I heard Emeline! She told me to get the nurse inside, and to ask her why she would let a little girl suffer. The door opened, and as I saw the nurse’s sleeve, I was filled with rage. I grabbed her cold, white hand and dragged her into the cell. Seeing the color of her uniform made me remember all that I’d gone through. The images of the white legal papers, the white, talon-like hands of the people who locked me in there, and the white walls of my hell hole flashed through my mind. Talking to the nurse wouldn’t be enough. I needed to escape and take Emeline with me. I grabbed the nurse and threw her down. I pinned her demonesque body  beneath me and strangled her until she turned whiter than her uniform. As soon as I felt her body go limp, I left her on the cold, white floor, and scooped up Emeline. I ran as fast as I could down the seemingly endless hallway, and realized something strange. There were no rooms next to mine.
        Finally, we are free. We are free of the hell hole known as the New Jersey State Insane Asylum. I am out in the public, where a sane person like myself belongs, and the maniacal beasts are where they deserve to be. All is right with the world, assuming we were the only sane people in that horrid place. When an assumption of this nature holds so much weight, it can not be left unproven. In light of this, I am leaving this letter at the doorstep of the local police station, hoping that whoever reads it might be kind enough to shut down their institution. It is of upmost importance that every single worker at New Jersey State Insane Asylum receives the death penalty. Otherwise, we will be forced to take personal action.

End them.

Ms. Elenor Symenthe Black
Ms. Emeline Joy Nivison

Author's Note

I will take any and all criticism/compliments thrown my way. I've been thinking about expanding this into a book and making this letter the introduction; let me know what you think!

Reviews

[advance84]

Finally....
" When a girl is given eternity to do nothing but stare at cold white walls and think, she can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the thoughts that are trapped inside her head, begging to be set free."
A gripping line,in my perspective it explores the confinement of a female into her gender role.It's quite a startling sentence
To do nothing is powerful sentence,there's this notion of female virginity,this innocence( by taking that line an dissecting as it if were a book of a thousand pages with that one single line.The powerful beginning is in parallel with the mournful ending(mournful of the end of these 'beasts).It's an incredible feeling of freedom after being constrained
I generally think you've ticked the boxes
1) There's this quite structured contextual reference which compliments the tone of your voice which is a distinct and independent to the other characters.
The idea of wasting away in a mental asylum has a "shock element" to it.
More 2 come.

[advance84]

not quite finished yet(merely the beginning)

[Rosie Brooklin]

Thank you! I love your comments so far and can't wait to see what else you have to say.

[advance84]

Hey Rosie just an update, making good on my promise
To whom it may concern,
When a girl is given eternity to do nothing but stare at cold white walls and think, she can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the thoughts that are trapped inside her head, begging to be set free. Emeline has been crying more and more often, begging that I share our tragic story.
Comment : Here I really like the narrator’s pov, is starting to undergo change, the switch from a narrator(from a third-person perspective, to the more personal “our story”, it parallels very well , as you’ve mention the third person perspective and a close like to eternity. Very powerful here. I would love a more succinct metaphor on the line(“trapped inside her head, begging…”) perhaps something along the lines of “ Her constant war games were gnashing against her”. But open to interpretation I guess
She would do so herself, but she was never given the priveledge of learning how to write. Consequently, I must bear this burden alone. I implore you to read this very carefully; examine every word and take it to heart. Our story is not one to be taken lightly, and my hope is that action will be taken once everything is understood.
Comment : I love this actually, referring to the first paragraph actually , I’ve assumed Emeline , is living in the joyous days of childhood, would love to see a connection of her expression, of what this story is, what sensations ( maybe are kinetic, how would you best demonstrate this in your writing ? ) . She scraped against a particular toy etc etc. I’m sure you’ll have better ideas


I had done nothing wrong. I was not crazy. I was nine years old, and the year was 1855. I was a normal child, and my only fault was being born to a poor family. While mother worked in an assembly line at the textile factory, Father claimed to be searching for work.
Comment : Would love to see an expansion on this search for work.
He lost his job due to injury from a hunting accident, so this was a believable lie, but a believable lie is all that it was. I knew what the reality was, but no one believed me. Every day, an hour after Mother left for work, Father would send me to my room to play with my new marbles that he had bought for me. He thought he could hide me from her, but I could hear her laughter from their bedroom. When I confronted Father, and told him that I would tell Mother if he didn’t stop, he said I was hearing things. He exclaimed that I was hearing voices and would be committed to the New Jersey State Insane Asylum as soon as he could sign the papers.
Comment : Hmm not sure I’m understanding correctly what the father is hiding, just a weird connection with the Mother, but I’m sure you’ll able to examine this conflict

