“Hi,” a semi-tall brunette greets me, but looks down at her notebook. “Emmett, that’s right. I just read your file.” She smiles, but not a comforting smile. Anyone could see the fear in her big brown eyes.

Considering her features, I’m sure she’s between 25 and 30 years old. She doesn’t have wrinkles on her face and I see no sign of gray hair. Plus I can smell her fruity perfume from at least two yards away. Also, her inability to make me comfortable indicates her little experience in psychology.

Obviously a better way to start this encounter would’ve been for her to first introduce herself to show me that she’s open to telling me about her, seeing as that’s what she’s asking of me in return. Now she surely must be confused as to why I’m not replying. She’ll never learn if I don’t help her. Of course, she won’t know I’m helping her… Perhaps that’s why I’ve been trapped in this insane asylum and forced to undergo this nonsense “therapy.”

“My name is Anna…” she goes on, “you can sit down...”

I continue to stand there. A meek smile turns up on my lips. Sitting is a sign of comfort and I am in no way comfortable. She has so much to learn.

“Don’t like sitting? Ok, standing is fine I guess.” She sat down in a pink arm chair. “So you don’t talk?” she inquires as she looks at me, possibly trying to read my emotions.

I’m sure not to let any show. Why would I need to talk? To tell her about myself? And why would I do that? So she can “analyze” me and call me insane? It’s a choice not to use my voice for the mere amusement of others. If they want to hear what I have to say, maybe they shouldn’t judge me… Maybe they should try to have a conversation with me that isn’t about trying to “fix” my so-called “problems.”

I look up at the clock- that’s another thing; they don’t even let me use a watch. They think I’ll try to kill myself with it, I guess. That’s simply ridiculous. If I wanted to kill myself, I’d do it much more skillfully than cutting my wrist with semi-sharp parts of a watch.

I turn to the door and hear Anna jump up. “Where are you going? Time’s not up yet.” She paused momentarily then went on, “Oh, never mind. I’ll see you tomorrow. Nice meeting you, Emmett.”

As I sit back in my usual seat, I ponder the appointment. She should be glad to meet me, though I assume she says that to everybody, even if it’s a lie. I honestly do wonder if she’s just an intern or therapist-in-training. She’s around my age… I wonder if she’s married. If it weren’t for my ex-girlfriend being quite honestly, a demon, I would be married.

“Daddy!” My beautiful little girl runs up to me as I walk in the front door. She jumps into my arms and I hold her out in front of me.

“Hi, baby!” I greet her and look into the kitchen. “Hi, Karen!” I say to my wife who’s making supper on the stove.

She smiles when she sees me and takes a step forward to kiss me. Naturally, I kiss her back. We’re all happy, and we love each other.

NO. This is how my life would be, but this world is full of horrible people. There’s always going to be a poor man out there trying to do anything for some money, and a rich man doing the same.
There’s always a surplus of desire, and never enough satisfaction. For example this guy in the room next to me: he’s a cannibal, so his daily procedures are extreme. If he has to go somewhere, he’s strapped in a strait jacket a face mask. They have to feed him and give him things through a one-way slot in the door. He’s really dangerous because last time he had a doctor appointment, the nurse took off his mask to look at his mouth and he threw his head forward and bit her tongue off. I don’t think he’ll ever receive a conscious medical examination again. He couldn’t be happy with eating what he’s supposed to; he has to have his own, illegal, horrific, taste.
I look around my room; it’s pretty awful. Obviously it’s not going to be a five-star hotel, but a pillow made of real feathers would be nice. Maybe if I were allowed to have a pen, I could write a letter and complain.
I’m lucky to have my chair, though. It’s not the most comfortable chair in the world, but to me it’s a (I would say cloud, but scientifically if one sat on a cloud, they’d fall right through it) bed of roses. I spend most of my time sitting here. I’m considered low-maintenance, and of no threat, so I have a window on my door. A few rooms and half of the lobby are visible. This place is in California, so I can always see the sunlight shining in. Occasionally, I’m allowed to sit in the lobby, but I usually prefer sitting right here; in this chair.
It’s morning again, so it’s time for therapy. I hear a knock on the door and, “Wake up, Emmett. Therapy’s in twenty minutes.”
They slide in a bowl of cold oatmeal and I don’t eat it, as usual. I’m allowed to wear whatever I want, but no ties or belts or anything I could possibly use to harm myself or others. A flannel shirt and khaki pants are my usual attire. I look in my mirror which is extremely hardcore, so I can’t, if I tried, break it and cut myself. I see myself; I’d look pretty average if it weren’t for my rare, abnormal violet eyes.
The man comes back to escort me to therapy. We walk down the hall and we’re there. “Hi, Anna.” my escort says to my therapist as I enter the room and sit down on the couch. I would’ve stood, but I’m particularly tired from staying up late considering the possibility of evolution.
Once my escort left, Anna smiled; possibly at my sitting down. “So how are you today, Emmett?”
If she truly believed I was going to answer such an absurd question, then she’s the one that needs psychological therapy. Although, she does seem smart. I wonder if she reads. Maybe she likes poetry. Maybe she’d like to hear a few of my personal favorites like “Fire and Ice” by Robert Frost. It captures the miserable world exactly as I see it…


Some say the world will end in fire,


Some say in ice.


