Post by volleymolly77 on Jul 31, 2009 17:37:57 GMT -5
My name is Ryan Kelly. I am a fan of Star Wars and I have a dog named Molly. I sing and act. I currently have a job in a musical group called Celtic Thunder, but we‘re idle right now. In Celtic Thunder, my character was a player, kind of evil. Now, everyone thinks of me as the bad boy. However, people who know me say that thought is silly. But the people who really know me say it’s true. I have no idea what they’re talking about.
I was sitting at home, stroking Molly, when the phone rang. I swear, Molly jumped ten feet into the air, her little bulldog ears flapping and legs flailing. Me, I was expecting it. Right on time, Zara. She had been calling my apartment at 6:59 every night for the past week. I didn’t know why. She started on Monday, but it didn’t seem so routine back then. Now, it was like her evening ritual.
“Hi, Ryan. How are you?” I answered, like I always did.
“I’m okay, Zara, how about you?”
“Fantastic.” That was always her answer. My cuckoo-clock ticked, and the bird popped out, chirping, and marking the hour.
“What do you want, Zara?” I snapped. She, however, kept her cool. She hadn’t done this last time. She had started crying.
“I just wanted to check up on you, and ask you something.” Her voice stayed level and calm.
“What?” I spat.
“I was wondering if you wanted to go to- somewhere, with me. Tomorrow,” she added.
“Where?” I snapped again.
“Well, it’s a big brick building. With many rooms, and each room has a bed. A man dressed in white is gonna talk to you, and maybe put you under a light or a camera, or stick a needle in you. But trust me, it’s all fun.”
“Fun? Really?” I said sarcastically. I wasn’t buying whatever she was selling, but I wanted to know why she was trying to sell it in the first place. What was this place with tons of rooms and cameras and lights and men dressed in white and needles?
“I promise. I go there every year. It’s like an amusement park; you can’t go often because it costs so much.”
“Well…” She heard the hole in my act and pushed through it.
“You’ll love it. I swear.” That was enough for me.
“Sure, I’ll go. But if I don’t like it, you have to let me leave.”
“Deal. See you tomorrow!”
“Bye, Zara,” I said unhappily. I still felt as if I had been tricked into something. I stomped through my apartment into the kitchen, Molly running away after sensing that I was in a bad mood. I yanked open the fridge and groaned at the sight. I had never seen a completely empty refrigerator until that moment. I opened the freezer on top and managed to find something worth cooking. I shoved a tray of frozen chicken nuggets into the oven and started preheating it. I walked over to the couch and turned on the television, and fell asleep.
I woke up to the smell of burning chicken.
“Crap,” I groaned and ran over to the oven. I opened the oven door and smoke billowed out, making me cough hysterically. I grabbed the oven mitt off of the counter and pulled the tray out of the oven. I ran over dropped it on the table and sighed, throwing the oven mitt back over to the counter. I slipped into my chair and prayed over my disgusting, black meal. Then, I took my first bite. It honestly didn’t taste too bad, but it was hot and crunchy.
“Ouch!” I said out loud. I sat there doing nothing for ten minutes, waiting for my food to cool. I found out that ten minutes wasn’t enough when I took a bite and it still scorched my tongue.
“I give up!” I yelled out loud. I stomped into the kitchen again and kicked the fridge in anger. I almost tore the door of the freezer off as I looked for a TV dinner or something. I pulled out a chicken one (wanting to reimburse myself) and stuck it in the microwave for two minutes. I stood there waiting, and when the microwave dinged its tell-tale “Ding!” I opened the door, ripped of the cover, “stirred the contents separately,” and placed it back in the microwave for a minute. When the minute finally passed, I let it sit in the microwave for another minute. I didn’t know how else to time exactly 60 seconds, so I set the microwave again and pressed start.
