My eyes slowly revealing the interior of my apartment.

My overcoat and hat were strewn atop the stand next to the door. Light poured in beams throughout the air. Every asset of my chambers was sublimely normal, and I could not have been more overjoyed.

I dressed myself and opened the windows. It was raining that day, but since it was much later in the morning a large amount of light seeped into my apartment. The grandfather clock ticked as the hands showed that it was seven forty in the morning, which meant that I had at least gotten six hours of sleep. Marvelous.

Without fear, I put on my overcoat and hat whilst exiting my abode. Pedestrians shuffled back and forth across the street. Some entering Payne’s butchery, while others moved farther down the street to the docks. I, however, delved deeper into the heart of the city. Once again, I would be visiting St. Dymphna’s psychiatric hospital, only I would be a visitor rather than a patient.

And I would not be entering the dreary and dust coated south wing, either, but the cramped eastern wing. The living quarters…

My walk through the foggy and wet circuit of streets and alleys was mostly uneventful. Through my time in that city, and my frequency in visiting the mental institution, I had deeply memorized every shortcut and crime ridden ghetto.

Luckily, I did not have to worry much about the density of crime, since a single look at my unwashed and ragged attire made it well known that I am not worth the trouble of robbing, and I have not consciously slighted anyone deeply enough to worry about murder or baseless assault.

It was as if had grown into the city. Merged with the cobblestone and become an unnoticed murmur in the cacophony of noise that emanated from every orifice of the surroundings. I was no more distinctive than a streetlamp.

Such lack of attention was to my advantage though, as I greatly enjoyed watching the business of the city than being a part of it. Although nothing of interest took place on my walk that particular morning. That or I was simply too calmed by my medication to notice.

Eventually I was in sight of the looming hospital and made my way into its courtyard. The rain kept anyone from venturing onto the grounds of the asylum, leaving nothing but masses of mud and sickly yellow grass to view as I moved further along the rock path. Even though the sun should have been out, the blackish grey clouds blotted out so much light that pale orange lights still emanated from inside the hospital.

Opening the front doors released a barrage of moans and groans from patients slowly wandering about the lounge. Nurses tried to multitask corralling the mindless people and checking to see who had just entered private quarters. I was not scolded or confronted as many others would be, once more due to my frequency of visitation.

I walked past the crowd of disheveled madmen and women. They were all completely resigned. Sedated. Until they looked at me, that was. In the moment they laid eyes on me, their lifeless demeanor suddenly sparked with a sort of realization. Perhaps they all forget what streetwear looked like, or even forgot where they were. In any case, my visage brought the memory of an outside world to the forefront of their minds. Some would point in curiosity. Some would mumble incoherently. Others would simply stare and reminisce.

I was not surprised, though. I was recognized by the staff, but never the patients. Each time I would visit the same reaction would occur. My answer to this reaction was always to absentmindedly move quicker to my destination, hoping to minimize the intensity of the patients’ awakening.

Things quieted down once I exited the lounge and began counting the many numbered doors in the hallway. I passed nothing but a few wandering patients and a handful of nurses entering and exiting rooms.

Eventually I came upon room two-four-seven. My mother’s. None of the patients’ doors had locks, so I simply turned the handle and entered.

The room was covered in a sickly yellow wallpaper with fraying images of flowers sprawled across it. There was a desk with a glass vase bearing a single rose in it, an old chair, and a hard bed in the room. Along with all of that, there was a single window that displayed nothing but the view of a brick wall.

My mother sat on her one chair facing the window and brushing her long hair. Continuing her work, she called out. “Who is it?”

Closing the door behind me, I leaned against the desk next to the vase. “It’s Theo, mother.”

She continued to brush her hair in silence. At that point in our relationship, I was aware that this silence had no ill underlining, my mother was just not one for idle conversation. Nonetheless, I continued to proceed through various niceties with each visit. “How have you been treated recently? You look well.”

“My previous caretaker was caught hurting other patients and has been let go. The new hire is quiet, and she is mostly pleasant when speaking.”

I nodded. “I am very glad to hear that.” I worked when I was physically able to, but it barely covered housing and the payments made to care for my mother and to continue my appointments. It was fulfilling to see that the large sum of money I annually paid the psychiatric hospital was finally showing its benefits.

She ceased brushing and sat the wooden comb on the windowsill, simply listening to water hit the windowpanes as it continued to downfall outside. “With that, it is my turn to ask you. How have you been, Theodore?”

I knew better than to speak in complete honesty. With truth, my life had gotten increasingly stressful with each new year. The amount of medication I took gradually increased along with the cost of living. No matter how hard I tried, my afflictions made any respectable job but impossible to upkeep. So instead of the grim reality, I said what I always did. “I am fine.”

She continued to sit in silence for a moment, thinking to herself. Then, mother spoke abruptly. “No, you aren’t.”

In shock, I made the only recourse my mind could fathom at such short notice. “I-W-Excuse me?”

Her feet tapped against the ground impatiently. With intensity she repeated. “No. You. Are. Not. Doing. Well.”

Again, I protested, this time with more gusto. “I am doing just fine!”

She stood abruptly from her chair, sending it clattering against the ground. “Do not lie to me!!”

Such surprise caused me to jump forward from my perch on the desk, accidentally sending the glass vase beside me toppling to the floor, where it subsequently shattered into countless pieces. “I.. I am not lying…”

Finally, my mother turned to face me. It had been many visits since she had moved from her seat next to the window, and longer since I had viewed her face. She had a beautiful visage for her age, squandered by a single deep scar that ran from one eye socket, partially through her nose, and into the other, leaving nothing but sunken craters where her eyes once were. Even blinded, my mother glared straight into me. “You’ve seen them, the same as me! The flock just outside the window, looking not at myself, but at you!”

I looked out of the window to see nothing but the grey and rainy outdoors… “I… I don’t see anything…”

Continuing to face directly at me, my mother stepped forward. Barefoot, she dodged the large shards of glass. The translucent blades, made entirely invisible by the spilled water, were alluded by her as if she could see them. My mother slowly and steadily proceeded until she was able to put both of her hands on the sides of my face. “Whisps of shadow, now, my son… Horrifyingly vulgar images later… You’ve but seen a glimpse when your focus was untampered… Even now, I can tell the memory of them is at the forefront of your mind…” We stood in silence as my mother’s fury turned to confusion. After a long pause for contemplation, she asked the question brewing in her mind. “What about this makes you so happy?”

The only answer I could give was “What?”

Her confusion only grew as she declared. “You are smiling so widely, Theodore. Why?”

Except… My mouth was not smiling…

Pulling my mothers hands off me, I backed into the door. “I need to go. I need to go.”

I felt a cold sweat break across my forehead as I frantically pushed the door open. My mother seemed to make no attempt to stop me as I dashed into the hallway and retreated the way I came.

I only had my medicine the day before. By all accounts, that day was the only plausible time I could have tried to act as though everything was normal, yet those things she said. My face in that pure black vomit the morning before that… The smile…

It was gracious that I had gotten one night’s sleep, because I feared I would not be granted another…