I forced my eyes to go blurry as I stared out the window. It made the others seem like ethereal beings floating weightlessly on the front lawn. Their white gowns flowing in the slight breeze seemed to glitter in the sunlight splintering through the foliage of the giant oaks. The beings waved and danced for me. They could be angels. I wanted to believe in them.
Then they came back into focus. They were not angels; they were just crazies. Like me.
I blurred my vision again to try to make the bars appear thinner. I wished I could slip through them and fly away. I closed my eyes and concentrated. Nothing happened. If only I knew the magic words I'd long since forgotten. How long had I been here?
I stepped away from the window.
I surveyed my room for the hundredth time that day, and it was only ten o'clock. The journal on my bedside table mocked me. I had been instructed to write in it whenever I felt... sad. I smirked. I could've filled a thousand journals by now. They had given me crayons. I laughed at them, then I ate the entire box. 48 colors. Weren't they supposed to be non-toxic? Idiots give those things to kids.
On the upside, it had gotten me a short reprieve from these four walls. I'd been rushed to the infirmary in the middle of the night with horrid stomach cramps. It had been worth it.
The next day I'd asked for colored gel pens. Unsurprisingly they denied my request.
How was I supposed to write you a letter?
You never visited me; and you never called.
No one did. I'd been forgotten.
I would have been sad about that, but I had figured out a way to make all of you remember me.
You'd see me on the news next week and then you'd all be sorry. Then your recollection of me would return; how you'd had me locked away. Forgotten. Not even a fond memory.
A month ago I'd taken up smoking. You'd find that out too.
Jerry, one of the night orderlies had taken a liking to me.
He brought me chocolates and let me sneak out with him to smoke.
I wondered what he expected in return. Too bad I'd never find out.
In a few days, he would burn with the rest of us.
July was about to get hotter.
Four days til Independence Day. Exactly two years since they'd put me in this cage.
A part of me wished I could escape to see the fallout. But it was more poetic to go down in flames.
You will have to live the rest of your life knowing my death is your fault.
Maybe you'll miss me as much as I've missed you. Maybe you won't.
My dying wish is that all of you will suffer as much as I have.
© Garden Summerland