Confinement: Prologue

Confinement: a state of being confined; limited or restricted. ~ I'm back! So it's only a prologue, and I'm still trying to figure out how I'm going to do this, lol...

...but fear not! I'm going to come up with something far better than my trilogy, don't you worry c: Question of the Day is in the results, and I hope you like it!

Created by: Dannica
  1. Needles. Needles and pungent fumes from medicine. that's what I would remember the most, leaving this sh**hole of a place. Those and the crappy food. Mainly because my stomach was probably still trying to digest it. I was sitting in the Recreation Room of the hospital in my favorite seat: A faded cherry leather armchair. I liked it the most because not only was it comfy, but every time I got moody I could scratch at the leather and relieve some stress. And it also had a lever that I could pull on the side and it would recline backwards so I could lay down. I was sitting there, watching a girl that once used to be in my group sessions. She was schizo. She had a breakdown during one of the sessions because she heard voices in her head saying they were going to find her, and when the nurses tried comforting her she flipped out. So she was moved to another group.
  2. Her name was Olivia, I think. She was staring at the blank t.v screen, her eyes wide, her knees tucked in tightly to her chest, like she was expecting something to happen to her any minute. "Georgia! Come here, darlin'," yelled Old Man Billy, waving his cane around as if a spider was about to attack him. Georgia was his wife, who long ago passed because of cancer. He had dementia. Sometimes he wouldn't remember that she died"”such like today, and when he did he would lock himself up in his room, letting depression get the best of him. I would know. I've made friends with almost everybody here. In his psychiatric ward. I was placed in here. For what, you may ask? I have not the slightest idea.
  3. We lived in Maine before the big change happened. Well, I lived in Maine. I was an only child, living with my two happily married parents in a decent home with my cat, Comet. I went to a normal school, got fairly good grades, had normal friends, and pretty much did everything a normal teenager would do. Until one night changed everything, of course. I was home alone with Comet while my parents went out for a date night with their really close friends, eating the cheese pizza I had ordered myself from the local Papa John's, feeding bits of the crust to Comet who'd kept begging for more. I was watching the ABC Family Harry Potter Marathon, which was then showing the Order of the Phoenix, when I heard a crash upstairs. It made me jump, making me drop my half eaten slice of pizza in the process, which Comet was happy to take care of. (He was a chubby cat, and me feeding him human food probably wasn't helping.) I stood there dumbfounded for a few seconds before my mind took over and I started cautiously running up the stairs to see what it was.
  4. I checked my parents' room first, hoping that it was just a picture frame gone askew and fell, or maybe that old antique lamp that Mom would never throw out finally gave in. I scoured the room anxiously, but found nothing wrong. I checked the storage closet, thinking one of the dusty board games we never played got tired of sitting in the same spot of a decade and decided to fall. Nada. I decided to skip the bathrooms, thinking logical. I mean, what damage could be done in there that would be able to make that kind of crash? The toilet falling over? I think not. Finally, I checked my room. I walked in to the familiar surroundings of my painted walls to my little book shelf and my messed up bed that I never really get around to fixing up"”even when there were guests over. (I'm kinda hardcore, as you can see.) I did a full search scan of the room, checking that my windows were locked, nothing was missing or out of place, and I even checked under my bed just to be safe. I walked out flustered, Comet rubbing his little head against my leg. I was about to descend back down the stairs until the crash repeated itself, making me drop flat to the ground as if bullets were being fired at the house.
