Rumination
My bedsheets are stiff and itchy again. I hate when the sheets are newly changed. There are multiple nights of nesting, sweating, and tossing in the sheets to get them feeling softer. This is why I avoid leaving my room. The men in the white uniforms are so sneaky.
A white uniform mixed up my pills once but I caught him. The other patients swallow blindly, but I always look at my daily servings. I have the shapes and colors memorized. I threw my little paper cup across the recreation room and bit the sandy-haired man on his neck.
My teeth left a beautiful deep-purple blossom on that sandy-haired white-uniformed man. He absently touches the place of my gift whenever he sees me, even though the flower has long since faded. I could have taken that bit of flesh with me and he knows it.
And it was completely worth the fuzzy aftereffects of sedation. The sandy-haired man learned his lesson.
The doctor reminded me that his facility doesn’t tolerate violence. I need to control myself. That made me laugh. I am full of self-control. I only murdered one person. I could have very well killed dozens of people!
But there was only one instigator, one supremely guilty soul, one target. Mother deserved every slice I awarded her.
I admitted my deed with a smile. I was a very compliant criminal. I didn’t lie about what I’d done. I’m not sure I am capable of lying. Mother made sure of that. I have the scars to prove it.
And Mother hated smiles, said they were for criminals and lunatics. So, I grinned through the whole process. I smiled as I killed Mother. I smiled at the policemen, the doctors, the lawyers, the people with flashing cameras, and my jury too. A few had asked how I was able to wear such a look. My answer, of course, was the reason anyone smiles and laughs: Because they’re happy.
I’ve never been so happy in all my life. There’s a roof over my head. I’m consistently fed. And my medication makes me feel delightfully numb. My clothes fit well, though the standard attire for hospital patients would fit anyone just fine. My only complaint is the bed linens.
But the best part? No Mother! Sometimes I think about her death and I giggle.
My face starts to twitch. Then, my lips crack apart with a smile. Laughter echoes out of my chest and bounces off the bare white walls of the hospital halls.
I’ve even giggled out of turn during group sessions. Some patients get mad at me. Others cry. I try to explain my laughter isn’t for them. They won’t believe me.
But I would never lie. I’m not sure I am capable of lying. Mother made sure of that. I have the scars to prove it. Sometimes I run my fingers along the raised lines of skin and it makes me giggle. Because she’s dead!
Tinamarie Cox resides in Northern Arizona with her husband and two children. She typically produces poetry and loves everything Vincent Price. Tinamarie's poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Nevermore Journal, The Sirens Call, Grim & Gilded, and others. You can follow her on Instagram @tinamariethinkstoomuch.