From what I’ve tasted of desire


I hold with those who favor fire.


But if I had to perish twice,


I think I know enough of hate


To say that for destruction,


Ice is also great


And would suffice.
If I ever had good reasoning, maybe I’d tell it to her. Would she understand it how I do? I think the poem means that hate is destructive to the human condition; it can damage you. Yet it’s desire that is the most powerful and damaging emotion there is.
Taking a break from deep thought, I look back up at Anna, just in time for her to ask me, “What do you like to do, Emmett?”
She’s going to have to be more specific. I like to live, I like to breathe, I like to eat when I’m hungry, but I highly doubt she wants to hear that as an answer.
“Do you like to read, watch movies? You like sports?” she specifies further.
I do like sports. I would like sports. The only sports I get to do is run around the basketball court, and if someone else is there I can try to play a reasonable game with them. Sometimes I get to watch a football game, but it’s simply not as exciting as it used to be. Reading isn’t as intriguing as movie-watching. Every Friday night is movie night. I’m always there, even if others aren’t mentally capable of it. My favorite is “Silence of the Lambs.”
I smile at her and very lightly nod my head. Anna’s smile is even bigger, probably because I actually responded. Arrogant children smile like she is right now. “That’s awesome! If there’s ever a movie or book you want, just let me know and I’ll g—“ she’s interrupted by a loud “BEEP” from her walkie talkie. I’ve seen them used to let everyone know if there’s a patient trying to walk out or something...
This time I hear, “Everybody in lockdown! EVERYBODY IN LOCKDOWN! This is not a drill! Inmate 213 has escaped from his room. He’s considered highly dangerous. Take precautions.”
“Oh my God! What do we do?!” Anna springs up and runs over to me with the most worried expression I’ve seen in my life. “Emmett, please! Say something, DO something!” She shakes on my arm frantically. I just stand up and walk to the door to lock it. Obviously she’s overreacting.
I hope this doesn’t last long. Anna’s quickly rummaging through a binder. She’s nearly crying as she looks at me which hits me like a punch to the face. Room 213; I live in 212. I know it’s Harry before she yells, “He’s a cannibal! Oh my God, Emmett! He’s a freaking cannibal!”
I put my finger on my lips. She’s way too loud. All we need to do is wait here until they catch Harry.
“Please update me whenever anything new happens,” Anna’s on the walkie talkie with someone. “thanks.”
I’m sitting back down when she calms down enough to return to her chair. For the first time since I’ve known Anna, I realize the complexity of her life. This is probably her first real job. She’s trying really hard, and she’s just looking for success in helping people. Really she’s only doing it so she doesn’t have time to do normal things like dating and being home alone because she has extreme anxiety.
“Are you ok, Emmett?” Anna asks me. Am I ok? Is she ok? She nearly had a heart attack and I’ve been sitting here calmly. She wants to know if I’m ok? “This is pretty sca-“ She’s interrupted again by the voice on the walkie talkie.
“Patient in room 115 was just found dead in the doorway of their room. Their face was eaten off. No sign of Harry. Stay in lockdown. This is as of 9:31.”
Anna’s eyes are huge as VY Canis Majoris. A tear runs down her cheek. “He’s killed someone! They have to find him!” she screams. I wish I could comfort her, but there’s no real purpose to. She’ll never get over her anxiety if I practically encourage it.
If Harry’s going to attempt killing everyone here, sooner or later they’re going to find his pattern. He is a very intelligent, careful man. He’d killed 20 people before he was put in here. The best part of the news is when there’s a serial killer that detectives can’t find for the life of them and I consider the case for a minute or two and know exactly what’s going to happen. Just slow down and look at the clues. All the answers are right in front of you.
Anna’s still crying. I look away, even though I guess I’m considered a sociopath and don’t commonly feel remorse, or any emotion for that matter. I assure I don’t acquire emotional attachments to anything. It’s so unreliable: one day I’ll lose it and then I’ll be a wreck. There’s no need for the extra pain.
“Please talk to m—“ The “BEEP” of the walkie talkie keeps her from finishing that sentence.
“Still in lockdown. Keep your doors locked. Another patient was killed; from room100. They were found missing an ear and their eyeballs. Still no sign of where Harry is.” The monotonic voice from the walkie talkie shocks Anna and I with this news.
