Page 13 of Madness

“A bad day then?” The man sighs, looking sad.

“Yeah. I’ll take him to the warden later, and hopefully, he can chill for a bit there,” Red says, “I'm sorry. I totally forgot to introduce you both. Harry, this is not Alice. Al, this is Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, not Alice,” Harry says, barely sparing me a glance as he piles pancakes and banana slices onto the plate in front of him.

“Just Al,” I say for the third time since I got here.

Everyone wants to call me Alice, thee Alice or not Alice, but I’m just Al, not Alice.

Chapter Five

“Outside!” Hare shouts from next to me, his hand clinging to mine as we navigate the twisting hallways to the rec room doors.

We’re caged in like animals, the wire fence reminding us that we are trapped here while we stand outside. We have nothing much to do apart from wandering around the grounds, and even then, that’s limited because of areas that are overgrown with jagged weeds and rose bushes that make it impossible to get through.

“Shall we play the game?” I ask Hare.

“Yes!”

Every day, we play a game of words, a tactic I use to try to help his mind even as it slowly gets worse instead of better.

“Ok. Today, I’ve been thinking of words beginning with the letter C. Can you help me?”

“Hmmm…” he taps his finger against his chin, “Car?”

“That’s good, yeah, buddy. What about Clock.”

“Tick tock, tick tock,” Hare repeats, jumping from one foot to the other.

“What else?”

“Cup! Cup, cup, cup.”

“Can you think of one more?” I ask him as we near the rec room.

“Cat!”

“Perfect! You did so good!”

Hare smiles widely at me, and I return it.

The only saving grace for my mental sanity is that I get to see Thatcher, my white albino rabbit, out there.

Thatcher keeps me informed about what’s going on around the institute, and even when it’s primarily idle gossip about the animals in the woods just past the electrified wire fence, I listen with rapt attention.

His inquisitive blood eyes and twitchy nose relay stories to me of foxes sneaking through the bushes and owls hooting loudly at night, their conversations dull enough that it sends him to sleep.

It's also the perfect time for Doris, my field mouse, to get some exercise.

The tiled walls and the screaming patients drive her insane, but she refuses to leave me in there on my own. She’s small and easy to conceal, making her the perfect companion on the inside.

Thatcher doesn’t do well in enclosed spaces anyhow, struggling with being confined in such a small area for hours at a time.

Hare and I are the last to arrive since the warden wanted to check on Hare.

His bad days are becoming more frequent, and his mind is slipping into that of a three-year-old rather than the usual four to five.

His words are less coherent, short, and to the point, and I’ve learned to savour the days when we can have an entire conversation, even if it does include Hot Wheels.

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