This has been something that has been floating around in my head for a while now and I thought to finally write it down as an Ode to the friend who gave me the original idea. This one is for you, Dylon.
It was not an unfamiliar sight to see a woman entering an insane asylum in this day and age. Many women who entered had tried to break free of the civilized mold created for them and had simply snapped. Reporters nearly always crowded the front steps of the Zarcalka Institute, some seemingly having taken up permanent residence, but all equally eager to catch even the smallest glimpse of the latest crazy to be sentenced to a life behind the cold stone walls.. The women, more often than not, bore frightened expressions, complete with wide, fearful eyes and fidgety hands, and had the need of being assisted with exiting the back of the grey transportation trucks that bore the institute's name in plain white lettering along the sides.
A low rumbling sound in the distance alerted the reporters to the imminent arrival of the latest patient. They began to chatter excitedly as they counted down the minutes until the truck would make its way to the front door. This crazy, as the reporters affectionately dubbed all who entered Zarcalka, was not like the others. While the previous women had been admitted for normal causes, hysteria and such, this one particular woman was special, peeking their interest ever since the story had broken a week prior.
The large grey truck turned off of the main road, taking a right just after the wooden sign that read "Zarcalka Institute for the Criminally Insane." The occupant could feel the transition from the once smooth road to the bumpy gravel driveway. The back door of the vehicle let in just enough light for the woman to take in the few surroundings. The walls were a dark grey. The ceiling was a dark grey. The floor was a dark grey. Even what little sky she could see through the barred window was dark grey.
As she shifted, the heavy chains around her ankles clinked and the handcuffs cut into her wrists ever so slightly, every movement making the metal rub the fair skin more raw, the only indication being the band of pink skin around the area. The metal felt cold against her skin, feeling colder than it should given the snow outside the vehicle. The woman tried to adjust the handcuffs, attempting to rub some feeling back into her icy appendages, as her mind began to wander back to the event that caused her to be sitting in the back of the truck that was currently taking her to the insane asylum. She closed her eyes and let the memories wash over her with a low sigh.
The air was chilly against her exposed skin as she walked down the street, her heels striking sharply against the concrete sidewalk. She wobbled slightly with an unsure step as she drew the jacket closer around her just as a gust of wind blew small snow flurries into her face and hair. The want to turn around and return home to change into more comfortable clothing was strong, but she had been given specific instructions to dress nice for the evening ahead. Dressing nice meant donning the previously picked out outfit that had been set aside the night before. That's why she was currently walking down the street with uncomfortably high heels accenting the red dress that was mostly hidden beneath the black pea coat. As the wind gusted once more, she wished she had grabbed the trench coat instead.
The familiar walkway came into view and the woman quickened her step with a wide smile blooming on her face. Her feet carried her up the walkway and to the large front door, her hand instantly reaching for the doorknob that felt icy against her palm. Her mind didn't dwell on the feeling long, knowing that she would be greeted by the sweetest of warmths once she stepped over the threshold.
The door was pushed open quickly with the want to feel the warmth on the other side. The warmth that she was expecting never came. Instead she felt her blood run cold as her blood ran cold. The person she had come to meet was there in the foyer, their gaze locked with her own, though it held no warmth like she had expected. In fact, the gaze held nothing at all.
The high pitched squealing of the truck's brake pulled the woman from her thoughts. It was only then that she noticed the excited chatter just outside the door. There was a jingle of keys in the lock before the door opened, letting light and frosty air into the back of the truck. The occupant winced as her eyes attempted to adjust to the newfound light.
Dozens of eager bodies stood outside of the asylum, some of them men and some women, all holding tiny note pads, ready to ask questions and write down false statements at the expense of getting praise from their bosses. Their eager expressions quickly fell away as the woman stepped out from the shadows of the back of the truck. The reporters were not accustomed with seeing such a woman exit the back of a Zarcalka truck before.
Her appearance fit the part perfectly; blonde hair dull and limp, eyes slightly sunken in and cheeks beginning to hollow. But those stunning green eyes gave the group of reporters a piercing look as a whole. Her expression did not reveal fear or uncertainty. In fact, it revealed nothing. Her cold eyes and slightly pursed lips let the reporters know that she was in no mood for their antics. However, that did not stop them.
"Why did you murder that innocent woman?"
"Did you really do it?"
"Were you having an affair with her?"
Hundreds of questions fell upon the woman's ears, but her expression remained unchanged. The annoying chatter of the media's vultures died down abruptly as the woman entered Zarcalka and the doors shut firmly behind her.
A woman wearing an unnervingly cheery smile and an obnoxiously yellow suit greeted her from the foot of the stairway. "Welcome to Zarcalka, Miss Swan. I trust that you will enjoy your stay with us."
Emma raised a questioning eyebrow at the woman. Not only was her suit obnoxiously yellow, but her voice was obnoxiously and sickenly sweet. Emma knew that she would not enjoy her stay. "I do not belong here." Her voice was calm and even, unlike the voices of women who had come before her.
The greeter maintained her smile. "Let me show you around. It is best that you get acquainted with the facility. I would rather it be sooner than later, but it matters not. You have an extended stay with us." She let out a small giggle before turning to walk down a long corridor.
Emma watched the woman walk away with masked frustration. It was not until a guard shoved her from behind and she stumbled forward that she began to follow. The sight made Emma smirk; a bright yellow orb at the end of a long tunnel. That's how her life felt at that moment. It had only been a few minutes, and Emma did not know how she would bare the undecided amount of time at Zarcalka.