HOME | DD

Description
I sat in the counselor’s office at Magdalene Asylum waiting for him to say something in reply to my dream.

He removed his glasses and began cleaning them on his shirt. He placed them on his nose and glanced at me. Then he cleared his throat and spoke. “It just sounds like a bad dream. There’s nothing to be worried about.” He dug into his desk drawer and pulled out a small container of pills. “These are sleeping pills. Take two before bed and it should help.”

“I have no problem sleeping; it’s what I dream while I sleep.”

He placed the pills in my hand and closed my hand. “Use them anyways, Honey.” I cringed at his words. His hand was still on mine. I didn’t like the feeling. It scared me. I knew what was on his mind.

I quickly removed my hand and stood up. “Thank you Dr. Kelso. Good day.” I opened the door and left. I knew his eyes were following me as I exited the room. I hated the feeling of his eyes on me.

I walked down the hall. People passed me on my left and right. It was interesting to watch the others with their “curses.” Most of them looked like normal people but every single one of them had a special talent that was unnatural. For the “normal” people it was something to fear and so they quarantined all of those who had an unnatural gift. And all those with a gift came here, to Magdalene Asylum.

Here the cursed were taught to control their talents. Professors and doctors taught them to hone in on the skills and subdue them to a different part of the mind so it would be forgotten and unused and therefore weakened into nonexistence. Once a person got to this point they were allowed out into the normal world but under surveillance until certain the talent was gone forever.

I hated this place. Instead of accepting gifts they were destroyed. All those who stayed here walked around like zombies. The lessons were energy draining so everyone was tired at every second. Lucky for me I had already learned how to “ignore” my gift. My definition of ignore is to pretend that it doesn’t exist for other people and act normal but in reality I saw everything. I saw all the dead and I knew the difference between them and the alive. So I knew not to talk about them. The professors thought they were making progress with me seeing as how it didn’t look like I had a gift anymore. But I did.

I had no friends here. No one did. Everyone stayed to themselves and minded their own business, as if they had any. But talking was kept to a minimum. It couldn’t be helped that the asylum was eerie and made talking above a whisper uncommon. The only actual talking was done by the professors and doctors.

Most of my time here I didn’t see any dead, but every once in a while I would feel a presence. They were usually just passing through, floating between times. They made me sad. Not as sad as I felt that day I was taken away but sad in a way that is hard to describe.

As I walked down the hall I looked at the tired faces around me. Such a depressing place. I hate depressing. Depressing is so, depressing. I made my way to my room. I shared it with another girl. I never talked to her. But no one ever talked. When I saw her she was usually sleeping. I think she was almost done with her lessons and was close to be let free. I felt bad for her though. She looked so sad. A part of my heart ached for her. I should have felt jealous for her but I didn’t. She was stripped of everything. Family, friends and now her gift. But I suppose I can’t feel sorry for her because I had lost everything too. Even though I haven’t lost my gift I did suppress it by my own choice.

As I lay on my bed I began to think about what I was doing. I hated the professors for teaching everyone to hide their gifts and I thought it was wrong but I was doing the same thing to myself. How was I any better than they are? I suppose I’m not. But I want to be and that should count for something. At least I had my own mind, my own thoughts. At least I wasn’t just a mindless zombie like the others. I could think and I could dream. I had dreams. They weren’t good but at least they were.

The one dream that would repeat more than the one about my past was the one about my future. It would come in many different forms but it always ended the same. I would be out of this place and be happy. I didn’t think it would be easy to achieve but it definitely would come true some day.

Description
I sat in the counselor’s office at Magdalene Asylum waiting for him to say something in reply to my dream.

He removed his glasses and began cleaning them on his shirt. He placed them on his nose and glanced at me. Then he cleared his throat and spoke. “It just sounds like a bad dream. There’s nothing to be worried about.” He dug into his desk drawer and pulled out a small container of pills. “These are sleeping pills. Take two before bed and it should help.”

“I have no problem sleeping; it’s what I dream while I sleep.”

He placed the pills in my hand and closed my hand. “Use them anyways, Honey.” I cringed at his words. His hand was still on mine. I didn’t like the feeling. It scared me. I knew what was on his mind.

I quickly removed my hand and stood up. “Thank you Dr. Kelso. Good day.” I opened the door and left. I knew his eyes were following me as I exited the room. I hated the feeling of his eyes on me.

I walked down the hall. People passed me on my left and right. It was interesting to watch the others with their “curses.” Most of them looked like normal people but every single one of them had a special talent that was unnatural. For the “normal” people it was something to fear and so they quarantined all of those who had an unnatural gift. And all those with a gift came here, to Magdalene Asylum.

Here the cursed were taught to control their talents. Professors and doctors taught them to hone in on the skills and subdue them to a different part of the mind so it would be forgotten and unused and therefore weakened into nonexistence. Once a person got to this point they were allowed out into the normal world but under surveillance until certain the talent was gone forever.

I hated this place. Instead of accepting gifts they were destroyed. All those who stayed here walked around like zombies. The lessons were energy draining so everyone was tired at every second. Lucky for me I had already learned how to “ignore” my gift. My definition of ignore is to pretend that it doesn’t exist for other people and act normal but in reality I saw everything. I saw all the dead and I knew the difference between them and the alive. So I knew not to talk about them. The professors thought they were making progress with me seeing as how it didn’t look like I had a gift anymore. But I did.

I had no friends here. No one did. Everyone stayed to themselves and minded their own business, as if they had any. But talking was kept to a minimum. It couldn’t be helped that the asylum was eerie and made talking above a whisper uncommon. The only actual talking was done by the professors and doctors.

Most of my time here I didn’t see any dead, but every once in a while I would feel a presence. They were usually just passing through, floating between times. They made me sad. Not as sad as I felt that day I was taken away but sad in a way that is hard to describe.

As I walked down the hall I looked at the tired faces around me. Such a depressing place. I hate depressing. Depressing is so, depressing. I made my way to my room. I shared it with another girl. I never talked to her. But no one ever talked. When I saw her she was usually sleeping. I think she was almost done with her lessons and was close to be let free. I felt bad for her though. She looked so sad. A part of my heart ached for her. I should have felt jealous for her but I didn’t. She was stripped of everything. Family, friends and now her gift. But I suppose I can’t feel sorry for her because I had lost everything too. Even though I haven’t lost my gift I did suppress it by my own choice.

As I lay on my bed I began to think about what I was doing. I hated the professors for teaching everyone to hide their gifts and I thought it was wrong but I was doing the same thing to myself. How was I any better than they are? I suppose I’m not. But I want to be and that should count for something. At least I had my own mind, my own thoughts. At least I wasn’t just a mindless zombie like the others. I could think and I could dream. I had dreams. They weren’t good but at least they were.

The one dream that would repeat more than the one about my past was the one about my future. It would come in many different forms but it always ended the same. I would be out of this place and be happy. I didn’t think it would be easy to achieve but it definitely would come true some day.