“Ugh,” I huffed when I realized what a stupid move that was. I opened the door of the microwave and quickly pulled the box out, dropping it on the counter. I stirred it again with my fork and let it sit for what seemed like a minute. Then, I carried it with me over to the table and ate my meal with no distractions.
I woke up with my head in my half-eaten TV dinner and the phone ringing. I hurried to the phone and answered it.
“Hullo?”
“Hey Ryan! It’s Zara.” Her voice was as bright an happy as ever.
“Hi, Zara!” I answered, matching her brightness.
“Are you ready to go?”
“To go? Oh man. Can you help me get ready? I fell asleep in my dinner…”
“Again? Sure, Ryan. I’ll be right over.” I paced around the room impatiently. Twenty minutes later, she let herself into my apartment. I stood up and her expression turned disgusted.
“Orange chicken this time, Ryan?” I nodded. She went right to work, wetting a towel in the sink and wiping my face where the chicken had stained it. “Ryan, I don’t know if I’ll ever get this out…”
“Of course you will. You’re Zara!” I said, as if she was a superhero.
“Alright, Ryan. You can’t see the orange anymore. Zara has, yet again, performed a miracle for you.” I nodded excitedly as Zara walked into my room and came back with a new set of clothes.
“You didn’t happen to take a shower last night, did you?” She asked as I walked into the bathroom to change.
“Nope.”
“Fantastic.” There was her word again. When I was done changing my clothes, I tripped out of the bathroom and fell on my face. I started crying.
“Aw, it’s okay Ryan. Don’t cry.” She patted my cheeks like a mother would to her upset baby. I stared into her deep brown eyes and stifled the rest of my crying.
“I’m hungry,” I said with a voice that showed I had just been crying.
“Okay, I’ll make you some breakfast.” She lightly strode into the kitchen and put together some cereal for me. I devoured it on the floor and asked her for a cookie.
“No, Ryan, it’s only the morning. After you eat lunch, we’ll go to Starbucks and get you a cookie.” I whined and pounded my fists on the carpet, but Zara didn’t budge. I finally forgot what I was whining about, and let her pick me up (I hadn’t bothered to get up myself). We were finally ready to leave the apartment. I followed Zara out the door and watched her lock it. We walked to the elevator and she let me press the button. I rocked back and forth on my heels until the steel doors finally parted. I immediately hurried inside, but there was someone already in there, and we collided. After Zara apologized for me, she let me press the button again, and we were off. I was jittery with impatience by the time we finally reached the main floor. Zara lead me out of the elevator where we saw Paul.
“Hey, Paul,” I said, high-fiving him.
“Hi,” Zara said, sounding relieved, although I had no idea why.
“So, have you been watching football lately? It seems Derry is beating Dublin after all!”
“Oh, you just wait. We’ll make a comeback!” We laughed at our inside jokes. Then Zara interrupted.
“Paul, would you like to join us? We are going to the House Of Silver and Purple Interior To Adorn Lights.” I saw Paul mouth something to her. It looked like “Hogs spit tools” but I doubted that was it. Zara nodded, and Paul said,
“Sure, I’ll come with. I love it there.”
“See, Ryan? He has fun there, too!” I nodded sarcastically, and we walked to Paul’s car. He and Zara sat in the front, and I sat in the back, behind Paul, who was driving. We joked and discussed all the way to the House Of Silver and Purple Interior To Adorn Lights.
“Follow Paul, Ryan. I just have to do a few things. I’ll meet you there, though.” Paul led me through a maze of hallways to a room that read “Psychiatric Care.”
“What does that mean, Paul?” I asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” he answered, but he sounded untruthful. I shrugged it off and followed him inside. I saw Zara talking to a man, but Paul didn’t bring me to her. He took me into a little room connected to the big room. I could still hear Zara and him talking, however.
“What are you saying, Miss Curtis?”
“He’s a jerk when he’s alone. He’s a five-year-old when he’s with me. He’s a normal, nice guy when he’s with Celtic Thunder.”
