Chapter 2 Pulling Daisies

The asylum's rooms were horrendously drab. A couple more days of staring at a plain white wall would make anyone go crazy. Loomis, in a ray of niceness, fixed my problem by taking me to the arts and crafts table during recreation time. I was a little nervous though, because I hadn't made any human contact since I came here, minus Michael. And recreation time is the time I usually spent with Michael. Would he notice I didn't come today?

I doubted it.

In the few hours I had, I had managed to make my room less creepy off-white with pastel drawings of cartoons that I would miss watching, and movies that I wanted to see.

And I asked very nicely to one of the nurse's to please get me another color than white for my bed sheets. She came back with a nasty army green color, but I didn't complain. I was lucky enough to get different colored sheets.

I think I've been here for a week now.

--

Staring at the bathroom mirrors, I grumbled to myself. My mousy brown hair was done up like a rat's nest. I grabbed a nearby brush I had borrowed from one of the nurses, and attempted to tame all the knots and gnarls in my hair, but I failed horribly. Instead, I scooped up to bunches of my thick, long hair into two ponytails with two sparkly silver bands I had found behind the toilet. Then I tried desperately to wipe off the water-proof eye-liner off the bottom of my eyes to no avail. I was in dire need of make-up remover, but until the liner wore off, I would look like a gothic ballerina, especially with my little girl hair style.

I was wearing loose clothing that was very much unflattering. I think the long sleeve green shirt I was wearing would be too big for even Michael, and I looked like Orphan Annie. They couldn't find pants small enough for me, and because they thought I might use a belt as a murder weapon, I had to wear boxer shorts. Good thing my shirt was so large. And another good thing that I was wearing knee high striped socks because I would feel very self conscious walking around the hospital with bare legs after a couple days of not shaving.

My skin was oily, so I gave it a good wash, but the towels were so scratchy, my transparent skin became red with irritation. I had a pimple threatening to emerge on my chin, and my grey eyes were red from stress and sleepiness. I hadn't had a good night's sleep, what with the screaming patients that liked to scream at exactly three o' clock in the morning.

A knock on the bathroom door pulled me out of my trance, and I scowled.

It was time for another session with my dear friend Michael.

--

He didn't so much look up at me when I walked in. Loomis wasn't with me as he usually was. Apparently he got sick with the flu. I had heard rumors floating about that his physician had to chain him to the bed in an attempt to keep him from work today.

It made me laugh, only because of the fact on how believable it was.

I made light steps walking into Michael's room. It was my first time being here. Other times it was my room or the conference room where Loomis would have therapy sessions with us. I think the nurses would feel nervous walking this mountain of a man down the hallway.

I smirked. I can see just how much they valued the lives of us patients. Not that Michael's reputation frightened me, that much. He was huge, I would grant him that, but he was usually so calm and peaceful that I couldn't believe him of ever causing real damage.

The room was old, not much like my room which was brand spanking new, and it was decorated my thousands of paper Mache masks. I stared in at them. They looked as if their maker had taken great care in all of them, and each one of them was beautiful.

Instead of the usual silence I treated Michael in my quest of pissing Loomis off, I broke the silence. It was weird speaking to him, because neither of us had talked to each other since that time in the cafeteria when I said I didn't blame him for being nutty with a psychiatrist like Loomis.

"These are beautiful," I told him, sitting on my chair. He simply stared at me.

"Did you make them?" I asked, giving him a simple smile. He didn't flinch, or blink, or giving any sign that he had heard me.

"Well, if you did, then I have to say you're really good," I smiled again, "Which might not be saying much, because the only thing I've been able to make is a macaroni cup for my mom on Mother's day." I laughed, and tried to brush off the possibility that I might be crazy talking to myself.

"And it fell apart," I laughed again, and stared at the masks.

"How long have you been here?" I asked Michael again, and instead, he turned away from me and went to his desk. He picked up a brush and began to work on something.

He was ignoring me!

I got up from my chair and marched over to his desk, planning to bawl him out for his rudeness, but what I saw mesmerized me.

He was putting newspaper strips on his newest mask, and I kneeled next to him, watching him.

His hands were very careful, and they didn't shake. Everything he did was perfect and I didn't speak again in fear of ruining the cycle. I just sat and watched as Michael went on ignoring me and continued on his task.

The nurse came in to take me back to my room, but I waved my hand at her, telling her to 'Shhhhhhhh!!!" and she walked out again, n doubt trying to call security on me. I only continued to stare at Michael as he was finishing up his work.

We waited in silence as the Mache dried, and then he walked over to his bed, and pulled out brushes and paint from under it, and walked back to his desk. I watched his every move.

The Mache dried, and he began to paint the mask in deep even strokes. This mask became a midnight purple before my eyes, and when he was done, there were no brush marks on it. He picked up some glitter paint and painted little stars on it. Not the five pointed crap they taught you in kindergarten, but in messy little shines that actually looked as if you were staring at the night sky.

He painted the lips purple, and the eyelids a very fetching shade of dark green. When he was done, he set the mask on his desk to let it dry.

Security came to get me, and I snapped at him, telling him a couple of unpleasant things, and he shouted some unpleasant things back. One thing led to another and I was pined to the floor while they tried to get a straight jacket on me. But not before Michael stood up abruptly from his chair, and then suddenly everyone remembered who's room they were in.

Michael walked up to me, and security back off. He did the last thing I expected, (which was his arms twisting my midsection in half) and he shoved the mask into my hands in a angry manner, and finally I was escorted out.

I don't know why he gave me the mask, or why he was so angry about it. Maybe he was annoyed with my talking before, and he made me the mask to shut me up. Either way, the mask was beautiful, and it now hangs right next to my window, and I stare at it before I go to sleep.