One Woman Show

Only six hours, 54 minutes, and 53 seconds remained in the Creative Arts Writing Competition, and my insides were trembling. The assignment was to write about something you wish you could forget, and it quickly turned into an epistle to my anxiety, 2,589 words about something that forces you to remember every aching moment. I felt it radiating from my brain to my fingertips as I wrote the melancholic expressions of my life in pieces. I was confronting the invisible monster under my bed. The feeling of a elephant's feet caving into my chest that eliminates my ability to speak. Questioning whether this is Imposter Syndrome, or if storytelling is my God-given gift. And lastly, the psychological torture of a million eyes watching me, when in reality no one cares whether I live or die, but the world seems more peaceful that way. After three hours, my heart was empty and my story was finished.

“Rowan, Rowan, Rowan”, a voice shouted. I looked up and noticed a slender woman towering over me, her pale hands planted on my shoulders. She was dressed in green scrubs, with her auburn hair in a messy updo. Her periwinkle eyes were enchanting, yet haunting. “Who are you? Where am I?” I screamed in a state of panic and confusion. “Rowan, I am Dr. Harrison. Everything is going to be fine, please calm down.” Her hands remained on my shoulders as she lowered herself to my level. I looked around at the white walls with rounded corners, the evergreen drapes covering the windows, the polished wood floors, and two beds bolted to it. My grey sweatshirt had blood stains on the sleeves. I rolled them up and noticed the deep cuts carved in my wrist, along with a number written in black ink: 25673. “Rowan, please allow me to explain”, Dr. Harrison said. I no longer wanted an explanation; I just wanted this nightmare to end. I forcefully began to strike myself across the face over and over until it turned red, and my hands felt like pins and needles hoping I wake up. “Rowan, Rowan, please stop,” Dr. Harrison pleaded. As she proceeded to come closer, I pushed her in a violent rage, trying to exit. An alarm went off, and three nurses came through the door, their veins pulsing through their arms as they pinned me down to the ground. I screamed and pleaded as a nurse injected me with liquid from a syringe, turning my body into an epitome of nothingness. I knew that wherever I was and whoever I belonged to would never let me see home again.

Hours passed, and my eyes slowly began to open. I was in the same room as I was before, wearing the same clothes, with my wrist handcuffed to the rails of the bed. As my vision became clearer, I noticed a silhouette of a woman coming from the shadows, wearing a laboratory coat and glasses. Her mahogany skin and raven hair gave her the look of a woman in her 20s. I suddenly felt a twinge of fear take over as the person revealed was none other than myself. "Are you....me", I asked in a trembling voice completely puzzled. She looked at me with a sinister smile. “I’m glad you're ok”, she stated. Dr. Harrison was standing next to her, and an elated look was on her face, as if the violent encounter we had had been wiped from her memory. "My name is Rowan, but you knew that already. I go by Dr. Adams now, I know you probably have a lot of questions.” “How is this possible? where am I?, what is this place?, tell me what happened,” I pleaded. Dr. Adams took a deep breath and began to speak. “A day before you got here, you had a violent psychotic breakdown, you were trying to write a story, and there were only a few hours left, but you couldn’t finish. The contest was over, and you fell into a deep wave of depression, slowly descending into madness, hallucinations, destruction, paranoia, struggling to think clearly, self-harm, and complete isolation. Everything you’ve been holding onto since adolescence had boiled over. It was the most intense rage we had ever seen". I slowly started to remember that day, feeling nothing and everything at once. I remember the self-inflicted wounds and the adrenaline it gave me, my eyes burning from the bright screen, trying to come up with metaphors and phrases that would catch the reader's attention. I remember my room being turned inside out, the rage of a failed writer, letting out everything I could never say. But how could they have known that?. I looked up at Dr. Adams as she gave me time to process her words. I was completely distraught. “ Are you ok, Rowan?". “I think you already know the answer to that question,” I said. “I know it’s a lot to take in…” "Who are you, are where did you come from?” I interrupted. Dr. Adams slowly took off her glasses and sighed. “Your life is a spectacle. This place is a spying ground that only feeds off the potential rise of mental disorders watching your every move since birth. Your vision of completing your story was just a repeating fantasy your brain will not allow you to let go of because you have an urge for perfection. You are our latest experiment, which explains the number on your wrist. The more out of touch you become with reality, the higher the number goes up, and the higher your chances are of becoming a spectacle, and I, well you and I are in control of everything and we decide how it ends. Not only are we doctors, but we're dreamers, we are storytellers, a God- given gift, and mental health is the number one thing that captures the eyes of millions. She then reached into her pocket and pulled out a key to free my hands. I was too shocked to move. I looked at both of them, and after a minute of dissociation, I began to formulate words. “So every out-of-touch moment I’ve had in my life has led to this moment?” “Yes”, she responded. “Now I know you are probably thinking this is insane, and you most likely want to leave. I know it’s hard to believe, but we don’t like to hold anyone hostage. Right down that hallway, there is a door that will take you back home, and this will all be over, and you will live a normal life. But I am a firm believer in giving the people what they want". “What people?” I asked. “Every show has an audience, and our ratings have gone up tremendously since you arrived. People love chaos especially when its someone else's; sometimes, it's all they look forward to, and people love us, everyone will know our name. We'll finally be known for something. But even though you and I are the same, this is one decision I can't make for you. Dr. Harrison and I will leave to give you some time to think about it, but don’t think too hard, kid”, she said with a smirk. After they left the room, I didn’t hesitate; I jumped off the bed and ran towards the door, dashing through the hallway, eager to return to the life I knew. Before I could push the exit, there were numerous chants of my name coming from the window. It was a standing ovation, people of all ages exhilarated by my presence. I gazed at them and slowly began to smile. This was only the beginning.