A loud gasp ending with a blood-curdling scream comes out of Anna. “He ate their eyeballs! This is horrible! I hate this!” she yells, holding her knees against her chest. The digital clock in the room reads 9:37. I think I know the pattern. Of course I’ll have to test it with some more data, but it’s highly unlikely I’m wrong. I’m never wrong.
Anna should really stop crying. I just want to leave; go back to my room and think.
“Where do you think he’s hiding?” Anna squeals over her tears.
I point up. The face she gives me is to die for. If not for cartilage and other muscles, her jaw would’ve fallen to the ground. She leans in and whispers, “In the ceiling?”
Of course he’s in the ceiling! If he were anywhere else, they would’ve found him by now. I nod.
“That’s smart! But he could come in here at any minute-Oh my God! He could come in here!” Anna flops down next to me on the couch and goes on, “Emmett, he could get in here! He could come right in through the vent!”
I realize that, but I’m not going to let it worry me. There are at least 100 rooms in this building and two floors: the odds of him coming in here are extremely scarce. The possibility is still there, but if it were to happen, I’d like to know I spent my final time calm.
Looking at Anna, I realize I had subconsciously moved to the other side of the couch, furthest away from her. I’m not a big fan of physical contact…especially with Anna. She makes me uncomfortable. It’s like I want to seem better; appear normal in front of her. That’s probably just because she’s the only sane person I talk to. I honestly consider myself sane. My mind works perfectly, even better than average, and I’m capable of everything life requires. Truthfully, I like it in here because I have all the time in the world to think about whatever I want.
Anna had stopped crying when I look at her. She’s shaking violently. Maybe I should say something…
“BEEP!” My focus turns directly to the black walkie talkie the noise came from. “Anna, another patient was found in their room, dead. His Adam’s apple was ripped out. He was found hanging by the top of a shelf in room211. Stay in lockdown.”
It seems as though those words echoed in my mind as a cacophonous realization entered my mind. Since I’ve been here, I’ve developed a feeling of comfort. I don’t want to leave. Anna’s crying again: she’s emotionally unstable. When I first met her to this very moment, I want to know more about her; her interests, dislikes, past, everything.
I see the window, sun gleaming in leaving a patch of light on the floor. I know what’s going to happen. We only have minutes. Harry’s coming here, to this room, next. It couldn’t have possibly been more obvious, considering the clues. It was 9:43 when he killed the last person. The hidden pattern in these seemingly random deaths: the numbers always add up to20.
The first killing was at 9:31 in room 115. Sum up all of the digits and they equal 20; same with the other killings. The next will be at 9:51 in room 104, which happens to be the room we’re in right now.
If I die now, I’ll be rid of the miseries of life, but also of the joyous parts. If I leave right now-out the window- I’ll have to live on my own again. It would probably be healthy for me- a grown man- to live on my own. Maybe I could have a good life. Maybe I’ll have no money, or get myself killed…
It only took a second to make my ill-considered decision. “We have to leave.” The sound of my own voice startles me a bit.
Anna nearly falls off the couch swinging her head to face me. “You talked! You actually said something!” The first smile she’d shown since the lockdown began arose on her lips.
Maybe she didn’t actually pay attention to what I said. “Anna,” She smiles even bigger when I say her name. “We need to leave.”
“Why? How?”
I grab her hand and pull her up. It’s softer than I’d imagined it. With her hand, I run over to the window. We have two minutes left. I lift the window up and step back, so Anna can climb out.
She looks at me and asks, “What are we doing? They’ll think Harry took us or something!”
I shrug. Who cares what they think happened? As long as we don’t get ruthlessly eaten by a cannibal… “Hurry!”
She pushes herself up and out of the window. I follow, jumping up and she gives me her hand to help me out. We run to the woods behind the building. Flashing lights surround the front of the building, from what I can see.
Once we’re about 30 feet into the woods, we stop running. Anna’s hair is slightly messed up and a drop of sweat emerges on her forehead. “Emmett, what do we do now?”
For once, I don’t know the answer. And for once, I realize that’s ok. I’ve spent such a long time believing that those who desire much are fools, but for the first time, I realize this: What’s wrong with desire?
I pull Anna into me and wrap my arms around her, squeezing her kindly.
I know this much: I love Anna. And I’m never wrong.


I choose fire.








THE








END