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Dysfunctional

Truth is always stranger than fiction.

Inspired by a character created on an RPG (Role-Playing Game) site called 'Dysfunctional'. I have no idea if it is still running. Let me know what you think.

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Who was it that said that right and wrong were just a matter of opinions? Or that there was little more than a fine line between insanity and sanity?

Well, whoever they were, they never considered the notion that insanity comes in many forms. There is a big difference between somebody who has something like, say, ADD, to somebody who hears voices in their heads telling them to kill.
It wasn’t as if people with the problems asked for them? And if having disorders was something we couldn’t choose, then is it even wrong in the first place?

Jeez. If I start going on about right and wrong, truth and lies, reality and fantasy, I really will go crazy.

But I guess that’s why I’m even here in the first place.

I suppose by now you’re wondering what this ‘here’ is that I’m rambling about.

It is the New Lynn Mental Institution. Or as we…residents…like to call it, the ‘fun house’. I mean, hey, we’re called insane for a reason. If we don’t behave like the rest of humanity, then we must be crazy, right?

Being normal must be boring, huh?

But if being normal meant I didn’t have to share my mind, and body, with three other people, then I would gladly become one of the flock.

From what I understand, my real name is Charlene, but I would mostly go by Charlie. But I can’t remember anything from the day I turned ten. I figured that was because I myself didn’t exist until then.

Ever since that day, Charlie didn’t sound right to me. Even those who were reported to know me before then said I didn’t act the same. So, I decided that my personality wasn’t even the original one.

Bummer huh?

I ended up calling myself Kimberly. But even then, of course, my life could not be simple.

I began to hear voices. At first, there was just one, but then there was another, then another.

The first one identified herself as Shannon, and she quickly became the most irritatingly frightening person I knew. For one thing, she would not stop trying to get me to retaliate against people who I didn't like.

And something else; she is a pyromaniac, though It was not until later that I knew exactly what that meant. Her dreams, thoughts and fantasies of fire scared me, and it wasn’t as if I could just walk away from her.

But at least she was someone I could talk to, who could understand what I was going through. And it was times like those that I really needed someone to talk to.

The next voice began about a year after my memories began, when I was 11. Her name was Kayla, and for some reason, she could not stand enclosed spaces. When I was older, I learned that this was called claustrophobia. This aspect of my new 'companion' caused me some problems; sometimes, her feelings would leak, and I would be caught in a whirlpool of terror until I got into a large, open area.

The last one didn’t appear until about a year ago. And so far, she was the one I was frightened of the most. Shannon may have been scary with her constant thoughts of fires and burning, and Kayla may have been a claustrophobic ditz, but they at least listened to me, and annoying though they were sometimes, my mind would be uncomfortably empty without them.

But Michelle is someone I could have done without. Though she didn’t speak as much as Shannon and Kayla, her voice sent chills down my back.

All she spoke about was killing, blood and torture. Sometimes I would also get images, not unlike those I got from Shannon, but always involving people I knew.

If I could get rid of just one voice just by being here, then I would choose Michelle.

But, of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. Tell just one adult that you can hear homicidal voices in your head, they immediately call the shrinkers and then doctors. And if that doesn’t work, then they quietly and efficiently cart you off to somewhere far away to get cured.

Guess what?

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than storiesspace.com with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © All characters and story lines, as well as anything that I make up within my head belong to me. Plagiarism is not cool.

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