Horror by Sophie Baillie

The night breathed through the open window like a dark animal. I remember sitting on my old, rotted bed, with my dirty bedding and my pillow with mascara smears across the middle. I remember walking up and down, my head banging from the pills I took just the day before. I looked down at my bloody, cut hand, the three horizontal lines in a neat row. I blame them on my mother. She beat me with belts and boots all down my back; black, brown, purple and blue. She was so horrible to me. I didn't come out my room, scarcely ate or drank, cried for hours upon end. And eventually ended up here. Philas Mental Hospital. 
My ward was cold and dirty, the walls were supposed to be almond white but were now green, red and black. Smudges of green from the mould, red smudges, from the lashes of blood that have been splattered up the side, and black, from the dirt that had built up over the years, from not getting washed, all down the side. The floor boards creak every step you take, the curtains drooping down with the poles practically off. Each ward has six metal beds with a white, dirty mattress, a thin sheet and one pillow. Each child's name written in chalk on the black board hanging by chains on the bottom of their bed. 
Apparently I'm going to be here for thirty years. I'm fifteen now and I was forced to come here when I was only 13 years old. I am number: 817391 and my ward number is 45. When I leave they are going to give me some money to buy a house and food with. But I think I will go and live with my Grandmother for a year or two first. She is the only one who has ever been there for me, I remember when I was young, sitting on my bed, pleading to my mother to let me stay with my Granny. She always said no, so the nights when I would be walking down the school path to get to the gate, looking up and seeing my Grandmother standing there with her arms stretched out, so wide they could rap round the world a hundred times, my eyes would fill up with happy tears and my feet running as fast as they could carry me. I would run and hug her so tight then she would take me home and we would bake cookies. But the not so joyful nights when I would have to walk all the way home to my little flat just waiting for my mother to come home and watch television. Not giving a care in the world about anything but herself. I can remember the one thing my Grandmother would always say "she thinks the world revolves around her!" My granny never actually liked my mother nor did I. 
So I'm thirty-two now, only 5 years left. I have had the worst life in the hospital, same food everyday, same clothes, same crazy people, I don't even understand why I'm here, I'm not crazy, I'm perfectly normal. 
I remember my childhood, running around in my garden with my sister. My garden filled with lush flowers and bright green grass, with the little vegetable patches. I would run over to the vegetable patch and grab carrots and onions from under the moist soil. And take them in for my mother and father to make for our dinner. Okay, maybe that didn't happen but I prefer thinking it did. Instead my childhood was dark and lonesome. I would sit on my own in my tiny room either crying or colouring on my wall. 
Yay! It's February 19th and I'm 37! The nurses brought me a cake and a present and everyone wished me happy birthday. Today I get let out. I have packed my bags and I'm leaving, my counsellor will meet me by the rusty gates. I'm so excited to get out of this prison. I'm brushing my teeth now, it's 8:48 am and I will be leaving at 10. God, I'm so excited. Just to see the light, just to hear the birds tweet. Just to... get out. 
Off I go, I'm out now, in the car with a woman, young and tall. With blonde hair and bright blue eyes, I would say long eye lashes but I can't say, too much mascara. She's like one of those girls, you know, a plastic, a popular one, one of the ones with the athlete boyfriends, probably named Brad or Chad or something cool like that. When he would finish a football match (winning obviously) and she would be cheerleading (with a really tight outfit), she would run out and give him a massive hug, cheering, he would wrap her in his athlete jacket and lift her up into the air and take her out for pizza or something. I never got that as a teenager. Never will. Oh, how I wish I could get that. 
Today, February 26th, I finally found out why I was in that mental hospital. It's weird, you know, I can't even remember this. I'll start the story... 

I was 10 years old and had an obsession with horrors. A ten year old who loved horrors? Yes, you heard right. I watched horror movies with my 18 year old brother and I loved them, I would buy scary books and read them alone in the library. About 4 months into reading them, I came across a fictional creature called Slenderman. Apparently, he is friends with kids and enemies with them at the same time. He gets them on his side and makes them do something for him and if the child doesn't they will either get hurt or someone in their family will. There was cases of kids killing other kids. Don't worry, I never did anything bad like that. The thing that got me into this stupid place is me, being my stupid little self, walking along with my friends and singing the Slenderman song;

"Slenderman
Slenderman 
He's coming for you....."

My friends told a teacher, they told my Granny and then she told a therapist and then she sent me to Philas Mental Hospital. God, how much I hate that therapist. Anyway, that's how I became depressed and killed myself.