“Do you think he has-”
“Schizophrenia? Yeah.” No one talked for a second, so I figure the man was nodding. “Is there anything we can do?”
“It’s pointless to keep him here. We’ll test him to make sure, and if he tests positive, he must go to an asylum.”
“But sir, he hasn’t done anything wrong! He’s only a jerk when he’s alone, when he can’t hurt anyone!”
“He must be dealt with, Miss Curtis.” I heard her stand up and slam her chair into the counter she had been talking to the man over. Her high-heeled footsteps got closer and closer to the room until the door opened.
“Ryan, Paul? We’re leaving.” She grabbed me by the sleeve and we ran back through the maze of doors. Zara burst through the double doors, Paul and I following behind her (I had no choice). We finally made it to Paul’s car. Then, he spoke.
“What was all that about?”
“Look.” Zara pointed to the hospital. We saw through the windows men running around, looking around rooms. “Ryan, you’re sick. I’ll explain when we get in the car.” She unlocked the doors and we hurriedly jumped inside. I could tell Paul wasn’t liking letting Zara drive, but he wasn’t about to challenge her.
“You have what’s called schizophrenia,” she told me. “You have multiple personalities that you don’t know about.” I laughed.
“That’s stupid, Zara. That’s not possible.”
“Yes it is, and it’s happening to you. Don’t you remember? You always yell at me when I call you, and when I come over, I have to do everything for you. But when you’re around anyone from Celtic Thunder, you act like a perfectly normal nice guy.” I tried to piece it all together. It made sense, but I couldn’t wrap my brain around it.
“How could it happen to me with my realizing it?”
“That’s how the disorder works. You have no idea it’s happening.” Suddenly, we heard a siren and saw a paramedic truck speeding on the highway behind us.
“Zara, are they coming for me?” She paused for a fraction of a second.
“Yes, Ryan, they are. They want to put you away, even though I know you are of no harm to anyone.”
“Just pull over, Zara. We won’t win, and you don’t want to get arrested.”
“Ryan, they can’t find you. They won’t find you.”
“Zara, just give in!”
“No!” She drove faster and faster, not paying attention to the road, until we came to a railroad crossing.
“Zara!” Paul and I screamed. She slammed on the breaks just in time, but we were now subject to whatever the hospital people wanted to do to us. As it should’ve been from the start, I thought.
“Run, Ryan!”
“No!” I sat there, patiently awaiting the arrival of whoever was here to take me away. The man Zara had been talking to hopped out of the driver’s seat and walked calmly to our car. I saw a bottle of mace on his belt. His expression was psychotic.
“Give me the man, and only he will get hurt.”
“No!” Zara screamed, but I willingly and calmly opened my door and stepped out to meet him.
“I’m schizophrenic too,” he said. “Boss said I could keep my job if I made sure all other schizophrenics were taken care of.” I laughed, made my hands look like scissors, and poked both of his eyes before grabbing the mace and spraying him with it. The air filled with the scent of spearmint, and the doctor laughed too.
“Oh, that? That’s my breath spray. I only put it in a mace bottle to make it look like I have power.” Then, we all laughed. I shook hands with him. I heard two doors open as Zara and Paul got out of the car. I heard the sound of hooves. Zara was suddenly a horse. I patted her muzzle.
“Good Zara, very good Zara.”
“Ahh!” My head jerked out of the fettuccini alfredo dinner I’d cooked, but never eaten. I looked up to see Zara, Paul, Damian, George, and Keith’s surprised faces.
“Ryan, you’re back!” Keith said with a huge smile. Damian laughed.
“He missed you,” he joked about Keith, who punched Damian playfully in the arm.
“Wow, you were only out for about ten minutes. What did you dream about?” Zara asked.
“Yeah, you were talking in your sleep, too,” George added. “Something about schizophrenia.”
“And you pounded your fists on the table. That made Damian wee in his pants.”
