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Creative writing - Case Of Insanity.

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Case Of Insanity It seems strange to be sitting here writing, not having used pen and paper for twelve months. They don't usually allow you to have such things in here, but one of the wardens, with whom I have made friends, said that as I have been exceptionally well behaved he would see what he could do for me. I am writing this under supervision, however, for they fear that I may do something dangerous with the pen - such as gouging out one of my fellow patient's eyes! The doctors still think I'm insane and unfit for human society. They tell me that my treatment is progressing slowly but surely, and that very soon I will have my release. They've been saying that ever since I've been here. I know that I'm not mad. I know, but they wont believe me. That's why I asked for pen and paper - to write down exactly what happened and why. When they read it perhaps they will realize that I'm not the homicidal maniac they would have me believe. Yes, I did murder my wife. ...read more.


Finally, Amanda got up and went upstairs. After a few seconds I followed, after turning the volume of the television up - so as to hide any noise from the neighbours. On my way I went into the kitchen and took the scissors from the hook on the wall. By the time I got upstairs Amanda was in the bathroom, just as I had planned she would be, brushing her hair in front of the mirror over the sink. Her hair, free of the innumerable pins and clips, reached down to her shoulders. Her breasts danced up and down with the movement of her arm, as she plied the brush vigorously. A contemptuous look spread over her face as she saw my reflection in the mirror, and as she turned I plunged the scissors as deep as I could into her jugular. She gave a loud scream, followed by a rasping gurgle as the scissors went into her neck. She fell back with such a force that the scissors were wrenched from my hand, and she sank down with a sickening thud as her head struck the washbasin. ...read more.


I remember gripping the steering wheel tightly. It seemed as if a voice came from somewhere at the back of me. From the direction of the boot. It was Amanda's voice, mocking and jeering - "Why don't you be more of a man? Why did you do it? What will the children say when they learn their father is a murderer? But they'll never know, will they? Because you'll never be a father! Never have any children!" She gave a loud laugh, which turned, almost immediately, to the screech of the tyres. I heard the smashing of glass and sank into oblivion. I awoke in the casualty department of a hospital. A doctor, who, through my hazy vision, looked like a tall, white marble pillar, was standing over me. A nurse was feeling my pulse, holding my wrist in her delicate, pink hand. "Open the case, nurse," I heard the doctor say. "See if there's anything in there that will tell us something about him. Who his relations are, or whom we could contact." A scream made me turn my head. The nurse fainted and the doctor stared in horror. I laughed and laughed and laughed. Ha! Ha! I laugh, even now, when I think about it. It was quite funny really. You see - I had buried the wrong case! ...read more.

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