Madhouse - Chapter 1

Two men are sitting in a small, well decorated room. The chairs they're in are leather, surrounded by a metal pipe frame. They look art deco. Between the two chairs is a small glass coffee table, and on it, two small mugs and a rather odd looking device. One man looks to be clean, well dressed and well slept. The other looks like an exact opposite. The well dressed man leans forward, picking up the device, pressing one of its buttons and gently placing it back onto the table, with odd precision.

"Journal of Doctor James Whitfield #16, Monday the 3rd of November, 8pm. Interview room 1. Patient 55340, Alexander Jeremy Marcus attending his 2nd interview. Patient is relatively new to this scheme, but seems more than willing to cooperate than others. Suffers from "clinical" insanity, deep depression, suspected paranoid schizophrenia and mild differentiating autistic traits."

The doctor slides back into the chair, legs crossed.

"Hello Alex. It seems from your file, that you've been well behaved since your arrival two weeks ago. That is, aside from the one incident in the break room, but we won't go into that right now. How're you feeling?"

Several seconds pass in complete silence. The two men just stare at each others eyes.

"Is everything okay? You seem more quiet than usual. You're here to express yourself. Have you been sleeping well? You look tired."

Marcus leans forward slightly, gazing at the empty cup on the table. Realising that he will have to ask before he can get a drink, he leans back, mimicking the doctors posture by crossing his legs.

"Tiredness, yes. A feeling that seems to grow more vicious everytime you think of it. The longer you wait, stay awake, or simply do nothing, is what defines how tired you are."

Marcus' sudden response makes the doctor shuffle in his seat.

"Yes, I believe you are right. So you're suffering from lack of sleep?"

Marcus shakes his head. The doctor beings to show signs of confusion, much to Marcus' silent dismay.

"If not lack of sleep, what's making you so tired?"

"Life. Life is tiring. Life is boring. Once you're born, you're slung into learning how to live. For what purpose do I need such skills? You learn to understand whatever language dominates the place you were born into and live, you learn the common mannerisms of the people around you, simply so you can communicate with them effectively. What's not to be tired about?"

The doctor sits up and presses a button near the table. Marcus stops talking. A woman walks into the room with a small metal cart. It rattles with every inche it travels across the faded scarlett red carpet. The strong scent of coffee dominates the room. Quickly, she pours the black liquid into both cups, leaves a small bowl of sugar on the table and leaves, leading the cart out with her.

"Please continue, Alex."

"I didn't ask to be born, I didnt ask for such opportunities. Despite being incapable of knowing what it's like not to be alive, if I had any kind of foresight into living, I doubt I would have wanted it then, either. School, the foremost thing most youths are bored of from the start, is the place you learn basic living skills. Education, if you can even call it that, is not learning how to live, it's learning how to work. Do they teach you how to communicate with others in such ways that you cannot offend, or how to make friends, or even how to avoid some dangerous thoughts that we may find, at the time, intriguing? No. We are not taught it at all. We're taught small derivatives of such things, and are left to figure the rest out through trial and error. Ask a teacher "What does stealing feel like?" or "Do you think murdering someone, when not taking the legal consequences into play, would feel good, or bad?". They'd almost always respond negatively. "Don't steal, it's wrong", "Taking lives is one of the worst things you can do.". They aren't equipped to teach us exactly why these things are purely wrong, or even discuss to the point, what they'd feel like psychologically, just that it is wrong and we should never do it. Typically, we're taught by people who wish not to teach, or rather, those who wish to teach until a more appealing opportunity comes around. Do they care because they want to, and not because it is simply their job to? I don't doubt that some do have a passion for it, but what I do doubt, is that passion is brought to the job on a daily basis by all who seek to complete it. If you can't already see, I'm not just talking about teachers. I'm talking about anyone and everyone who works for a living. I dont mean those who get paid ridiculous amounts of money for working a desk job for the maximum of 10 hours a week. I mean real workers. People who undergo back breaking hard work just to keep the people behind the desks happy, whether they be those who run the company, those who take percentages of the workers money or just those who have no purpose. "All part of the plan". To put it short doc, we live, breed, work and die, just to make sure the top heavies are happy. Average human life is 70-80 years. You'll probably work 40 of them, keep half the pay you earn, and then just get shoved to the corner when you're too old to be of any use. This amazing "life" you speak of, I don't see it. Sure, it's the little things that count, like sunsets, first kisses, sex, drugs, or whatever. But we're taking about the miracle of life. Why, if it is a miracle, are we treating it with the "small things" and the rest being chore-like living, slaving away to keep the world alive, as if it's on life support, and we're the machine keeping it alive. Whats so damn precious about it? We get lied to on daily basis by the people who run it all, everyday we're bombarded with messages from people seeking to soak every last drop of money from us, and to top it all off, not one person who works solid would decide to stay there, in their crappy jobs, if they weren't getting paid for it. Surely that tells you how much this world secretly hates itself."

The doctor leans forward, sipping his coffee, seemingly misunderstanding what Marcus is saying. In response, Marcus lets out a deep sigh. The doctor puts his cup back onto the table and leans back into the chair.

"I recall earlier that you mentioned I suffered from deep depression. Let me tell you something doc. Depression, being the state of constant low feeling and the inability to believe I will be happy again, from my knowledge, is something I don't have. Being "inable" to believe I will be happy again implies my ability to believe such a thing is malfunctioning, psychologically. It isn't. I've been happy when seeing or doing things I enjoy. Like almost all of my emotions, I can't control when I am or am not something. I know, however, judging from the active definition of depression, I am not depressed. I'm just not completely blind to the pointlessness of life, like you or others. So go ahead, pump me with prescription drugs, give me psychotherapy, do as you wish. Just don't sit there, thinking what you do of life, and believe I am the one who's depressed or insane."

A few more seconds of silence pass. The doctor sits still, stunned at Marcus' statement.