Life Goes On: Short Story

By: Tara Saraf

​Through tears forming at the corners of my eyes, I watched as the cell door slammed behind him. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, glancing at my wrist to check the time. 8:57 PM glared back at me in a bright blue hue. Only three minutes before my shift ended, which I’d have to make up, as soon as they let me out of this place. Donny would only be here for a few days but with that meant a ridiculous amount of paper-work. It’s as if they wanted guardians to be in the psych-ward as long as the patients were. Fair enough. It’s what we deserve for sending’ em’ here in the first place. As if we aren’t enough to help them. A woman’s sudden, sharp voice cuts me into reality. “You’re here for Donald Macaluso?” she said with a yawn. I immediately turned around and faced the woman, who now appeared to be the doctor. Donny Time froze as I stared at the knife. I ran my fingers along the cool metal of the blade, and in that moment, it was only us. The world had lost its meaning and I was more than sure of my decision. How was I to live, if nothing for? All I needed to do was cut, cut, cut, and regardless of the pain, that would be it. One last stab to end them all. And then there would be nothingness. My hands trembled as I sunk the tip deep into my palm. I think I heard myself scream; it was absolutely electrifying. I kept going, puncturing more of the skin and yelling out in satisfaction. There was no time to think twice, for I had finally come upon my freedom; nothing life had come close to offering me. *** I stared down at the depression screening in my hand, recalling the doctor’s whispers amongst her colleagues about a potential diagnosis. I now realized what the exam was for; I wanted out. This was ridiculous, let alone unwarranted. They couldn’t just sit me down for interrogation. If Monica were here, she wouldn’t let this happen. Or would she? It was hard to tell, since she’s what got me here in the first place. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to rip her tongue out of her head, or just hold her. Either way, I needed to see her. Ten minutes visitation after an hour drive all the way from Toledo was frustrating. After what had gone down the last time, or.. what hadn’t… considering i hadn’t said a word, she had left with her head held in her hands. First thing next time: I noted to myself: Give the girl a hug. Then get a hold of her purse, find the money and buy yourself some apology cigarettes: her treat. The high-pitched screech of the arm chair Dr. Daly leaned back in, forced me out of my thoughts. The sudden movement made me jolt in a startle, which made the old woman chuckle. Her piercing green gaze and pin straight ginger hair made my skin crawl. That patronizing smile was mocking me. “How’s it going, dear?” she said a little too sweetly. I squirmed in my chair as she never broke eye contact; it made my occasional side glances look skeptical. My hands itched for a needle. Dr. Daly’s smile would look much more genuine with both lips sewed together tight. That way, she wouldn’t speak either. Next, I did the talking. “When’s visitation?” I asked impatiently, dodging the question. The doctor sighed as she nodded, expecting the ignorance. She didn't let me leave her with nothing however, and pestered me further. “You’ll speak with your sister soon, however, for us to help you, we must begin somewhere. The questionnaire is a great start, Donald.” “Donny”, I correct her by interrupting. She pauses and restates my nickname, then continues. “Anything you write on that paper will be helpful,” she said at the end, gesturing toward the ballpoint on the countertop. I scoffed which probably wasn’t fair, but set the clipboard down on the table anyhow. Daly fixed her gaze elsewhere, and I started to scribble all over the page and on the back. Pushing the clipboard to the other end of the table, I didn’t wait for a reaction. I turned around and ran, the door slamming shut behind me.