“Did not!” Damian screamed.
“Ryan,” Zara persisted. “What did you dream about?”
“Oh, nothing,” I answered, dismissing the matter with a wave of my hand. “You do not want to know.”
I was sitting at home, stroking Molly, when the phone rang. I swear, Molly jumped ten feet into the air, her little bulldog ears flapping and legs flailing. Me, I was expecting it. Right on time, Zara. She had been calling my apartment at 6:59 every night for the past week. I didn’t know why. She started on Monday, but it didn’t seem so routine back then. Now, it was like her evening ritual.
“Hi, Ryan. How are you?” I answered, like I always did.
“I’m okay, Zara, how about you?”
“Fantastic.” That was always her answer. My cuckoo-clock ticked, and the bird popped out, chirping, and marking the hour.
“What do you want, Zara?” I snapped. She, however, kept her cool. She hadn’t done this last time. She had started crying.
“I just wanted to check up on you, and ask you something.” Her voice stayed level and calm.
“What?” I spat.
“I was wondering if you wanted to go to- somewhere, with me. Tomorrow,” she added.
“Where?” I snapped again.
“Well, it’s a big brick building. With many rooms, and each room has a bed. A man dressed in white is gonna talk to you, and maybe put you under a light or a camera, or stick a needle in you. But trust me, it’s all fun.”
“Fun? Really?” I said sarcastically. I wasn’t buying whatever she was selling, but I wanted to know why she was trying to sell it in the first place. What was this place with tons of rooms and cameras and lights and men dressed in white and needles?
“I promise. I go there every year. It’s like an amusement park; you can’t go often because it costs so much.”
“Well…” She heard the hole in my act and pushed through it.
“You’ll love it. I swear.” That was enough for me.
“Sure, I’ll go. But if I don’t like it, you have to let me leave.”
“Deal. See you tomorrow!”
“Bye, Zara,” I said unhappily. I still felt as if I had been tricked into something. I stomped through my apartment into the kitchen, Molly running away after sensing that I was in a bad mood. I yanked open the fridge and groaned at the sight. I had never seen a completely empty refrigerator until that moment. I opened the freezer on top and managed to find something worth cooking. I shoved a tray of frozen chicken nuggets into the oven and started preheating it. I walked over to the couch and turned on the television, and fell asleep.
I woke up to the smell of burning chicken.
“Crap,” I groaned and ran over to the oven. I opened the oven door and smoke billowed out, making me cough hysterically. I grabbed the oven mitt off of the counter and pulled the tray out of the oven. I ran over dropped it on the table and sighed, throwing the oven mitt back over to the counter. I slipped into my chair and prayed over my disgusting, black meal. Then, I took my first bite. It honestly didn’t taste too bad, but it was hot and crunchy.
“Ouch!” I said out loud. I sat there doing nothing for ten minutes, waiting for my food to cool. I found out that ten minutes wasn’t enough when I took a bite and it still scorched my tongue.
“I give up!” I yelled out loud. I stomped into the kitchen again and kicked the fridge in anger. I almost tore the door of the freezer off as I looked for a TV dinner or something. I pulled out a chicken one (wanting to reimburse myself) and stuck it in the microwave for two minutes. I stood there waiting, and when the microwave dinged its tell-tale “Ding!” I opened the door, ripped of the cover, “stirred the contents separately,” and placed it back in the microwave for a minute. When the minute finally passed, I let it sit in the microwave for another minute. I didn’t know how else to time exactly 60 seconds, so I set the microwave again and pressed start.
“Ugh,” I huffed when I realized what a stupid move that was. I opened the door of the microwave and quickly pulled the box out, dropping it on the counter. I stirred it again with my fork and let it sit for what seemed like a minute. Then, I carried it with me over to the table and ate my meal with no distractions.
I woke up with my head in my half-eaten TV dinner and the phone ringing. I hurried to the phone and answered it.