I thought he wouldn’t be able to keep me in there. Surely, the doctors would see that I am in fact sane, and would return me to my home; maybe even a better home. So when he turned in the blanche papers with “lunacy” written in blood red ink
Comment: I think my subjective opinion, is that written in blook red ink is maybe cliché, but I’m sure there’s something clever you can do with this.
, I thought nothing of it. I was and still am obviously not insane. I did nothing wrong, so they wouldn’t be able to keep me. It’s immoral and inhumane to keep a sane person in an insane asylum, so surely they would see that there was a mistake. I was horribly wrong. They clamped down on my shoulders with their pale, clammy, talon-like hands and drug me into a cold, white hell! They left me there for what seemed like eternity, alone. I couldn’t help but wonder about the psychopathic murderers that might reside behind the walls of my cell. Sitting in silence for so long must have caused my hearing to advance, because I began to hear what was happening outside of my cell. The scratching and screaming from the maniac in the next room against those frigid white walls was enough to drive anyone to hysteria. Although I know this to be false, it sounded like she was in my cell with me. Her voice echoed, reminiscent of a ruthless killer in her mid-twenties. I could tell by her screams that she had spilt blood, and that she would no doubt spill more if the opportunity presented itself. While I was pondering this, the door to my cell opened, and I saw a sight that I hadn’t seen since God knows when: a human being. Not just the occasional hand and arm that slipped a poor excuse of nourishment into my cell; a whole, little person. She was an emaciated, quiet girl with a halo of curly blonde hair. As her escort, the nurse, pried the child’s hand off of her white cloak, she turned to address me in her stone cold voice,
Comment : Very vivid here , “As her escort the nurse”, I would love to see an expansion of the nurse , can we build some dimension onto her attire, we’ve got a good representation of normalcy, the “un-normal” ( children, from a structural point of view , there’s feeling of this normal creeping into how the first-person refers to cell. It’s really maybe a macro structure reverting into a micro structure, “The Ayslum “ goes to my cell , personified and powerful 😊
“Elenor, this is your new cell mate.”
I didn’t respond; I couldn’t even look at the nurse. I simply stared at the little girl. She stared back with big blue eyes, and held the skirt of her pink, lace dress. I’d never before seen such a perfect picture of innocence. We stood like that for what seemed like the longest time, just looking at each other. By now I was twenty-seven, and looking at her made it feel as if I had traveled back in time. She reminded me of myself when I was a child, before that wretched asylum stole my childhood. Suddenly the door closed, and we were both startled out of our dream-like state.
Comment : Hmm I’d feel that the “dream-like state” doesn’t fit, you’ve built this arena of structural objects ( the door, the cell, my cell, asylum as confronting, challenging the main character. But could this be an extension of “dark play”, so could also fit under that umbrella ?
I decided to try to figure out what her disorder was, if she even had one at all.
“What’s your name?” I asked as softly and calmly as I possibly could.
“Emeline. I like pink.”
“Well, why---”
“I like to rhyme all the time. Momma got annoyed with me, so she sent me here.”
“So you did nothing wrong?”
“I didn’t do nuth’n. Look at my purdy pink button!”

She pulled a small pink button out of her dress pocket. She smiled with pride over her treasure, and I smiled too. We grew to be great friends over the next few years. After Emeline arrived, I noticed that the scratching and the screaming in the next room had ceased to exist. I suppose the maniac died, or lost her will to disturb the others inside this hell. Although, it didn’t seem like much of a hell anymore. Emeline and I talked about our prior lives, and our future once we were discharged.
Comment : I feel that the narrative, the suspense , you’ve built up in the first few paragraphs, loses it’s charm slightly here, but read on I will 😊
She could never imagine what her future would hold, but I could. I would go back to my family and prove that I am not insane, and I would take Emeline with me, so she could prove the same thing to her “folks” as she called them. Fate, however, had a different escape planned for poor Emeline.
Comment : Is Fate’s capitalization intentional ? , I found this quite powerful, it has a very stand-offish vibe, the main character meets another confrontation ,well in this case it’s more the reality of things

