Insanity

I escaped because I thought I wasn’t crazy. I know, I did kill people, but I’m way over that now. Even if you get better, it doesn’t matter. They know you’re dangerous, so you’re never getting out. I was docile now, but figuratively I could snap. Figuratively. I knew I would be fine. I was cured. Nothing wring with me. So I escaped. It wasn’t easy, but I did it.
So I was free. But I was also cold. I was walking along a road, just outside the compound of the asylum. I stuck my thumb out at cars passing, but none of them stopped. I watch as a guy in a gigantic SUV zoomed by, pretending he didn’t see me. But then, there’s a screeching sound and the car stops. Maybe I was wrong. The car reverses until it’’s next to me, and the window rolls down. “You want a ride,” says the guy, more telling me then asking me. I think about saying, No thanks, I’ll just stick with walking, sarcastically, but I don’t, all I manage is a “Yes,”
So now I was in the car, heading towards civilization. “You got someplace to go?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I reply, lying.
He stares at me for a while, then says, “You don’t have somewhere you can go, do you?”
I think about lying again, but I dismiss the idea, “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t have anywhere to go,”
“Damn, man,” he stares at the road for a while, thinking, “Well, when I find a motel, I guess you can sleep in he car. I think there’s a pillow and some blankets in the trunk, go check,” I unbuckle and climb into the backseat, peering over the top of the leather padding.
“Yeah, there is,” I paused for a minute, thinking, “Thanks a lot, man,”
“Anytime,” he says, “Oh by the way, what’s your name?”
I almost slip and tell him my real name, but then I say, “Walter Borden,” which is about as far from my real name as Canada is to China.
“Cool,” he says, “My handles Kyle, oh—-here we go,” He pulls into the parking lot of a small roadside motel. He opens his door, gets out, says, “Sleep tight,” and shuts the door. I pull the blanket onto my body and rest the pillow under my head. Sleep tight. Not bloody likely.
The sunlight woke me, streaming through the windows onto my eyelids. I opened my eyes and blinked hard, then rubbed the sleep from them. It took me a second to realize where I was and what I was doing there. Then I remembered. Kyle.
After a few hours, he came out to the car wit a plate of eggs and toast. “Complementary of the motel,” he said. Food never tasted so good before.
Suddenly, a weird feeling spread through my body and mind. It was unbelievable, uncontrollable, random hatred, not for something specific but just an emotion. My vision went red. And I reached out for Kyle.
When I woke up again, there was blood everywhere. Kyle’s blood. I had killed him. I stared at my hands, which were covered in sticky, warm redness. Then, almost calmly, I fished through Kyle’s pockets, and found the car keys. I dumped his body in the trunk and drove, not away, but towards the asylum. I was apparently wrong about being crazy.
When I got there, I walked in, and just like a hotel, I checked in.