“Hullo?”
“Hey Ryan! It’s Zara.” Her voice was as bright an happy as ever.
“Hi, Zara!” I answered, matching her brightness.
“Are you ready to go?”
“To go? Oh man. Can you help me get ready? I fell asleep in my dinner…”
“Again? Sure, Ryan. I’ll be right over.” I paced around the room impatiently. Twenty minutes later, she let herself into my apartment. I stood up and her expression turned disgusted.
“Orange chicken this time, Ryan?” I nodded. She went right to work, wetting a towel in the sink and wiping my face where the chicken had stained it. “Ryan, I don’t know if I’ll ever get this out…”
“Of course you will. You’re Zara!” I said, as if she was a superhero.
“Alright, Ryan. You can’t see the orange anymore. Zara has, yet again, performed a miracle for you.” I nodded excitedly as Zara walked into my room and came back with a new set of clothes.
“You didn’t happen to take a shower last night, did you?” She asked as I walked into the bathroom to change.
“Nope.”
“Fantastic.” There was her word again. When I was done changing my clothes, I tripped out of the bathroom and fell on my face. I started crying.
“Aw, it’s okay Ryan. Don’t cry.” She patted my cheeks like a mother would to her upset baby. I stared into her deep brown eyes and stifled the rest of my crying.
“I’m hungry,” I said with a voice that showed I had just been crying.
“Okay, I’ll make you some breakfast.” She lightly strode into the kitchen and put together some cereal for me. I devoured it on the floor and asked her for a cookie.
“No, Ryan, it’s only the morning. After you eat lunch, we’ll go to Starbucks and get you a cookie.” I whined and pounded my fists on the carpet, but Zara didn’t budge. I finally forgot what I was whining about, and let her pick me up (I hadn’t bothered to get up myself). We were finally ready to leave the apartment. I followed Zara out the door and watched her lock it. We walked to the elevator and she let me press the button. I rocked back and forth on my heels until the steel doors finally parted. I immediately hurried inside, but there was someone already in there, and we collided. After Zara apologized for me, she let me press the button again, and we were off. I was jittery with impatience by the time we finally reached the main floor. Zara lead me out of the elevator where we saw Paul.
“Hey, Paul,” I said, high-fiving him.
“Hi,” Zara said, sounding relieved, although I had no idea why.
“So, have you been watching football lately? It seems Derry is beating Dublin after all!”
“Oh, you just wait. We’ll make a comeback!” We laughed at our inside jokes. Then Zara interrupted.
“Paul, would you like to join us? We are going to the House Of Silver and Purple Interior To Adorn Lights.” I saw Paul mouth something to her. It looked like “Hogs spit tools” but I doubted that was it. Zara nodded, and Paul said,
“Sure, I’ll come with. I love it there.”
“See, Ryan? He has fun there, too!” I nodded sarcastically, and we walked to Paul’s car. He and Zara sat in the front, and I sat in the back, behind Paul, who was driving. We joked and discussed all the way to the House Of Silver and Purple Interior To Adorn Lights.
“Follow Paul, Ryan. I just have to do a few things. I’ll meet you there, though.” Paul led me through a maze of hallways to a room that read “Psychiatric Care.”
“What does that mean, Paul?” I asked curiously.
“I don’t know,” he answered, but he sounded untruthful. I shrugged it off and followed him inside. I saw Zara talking to a man, but Paul didn’t bring me to her. He took me into a little room connected to the big room. I could still hear Zara and him talking, however.
“What are you saying, Miss Curtis?”
“He’s a jerk when he’s alone. He’s a five-year-old when he’s with me. He’s a normal, nice guy when he’s with Celtic Thunder.”
“Do you think he has-”
“Schizophrenia? Yeah.” No one talked for a second, so I figure the man was nodding. “Is there anything we can do?”
