An Empty Pandora’s Box

By R.A.B.

The chilly atmosphere of the quiet halls of an asylum is enough to bring a sane man unto the brink of unparalleled mental breakdown. The eerie feeling of a building that houses many disturbed minds is enough to cure a sane man of his sanity- except for certain persons who dedicate themselves to calm the murky mentality of those who dwell in this house deprived of sensible reason and sunshine.

9-tis’ where the pointed hands of the clock lie; footsteps are heard through one of the isles of this vast medical complex for the psyche. These were the footsteps of a young woman-a psychiatrist- and her psychiatric nurse companions, all of whom trudging along these halls for their routine check ups of the unique patients of the complex.

To the upper-left part of the young physicians chest rests a tiny rectangular nameplate. On this nameplate the letters J.K. Florence M.D. were inscribed. She was quite a tall woman housing a slender built and a lovely oak-brown shoulder-length hair. Her face is enough to drive a gay man into manhood once more because of its unblemished loveliness. She wore a white medical gown as all doctors. In her strong, yet delicate and slender hands she held a clipboard, which houses the list of her patients’ names.

Carefully planting her hazel-colored eyes on the characters written on the clipboard she uttered, “Leo de los Reyes is the last one for the morning I suppose.”

“Oh him. He’s in room 115 Doc Flo,” said one of the male nurses in her company, calling her by the name most of the hospital staffers are fond of calling her.

“I think you should deal with this one very differently ma’am. He’s known to be notorious,” said another one of the nurses.

“Why?” addressed the young doctor with curiosity towards the nurse.

“He’s quite notorious for trying to kill himself ma’am,” replied the nurse. “He’s tried to kill himself around seven times since he arrived in our hospital- personally, I think he’s already given up on life a long time ago. Nothing else occupies his mind now but death. I guess, he’s already incurable,” the nurse added.

“Nonsense! There’s no such thing as incurable in psychiatric medicine. Everything can be cured in time- we just have to be patient,” Florence objected. “ Come on enough of this worthless dialogue, let’s get going so that we can get some work done alright.”

They walked along the lobby towards room 115. Each room they passed they heard the frantic sounds of the mentally ill. Voices of different pitch and frequency all uttering something like a house lizard ticking noisily on a corner of a room.

“God bless these poor souls, why do sad things like lunacy ever happen in this world? I really wished that psychiatrists like me weren’t needed,” the doctor thought silently as they walked towards room 115.

“112,113,114…ah 115. Here we are ma’am,” the male nurse said, as the group stopped in front of a steel-reinforced door.
“Hmm…Level three confinement? He must be in a really bad shape,” muttered the doctor in her mind.

“He isn’t that nice when dealing with a lot of people ma’am,” continued the nurse “All the other doctors before you usually enter his room alone. He usually gets obnoxious when there are other people present the room and usually just keeps mum and silent therefore not leaving anything worth evaluating about him.”

“How long has he been staying here anyway?” inquired Florence.

“ Well the older nurses usually say that he’s already been here for seven years ma’am,” replied the nurse. “He was supposed to have been brought here when he was only 16 years old.”

“He was supposed to be a very smart and athletic child ma’am; a star quarter back for his high school football team and a promising young writer. No one could have been more blessed”

“Wait, you’re telling me that he’s been brought here when he was only a kid?” asked Florence with utmost wonderment. She quietly contemplated, as surely there is no sadder scenario as that of a young man, whose entire life is ahead of him, showing great promise for success and fame going crazy, mentally ill… insane.

“Well Doc Flo, are you going in or what?” asked the nurse.

“Yes, of course. Give me his file.”

The psychiatric nurse handed her a blank folder with a thick content of paper works fastened into it. Upon receiving this, the doctor turned the knob on the reinforced steel door. Inside the room was a typical level 3 psychiatric ward room-padded white walls, a mattress with no bed frame because of its tendency to be used by patients, who are suicidal, to kill themselves and a small fiber glass window which lets the morning rays of sunshine in…how ironic though, for patients like Leo, there are no morning sun shines-everyday is always the blackest of nights.

(to be continued)

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