Sky's View

Madness is like gravity

Skyler

REASONS why I have to attend therapy:

1. Mom and dad feel impotent.

2. Mom and dad are under the impression that they won't have to throw me into an exorbitant psychiatric hospice if I show signs of talking.

3. My psychiatrist suggested it.

THE REASON why I'm mute:

1. Like Heath Ledger stated in the movie, The Dark Knight, "As you know, madness is like gravity... all it takes is a little push."

I feel the muscles in my body ache as I slither downstairs; my notebook on my mind. Whoever has it already knows everything that has been going on in my head. Even tragic, the polaroid is in there. The only thing that matters the most to me.

When I walk into the lofty cafeteria, Emily is taking an order from the black cat woman who made a bunch of stray cats her own. She claims to read palms too. That's also how Emily gets most of her customers by the c***k of dawn.

"Sky." Emily's voice echoes throughout the lofty walls as I thrust the exterior arch door. "Please, don't bunk school." Her voice, low and soft, sounds pleading. I step on the entrance platform, brushing her off. However, I steer my back in a rapid tires at the sound of screeching tires.

Emily's red Chevrolet idling on the wrong side of the road scares me to death. For a split second, I think she's inside, and the black Mercedes is about to collide with her car. Then I remember that I had just seen her in the cafeteria.

Irrespective, for the people in the car, that could have been a fatal accident.

I overheard Emily talking about punctured tires. And that she is adamant that those "thugs" did it. She calls the black men clad in leather jackets that come in the cafeteria, thugs. That is because they always pass innate comments regarding her body. I witnessed it myself, that's how I know.

The black car with its tinted windows looks familiar though. I wonder if it's the same car's exhaust that always makes loud sounds like a sportscar every time that I have to cover my ears. Such an exhibitionist. 

I don't mean to psycho-analyze the stranger, but that's a personality disorder.

There are no sane, and some insane kind of people. In fact, we all have a little of craziness breathing fire within us. All it takes to trigger that insanity is a blow to the heart.