  5. I got up on my knees, cursing under my breath. I narrowed my eyes down from atop the stairs. The crash came from there. I quickly ran to my parents' room and grabbed one of the two house phones and dialed 911, my finger ready to press the TALK button when needed. I took one slow step at a time down the stairs, Comet following me every move. When I reached the bottom I peeked my head around the wall where it curved into the living room and kitchen. To my surprise, nothing looked out of place. Everything was the way it was before I went upstairs. There went my first mistake. With some relief and some confusion I pressed the END button on the phone and set it down on the table. Second mistake. I then went to check the front and back doors to see if everything was properly secured. The chain on the front door wasn't on so that my parents could get in with no hassle, but the door itself was bolted locked, so I figured that was enough, since they left without the chain anyways. Mistake number three. I made my way back to the couch, dropping my appetite, and decided to just focus on the movie. But there was just one tiny problem. I wasn't watching Order of the Phoenix. Somebody had changed the channel, and I was pretty damn sure it wasn't Comet. Before I could even get up to get the phone all the way from across the room, I saw big red eyes glowing in the dark corner of the living room. And before I could scream something covered my mouth"”something gooey and scaled. I strained my neck to look up at who or what took hold of me, and caught a slight glimpse of a monster. It's face"”or whatever you wanted to call it"”matched its hands, a snarl full of razor sharp teeth was plastered onto its face, and there were two slits that I think were meant to be eyes.I tried pushing away from it, but with its other hand"”claw"”talon, it swiped away at my shoulder, leaving five long, bloody scratches down my arm, ripping part of the sleeve of my shirt. I tried crying out in pain. Too late. I blacked out before I even hit the ground.
  6. I woke up in the hospital and immediately saw my parents' faces mulling over mine like I was under a microscope. "She's awake!" Dad called out into the open, like he was announcing Obama's entrance or something. Mom took my hand. I could tell from her eyes that she had been crying. "My baby," she muttered under her breath. What happened? Suddenly my head started throbbing. I reached my hand up to my hair and felt a massive lump the size of China. Then I remembered. The crashes. Harry Potter. Those eyes. That hand. That...creature. And the scratches. I whipped my head to the side, trying to see my left arm. I held it up to my face and saw nothing. No marks, no scars, just my clear skin. I knit my brows together in puzzlement while two nurses in scrubs came in.One came over to my bedside with an almost too friendly smile and stuck a thermometer in my mouth. The other just stood there by the door, watching. At first I thought she must have been a trainee, until I so happened to spot the peculiar little needle in her hand. A shot, I realized. But why did they need that?
  7. The nurse removed the thermometer and looked over the temperature, nodding. "Dr. Chavez!" she called, touching my arm. "She's all good." I was caught staring intently at the other nurse with the shot. "Don't worry, sweetheart," the Thermometer Lady said. "It's all going to be okay." And then the door opened, and someone whom I guessed was Dr. Chavez walked in with a clipboard. And by the looks of it, he meant business. With his bulky body and slicked back hair, I would have thought he was a part of a mafia. Minus the stethoscope around his neck, though. I didn't really think a mafia member would pick a stethoscope as a weapon of choice. Thermometer Lady whispered something in his ear, smiled at me one more time, and then left the building along with Needle Lady. Although judging by the silhouette, Needle Lady was standing patiently outside. Dr. Chavez took a seat in between my parents and me. "Do you need some ice for that lump on your head?" he asked in a friendly tone. I shook my head no, even though it ached like a heart break. I just wanted to know what was going on. The doctor continued on. "How are you feeling?" I glanced at my arm, feeling that I should be feeling worst than how I was feeling right. "Good."