“It’s pointless to keep him here. We’ll test him to make sure, and if he tests positive, he must go to an asylum.”
“But sir, he hasn’t done anything wrong! He’s only a jerk when he’s alone, when he can’t hurt anyone!”
“He must be dealt with, Miss Curtis.” I heard her stand up and slam her chair into the counter she had been talking to the man over. Her high-heeled footsteps got closer and closer to the room until the door opened.
“Ryan, Paul? We’re leaving.” She grabbed me by the sleeve and we ran back through the maze of doors. Zara burst through the double doors, Paul and I following behind her (I had no choice). We finally made it to Paul’s car. Then, he spoke.
“What was all that about?”
“Look.” Zara pointed to the hospital. We saw through the windows men running around, looking around rooms. “Ryan, you’re sick. I’ll explain when we get in the car.” She unlocked the doors and we hurriedly jumped inside. I could tell Paul wasn’t liking letting Zara drive, but he wasn’t about to challenge her.
“You have what’s called schizophrenia,” she told me. “You have multiple personalities that you don’t know about.” I laughed.
“That’s stupid, Zara. That’s not possible.”
“Yes it is, and it’s happening to you. Don’t you remember? You always yell at me when I call you, and when I come over, I have to do everything for you. But when you’re around anyone from Celtic Thunder, you act like a perfectly normal nice guy.” I tried to piece it all together. It made sense, but I couldn’t wrap my brain around it.
“How could it happen to me with my realizing it?”
“That’s how the disorder works. You have no idea it’s happening.” Suddenly, we heard a siren and saw a paramedic truck speeding on the highway behind us.
“Zara, are they coming for me?” She paused for a fraction of a second.
“Yes, Ryan, they are. They want to put you away, even though I know you are of no harm to anyone.”
“Just pull over, Zara. We won’t win, and you don’t want to get arrested.”
“Ryan, they can’t find you. They won’t find you.”
“Zara, just give in!”
“No!” She drove faster and faster, not paying attention to the road, until we came to a railroad crossing.
“Zara!” Paul and I screamed. She slammed on the breaks just in time, but we were now subject to whatever the hospital people wanted to do to us. As it should’ve been from the start, I thought.
“Run, Ryan!”
“No!” I sat there, patiently awaiting the arrival of whoever was here to take me away. The man Zara had been talking to hopped out of the driver’s seat and walked calmly to our car. I saw a bottle of mace on his belt. His expression was psychotic.
“Give me the man, and only he will get hurt.”
“No!” Zara screamed, but I willingly and calmly opened my door and stepped out to meet him.
“I’m schizophrenic too,” he said. “Boss said I could keep my job if I made sure all other schizophrenics were taken care of.” I laughed, made my hands look like scissors, and poked both of his eyes before grabbing the mace and spraying him with it. The air filled with the scent of spearmint, and the doctor laughed too.
“Oh, that? That’s my breath spray. I only put it in a mace bottle to make it look like I have power.” Then, we all laughed. I shook hands with him. I heard two doors open as Zara and Paul got out of the car. I heard the sound of hooves. Zara was suddenly a horse. I patted her muzzle.
“Good Zara, very good Zara.”
“Ahh!” My head jerked out of the fettuccini alfredo dinner I’d cooked, but never eaten. I looked up to see Zara, Paul, Damian, George, and Keith’s surprised faces.
“Ryan, you’re back!” Keith said with a huge smile. Damian laughed.
“He missed you,” he joked about Keith, who punched Damian playfully in the arm.
“Wow, you were only out for about ten minutes. What did you dream about?” Zara asked.
“Yeah, you were talking in your sleep, too,” George added. “Something about schizophrenia.”
“And you pounded your fists on the table. That made Damian wee in his pants.”
“Did not!” Damian screamed.
“Ryan,” Zara persisted. “What did you dream about?”
“Oh, nothing,” I answered, dismissing the matter with a wave of my hand. “You do not want to know.”