Emeline got sick. She got very sick, and there was nothing I could do for her other than offer her some of my food to eat with her own. I watched her slowly deteriorate, and I started to hear the screaming and scratching from the other room again. Another maniac must have moved in. Emeline never heard the wretched sounds, so I deduced that her hearing must have gotten much weaker when the illness set in. She got to the point where she could barely move, and she couldn’t speak at all. I fed her day after day, and meticulously braided her perfect blonde hair. She always loved it when I played with her hair. I held on to the hope that the nurse would one day bring medicine with the food, and that I’d get to hear Emeline’s voice again. To my horror, the wicked, wretched witch never tried to help her, so Emeline died in my arms.
Comment : I feel here that the progression is slightly too fast, but I guess my own biases I guess 😊
I had nowhere to put her, so I laid her cold, pale body in the corner. Too grief-stricken to cry, I wallowed in sorrow and anger.
I heard a knock at the door and knew it was time for my daily bowl of slop, but suddenly I heard her.
Comment : Hmm this description of a perfunctory task of the sturcutre ( I’ll refer to it as morning chow here), when I parallel it with the other description of “morning chow” follows “Not just the occasional hand and arm that slipped a poor excuse of nourishment into my cell; a whole, little person”, I feel that the first was more powerful, I’d love if you’d maintained this momentum here, I think there’s a whole view, of Girl forgetting that she’s trapped, lives with other girl , talks about girl, hopes of view, structure gets annoyed -> then reminds her again, drivers her out of the dream-state , a reminder of reality ( perhaps here you could even reference the first paragraph , well you talk about the reality ( hunting injury) , all in all a good paragraph ) 😊
I heard Emeline! She told me to get the nurse inside, and to ask her why she would let a little girl suffer. The door opened, and as I saw the nurse’s sleeve, I was filled with rage. I grabbed her cold, white hand and dragged her into the cell. Seeing the color of her uniform made me remember all that I’d gone through. The images of the white legal papers, the white, talon-like hands of the people who locked me in there, and the white walls of my hell hole flashed through my mind. Talking to the nurse wouldn’t be enough. I needed to escape and take Emeline with me. I grabbed the nurse and threw her down. I pinned her demonesque body beneath me and strangled her until she turned whiter than her uniform. As soon as I felt her body go limp, I left her on the cold, white floor, and scooped up Emeline. I ran as fast as I could down the seemingly endless hallway, and realized something strange. There were no rooms next to mine.
Finally, we are free. We are free of the hell hole known as the New Jersey State Insane Asylum. I am out in the public, where a sane person like myself belongs, and the maniacal beasts are where they deserve to be. All is right with the world, assuming we were the only sane people in that horrid place. When an assumption of this nature holds so much weight, it can not be left unproven. In light of this, I am leaving this letter at the doorstep of the local police station, hoping that whoever reads it might be kind enough to shut down their institution. It is of upmost importance that every single worker at New Jersey State Insane Asylum receives the death penalty. Otherwise, we will be forced to take personal action.


Summary
WWW(What went well) :
- Good use of thematic repetition( themes are repetitive and not deviant, they fit in the construct of the narrative that you’ve created)
- Powerful imagery created -> great use of descriptors to build powerful vivid imagery
-
EBI
- Explore dimensions of characters, and provide more referential moments(so your writing becomes more a interactive ( well as a reader from the reader pov) , I feel then it would be a quite good piece
- In my personal opinion , expand on the structure meets girl conflict, use setting to your advantage, and be sparing to settings you introduce to the reader. Flesh out settings 😊
- Progression in some ideas could be a slower, maybe I’m just a picky reader lol ( all I do is read epics and non-fictions lol)

[Rosie Brooklin]

Thank you so much for your thorough review! I greatly appreciate the time you took to do this

[Jay]

I love it.
It's the most fun story I've read yet

[Rosie Brooklin]

Thank you so much!

[Jay]

Congrats I'm putting you character into my series of insanity! All credit will be given to you for the character and the idea. I hope you red it and enjoy

[Chris]

A good premise and char build. Just wordy enough to draw you along without turning the reader away. The particular twist WAS obvious but still effective. The "end" left continuing apropos.

[KCthelastboyscout]

A joyous delight.you placed me into a new and intriguing world and I am wonderfully entertained.can't wait for more of this story.

[Ashley]

I think its great! Keep up the hard work!

[Shannon]

Excellent my clear yet ambiguous and creepy.

I would suggest you look at the revelation that there are no rooms nearby. It could be both more subtle and more powerful.

The voice was clear, crisp and unique. Would love to read more

[Rosie Brooklin]

Thank you very much! The ending of the story was quite rushed, since I had a deadline to go back. I plan to go back and lengthen both the murder and the escape :) Your feedback was very helpful!