  8. Dr. Chavez looked something over on his clipboard and then back at me. "What happened?" I asked before he could question me any further. He shared a look with my parents, and then nodded, like they were having their own mental conversation among each other. "Your parents found you unconscious in the living room with some blood oozing out of your head and your cat licking your face." I almost laughed. "Are you trying to tell me my cat smashed my head in?" Dr. Chavez gave the same too friendly smile that the nurse gave me, but ignored my question. "You awoke in the ambulance for only a few minutes. When the paramedic asked what had happened, you told him you heard crashes and saw eyes and that a slimey monster attacked you." Hearing his version, I might thought I have gone crazy. "It did. It clawed down my shoulder." We all glanced at my arm. "The scars aren't there anymore, though. That, I can't explain." The doctor gave me a look, as if he felt sorry for me. "You said there also two crashes. We checked the house, and nothing was ransacked." I sat up a little bit. "Yeah, I checked the house when I heard the crashes too, and got the same results." Mom tried taking hold of my hand, but I wouldn't let her. "Are you guys saying you don't believe me?" Dr. Chavez tapped the end of his pencil on the clipboard. "Monsters aren't real, dear." I shot daggers at him. "So are you calling me crazy? Look, I know what I saw, and I felt what I felt, and I felt five claws shred through my skin. And then I knocked out and probably hit my head. And the channel was changed, too." Dad leaned in, looking exhausted. "What did you say, hon?" I rolled my eyes. "I was watching Harry Potter before I went upstairs to check out the first crash. When I came back down I realized that I wasn't watching it anymore, and that someone or something had changed the channel." "What were you watching afterwards?"
  9. I gave him a look. "Does it matter? Somebody changed the channel and I flipped the f**k out!" "Language," Mom warned quietly. I didn't want to look either of them in the eye. "I put a movie to auto-tune at nine o'clock before we left that I forgot to cancel," Dad continued cautiously. "Maybe it was just that." I sighed. "No, Dad, it wasn't that. First off, I had already canceled it when the notification popped up. And second, I really doubt that you wanted to watch Molly Ringwald get her heart broken on several occasions in Pretty in Pink." That shut him up about that auto-tune crap. Something had clawed at me. A pair of bulging, Devilish eyes were glaring at me. I had heard unexplained crashes upstairs. I was certain of it. Just ask the damn cat if they didn't believe me. Which they didn't. Surprise, surprise.
  10. So Dr. Chavez diagnosed me as schizo, too, much like Olivia. But I didn't hear whispers like she did. I saw things that were "explainable". At first I went along with it, considering that maybe I was sick. That maybe I needed help. That feeling didn't last long until I saw a face in the mirror along with me that wasn't there when I turned around. I told my parents about it, hoping that maybe they would see that what I had wasn't a type of mental sickness. I saw it. It was real. I was not crazy. I was scared, though. When I saw it I knocked over a vase holding artificial flowers in it and started breathing so hard it was like I was losing oxygen. And then my parents did what parents would do: they called the oh so godly doctor who knows what's going on with everybody. Talk about not being open minded. And so they gave me more pills, which I refused to take. I would hide them under my tongue and then flush them down the toilet. When Mom found out she started crying again. The only person and key witness was Comet. My light orange Exotic cat, who'd been able to provide me with a friend, since all my others ditched in thinking my being a "schizo crazed maniac" would hurt their reputation. Like they were anything in school in the first place. Okay, that was mean. But really. So after not taking the pill and not opening up to my therapist and not doing anything that Dr. Chavez instructed me to do, I was dumped in the loon house.
  11. It was the third day that I started seeing faces again. Nothing physical like that monster, but faces that were there, but not so quite. They were like ghosts, but they didn't try talking to me or anything. They kind of just floated around, staring at me. The fourth one didn't scare me as much, because it hadn't looked as bad as the first one in the mirror, with its hollow eyes and cheek bones, looking as if it was about to die. This one looked normal"”like anybody you would see out on the streets or in the mall or at a restaurant. I tried talking to it, but it vanished right when a nurse walked in, apparently catching me talk to myself. Yeah, add that to the list of symptoms. I did the same routine every day, for two months. It was on the third month I decided to try and get out. I took the pills, ate the food, got some exercise, and actually talked to my therapist and in the group sessions instead of giving them death stares. It was all fake, though. Even with the pills I still saw them. The faces, I mean. Some would be mortifying. Others, not so much. It's near the end of my third month now and I was notified that my parents were waiting in the Visiting Room. That meant one thing, since they rarely visited me: I was getting out.

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