Idiosyncratic

• Krystal Myles, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2009

It was Saturday night once again, watching the nurse change my medication. But this time I was ready and waiting for her. She always looks at me as if I m to be feared, but this time was going to be different, I was finally going to give her something to fear. As nurse Bianca changed my medication, I ripped out my shunt and jabbed it into her spine, paralysing her before she knew what was yet to come. I quickly untangled myself from all the wires and tubes, ran to the door and locked it, while Bianca was lying on the ground silent, unable to move or speak, her golden locks lay there as if trying to protect her from what I was about to do. I had been planning this moment for the past few weeks so I had been stealing the nylon and raiding the garden shed out the back for rope. Bianca was still lying there eyes wide open with tears running down her face, I dragged her to the bed and pulled her on top of it, she knew my fun was about to begin, and there was nothing she could do to stop me.

With the scalpel from her trolley I sliced open her chest, watching her blood shoot across the room, staining my white hospital gown. My fun was just commencing. I opened her chest (open once the bleeding had slowed down) and began to tie her intestines and veins into bows. It was hard work, as the blood stained my fingers it made the veins very slippery like your fingers slipping through silk. When I began to stitch Bianca’s chest back up with the nylon, her heart stopped and my body was invaded by little bumps and made my spine go erect. As she looked at me with those lifeless sky blue eyes, I finished the stitching; I dragged her body out onto the cold veranda, while her body was beginning to freeze, I washed my hands in the bathroom in my room and cleaned up the mess her squirting blood had made.

There was a knock at the door, I froze, and I knew they knew there was something wrong. I changed my gown, trying not to make any noise, as quickly as possible I swung open the door; it was Mr Luther, the Psychiatric ward coordinator. He took one step in, with his size 14 Colorado shoes, wearing his usual dark grey trousers and a white-cuffed shirt with his usual black tie. He looked around and left. I had forgotten that today was his weekly check up on us patients. He did not notice Bianca’s trolley standing next to my bed.

As quickly as possible I tied the rope around Bianca’s neck, tightening it, I heard the spine in her neck break. I sewed her lips shut before I hung her off the veranda’s railing. Like they say the dead can speak, well, this one won’t. I threw her dead meat over the veranda, with her body swinging in the wind. I walked into my room and that is where I stayed for the next five minutes. While waiting for them to knock down my door, I heard horrified screams and yelps coming from ten stories below me. I was satisfied, pleased of my job; with a smile on my face guards dragged me to the electric chair. There I said my last few words, “I will never be forgotten!”