[Shannon]

You're welcome. I meant to ask about the title?

[Rosie Brooklin]

Twenty Years in a "Sane" Asylum, since the protagonist believes that she is sane.

[Richard simpson]

Great work, I love the great detail and design and era for the characters, the surrounding mystery and all and all contemporary feel of it. Get more in the mind of the characters and the readers feelings and emotions. Remember drama makes the reader love it more or hate it as it dwells. But, I am impressed by what I've read here and recommend it to any one of my friends.

[Rosie Brooklin]

Thank you! I plan to build on the characters in my book :) This is just a quick intro. I appreciate the review, and please do recommend it to others! I'll take all the feedback I can get.

[Richard simpson]

You're welcome and thank you for the feedback on my book as well

[Michael L]

I really enjoyed this - you have a strong voice, and you hooked me in right away with the opening paragraph. Love the small details and the creativity here - especially with how you describe Elenor's surroundings and how she copes with her confinement. I also like the ambiguity - a part of me believes she's completely sane, but another thinks the letter shows her descent into madness.

I think it's a great starting point for a novel, but if it remains a short story I'd love to see a bit more resolution for the reader as the other commenter mentioned. I'm left with questions about whether or not Emeline was in fact real, and also about the other rooms next to hers being missing (which was an awesome little twist!). Overall, very well done! I'd definitely love to read more.

[Rosie Brooklin]

Thank you for your detailed review! I have decided to expand this into a novel, and have already begun work on the next chapter. If you'd like your questions answered, shoot me a message. I'd rather not spoil it for other readers. Thanks again!

[matrixmark]

Well, this is an interesting and mind bender of a piece. You start the chapter off with a good hook and a very crisp and clean introduction. So then you kick in with the father sending her to her room just to play marbles, but yet she thought that their were voices from the other room. So this instantly spike my interest because of the title of this piece....voices coupled with the title AND your forewarning of read every word carefully started to literally look at every word with urgency. When inside the asylum you gave good descriptives and feelings of how the place could be. The scatching on the walls was such a cool touch to add and also her thought process of all the madness around her.
The short conversation between emeline and eleanor was short but yet something about it i couldnt quite put my finger on it....was off.
Loved the struggle between the nurse and eleanor - great visuals.

Soooooo i was right and i was right about eleanor and emelie being........
I am not going to spoil it for others.
But this was a brilliant piece of writing and the ending was superb. Your word craft shines and is a delight to have read.

Loved it. Thank you for sharing. Superb.


Mark.
Ps. I can imagine this was quite difficult to write down because of the eay in which it HAD to be written.

[Rosie Brooklin]

Thank you for your kind review! I appreciate the detail behind it. Could you please elaborate on how the dialogue between Emeline And Elenor was off?

Also, you are somewhat correct! There might be a bit more to Emeline than what you might think...

And yes, it was quite difficult to write. Trying to display the mindset of Elenor through her own words was quite the struggle. I appreciate your appreciation!

[D.M. Knight]

This is a very well written and thought provoking short story! Your descriptions and word choices are very beautiful. I think it was very unique that the story is written as if it is a letter. What a great idea!

I am left with many questions... Was Emeline actually a real person? Or a figment of Elenor's imagination? The story indicates that she died, but then Elenor could hear her voice again? Also, the room next door was very interesting, especially when Elenor breaks free and realizes that there is actually no room next door, leaving me to wonder was the screaming all in Elenor's imagination? I wonder if Elenor was actually driven insane by her "imprisonment"?

In some ways, being left with these types of questions means that the story was very intriguing. But sometimes it is also helpful to have a little more clarity too... It is always such a hard call to make!!

Overall, your story was wonderful and I love how you describe and phrase things... Very well done!!

[Rosie Brooklin]

Your review has been very helpful to me! All of your questions are questions that I intended for the reader to have.
I have spent a long time debating whether or not to bring more clarity to the story, but I feel like that would take away from the over-all mood of the story. Instead, I have been thinking about expanding this story into a book! If I do that, I'll be able to add more character development and edify clarity on who is real and who isn't.

[D.M. Knight]

I think it would make a wonderful book and you should definitely do that!! Let me know if you do, I would love to read it. Keep up the great work!

[Rosie Brooklin]

Will do. Thanks!

[Rosie Brooklin]

I have officially decided to make this the first chapter of a novel. Chapter 2 is in the works, and I'll be sure to let you know when it is completed!

[D.M. Knight]

I look forward to it!!