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Chapter One: An Introduction To Madness; The Storyteller
Topic Started: Dec 26 2007, 10:30 PM (152 Views)
TheStoryteller
sVo Rookie
[ * ]
The snow falls on the Bangor Mental Health Institute softly, beginning to blanket the rooftops and brick that make up the building. The building has done its best to make itself festive for the holidays, with strings of lights adorning the windows and trees, and plastic characters in and around the grounds. The grounds are quiet this evening, but it's Christmas Eve, after all.

Inside the building matches its exterior, with Christmas music playing, lights on trees and on nurses stations, and presents and holiday cards all around. It would seem as if all is calm in preparation for Santa Claus' arrival... as the old story goes "not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse." Well, that's how it _should_ go, but for some patients here, it's much different.

The screams and shrieks of terror and pleading pierce the silence, as two orderlies rush into a room, attempting to subdue a patient that got hold of lights to hang himself. With the patient not exactly working with the staff, one of the orderlies pulls out a syringe full of liquid and proceeds to plungs it into the patient's leg. A few moments pass and the patient succumbs to it.


"Goddamn. That's the third one tonight. I thought you said this was going to be easy pay."

"Hey, the past two years have been cake. I can't predict the future or anything. Just think of what the double pay will look like, though. I'm sure the wife will be happy with that, Johnnie."

"Yeah, right. You should have heard the bitch when I told her I was working instead of going to visit her family. I'll admit, though, I'd much rather be here than with my in-laws. Crazy fucks."

Johnnie and his co-worker, Pete, walk down the corridor. They walk to a room marked "EMPLOYEES ONLY" and turn the knob, walking inside. A room full of different sedatives and other medicine sits on shelf after shelf, and the two men grab what they need, placing each vial on a cart. A rendition of "White Christmas" plays softly as they head back down the corridor, still talking.

"Did you see Sherry today? I'm telling you Pete, if I wasn't married she'd be under my tree."

"Hell, I'm married and I _still_ got a piece of that."

"You lucky son-of-a-bitch."

"What can I say? She was good to go. Nothing like having a nurse bent over a hospital bed during night shift, begging you to use your special tool to find out the source of her problems. It was a definite Christmas bonus, if you know what I'm saying."

They stop at the first room, marked "121," then check their clipboard.

"Michael Morgan."

The two men look at one another, smirking.

"Did you happen to send in that letter?"

"You know it, Johnnie."

"Good. We'll have to tell him the good news."

They open the door to the room, where a man dressed in hospital scrubs sits on a chair, a pen in hand. A notebook, tattered and weathered, sits on a nearby bedside table, its contents unknown. The man stares at the white wall in front of him, not making any sound or a hint of movement...

"It's time for your medication, Mister Morgan."

Johnny lifts a cupful of multi-colored pills, dumping its contents into Morgan's hand. However, the man doesn't move an inch, just continues to stare. The two orderlies look at one another, a bit confused, then take another step towards him. But the man sits there, his gaze unwavering.

"We've got some good news, Mister Morgan."

The silence and non-movement is finally broken, and the gaze of a madman shifts to the men.

"I am not Mister Morgan. Do not call me that."

"Listen here, freak..."

Johnnie stops Pete from saying anything else, putting up a finger and mouthing "SHUT UP."

"I'm sorry about that, sir. Could you tell me where Mister Morgan is? I'm showing that this is his room."

"Mister Morgan is a fictional character, a puppet in my writing who does whatever I bid him to. He was an ordinary guy with an ordinary life, and life decided to fuck him... or rather, have a complete stranger fuck his almost-to-be wife. And now? What he does from there is up to _me_."

Pete, eyes bulging, looks at Johnnie and mouths the word "Wow."

"So what are your plans for him, sir?"

A slow, evil smirk crosses the man's lips.

"I'm The Storyteller, boy. I can do whatever I want. Michael Morgan wants revenge, not just on that sick fuck that decided to bang his fiance, but on _anyone_ that's ever harmed him. If I decide to have him beat the shit out of a former co-worker with a tire iron? I can do that."

"That's fucked up right there."

"That's the beauty of the written word. One second the main character could be striking it rich by winning the lottery, and another second he could be sitting on the edge of his bed with the barrel of a gun in his mouth. I decide who does what, to whom, and when. In other words, boy..."

The Storyteller looks up at them, taking his medicine as he does.

"...I am _God_."

The two orderlies look a bit nervous now, and begin to back the cart out of the room.

"You're a very intelligent man, sir. I look forward to reading some of your work."

"Here, take this."

The Storyteller reaches over and grabs the notebook, tossing it to Pete.

"It's one of my latest short stories, one I'm considering as an intertwining storyline for a chapter in the Michael Morgan series. It's about a young man named John Starzano, a kid who really had it all... much like Morgan. He was a football player, had all the material goods a person his age could want, and even had a hot piece of ass for a girlfriend. A good life...

...until fate stepped in.

A steroid scandal broke out as he was breaking into professional football, and he was a main suspect even though he would never touch the stuff. But the hard-working kid wouldn't allow things to get him down... in fact, he perservered. Got himself into professional wrestling, a decent following, and is on the verge of making the same name for himself that he once did."


"What happens next?"

The Storyteller shrugs.

"I haven't decided... but I'm leaning towards something bloody, gruesome, and merciless."

With that, the orderlies close the door, their conversation continuing. The Storyteller looks towards the doorway, then back to the wall, then back to the doorway. He then spits the pills from his mouth, the multi-colored medicine hitting the linoleum floor. He then begins to tap a pen against an arm of the chair, his mind beginning to wander on his next chapter of his book.
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