Red Eyes and Red Nails

Red Eyes and Red Nails
Chpt 1
He woke up to the sound of scratching on leather or at least that is what he thought he heard. It took a moment to gain his bearings in the lonely and silent room. When he finally, truly had awoken from his groggy slumber, then did he realize. It was his own flesh that was ripping. He felt the pain, and had the tearing of his flesh in his site from what little moonlight streamed in through the small window. He saw his skin split apart he screamed out, but then again no one would pay attention to him until morning. That was the kind of treatment you got in a mental ward. Your screams of terror were your delusions, your cries of pain were the shout of rage, and your screams of help were mistaken for you talking to your good friends. And if they did come in the morning, they would blame him, but could he really do this inhuman clawing to his skin. It was if a beast had hooked into his flesh. The ripping was like taking out staples of paper, but these staples were your ligaments and muscles. Then again could the same mental illness really be contagious to all the men in this hospital.

It was a phenomenon; some men woke up as they watched their own arms being pulled right off. They watched as their skin desperately tried to stay in tact, their veins, muscles, and everything else that was attached would leave their body with a loud crack as their bone, the last standing stronghold, gave away and then a thud as if their hand was crawling away.
Other men would wake up to the sound of crunching like someone eating cereal, but of course it wasn't a bowl of milk this creature wanted. The truth was that they were hearing their own ribcage being chewed on, their flesh ripped and hanging loosely as if flesh wasn't a necessity.
The medical personal called it the flesh phenomenon and when the personal entered to their rooms they would announce "there's a scratcher", "there's a nibbler", and "there's a ripper".

As if mental men had the physical strength of some wild lion, how did they get the tools to rip themselves apart? The rooms had nothing, but a bed, a small very small window, and a bathroom.
There was no sense in thinking about it or screaming about the situation. They wouldn’t believe a word the crazy said. If that was the case he would rather wake up dead, he hoped the beast who was torturing knew or could feel that. He would rather wake up dead than alive and then to be called deluded. He wasn’t in here for delusions, hallucinations, and psychosis. He was in here because of addiction and not addiction to pain, that was uncomfortable and to disturbing for him to get addicted to it. Instead his addictions was numbers, that sounded very odd for a human being to be in a metal ward for being addicted to numbers and the patterns they created. But it was the truth. And his addiction led him to a mental breakdown and an accident that nearly killed him. Problem was, this mental ward wouldn’t let you out even when you thought you were “all better” as the nurses called it.
Someone who was completely healed, would find God, and conform themselves to society. That is the way confinement in here worked. God and “normal” society was your cure, or else you weren’t getting out.

At least he found something else to think about as he felt the clawing. Maybe the beast just wanted to give a massage, but didn’t know how to be soft and gentle with its touch. All he had to do was think of this and maybe he could go back to asleep even with the sharp pain and the tearing of his flesh.
“A scratcher, and now him and I had high hopes for him,” said a voice with deep baritones.
“I wonder where we went wrong in the treatment,” said a voice that sounded like a young teenage boy.
Damn, he didn't die last night. Then he would rather not open his eyes. He held them closed tightly instead. He was hearing the men continue their conversation and he heard their shows, their haunting shoes come closer to the bed. They touched his shoulder, their ghostly presence almost emanating from their bodies. They were just voices and this was just a dream. He would rather think like this then open his eyes.

“Perry, its time to wake up,” the younger one said, “We have you all patched up and now we are going to take you somewhere special and nice.”
Their voices were mocking him, as if he were a child or he didn't understand plain English. They thought crazy meant mentally retarded or something. But even with their words he refused to open his eyes, maybe death was just a little late. Maybe death was busy with some other freak who was burned in his own home, maybe death was being yelled at by Lucifer himself asking why he skipped on the job. Oh! How he just wished death would come right now.
“Perry,” the younger one said, “I know you are awake...so if you aren't moving then tell me why you did this?”
The answer should have been clear to them, especially with his eyes closed, he wasn't guilty. But then again an innocent man would have opened his eyes by now. Maybe the sensed his wish to die or maybe they sense he was guilty about not being guilty. Whichever he wouldn't open his eyes, the younger one side.
“Get security in here, we'll be moving him to a new room today,” the younger one said.

A new room meant they were sending him in the rooms with the others who have experienced this phenomenon. He kept his eyes closed, he knew the young doctor was still in here. He could feel his phantom like presence hovering over him. He was checking his life signs by observation. Perry just continued to keep his eyes closed, and in no time he would be moved. He would be moved and he would be more comfortable, obviously, with his “crazy” friends. Then again he had never met any of the men who had experienced the torture before. So he only wondered what this new room and this new maddening life would be like.

It only took a few minutes before he opened his eyes because he had the uncomfortable feeling of someone large and meat touching him. He stared eye to eye with the security guard the security guard had brown eyes, how homey and comfortable those brown eyes look. They reminded him of a warm, soft turd, freshly shat out. While he was trying to die even when clearly alive and healthy the security guard and the two doctors were strapping him in a tight bonds to make sure he was clear to move into a room.
What did they think, he was going to scratch them or something. They took him through three locked doors with only one when of getting in medical personal ID cards, he thought it was pretty unnecessary what are bond “crazy” people going to do, run away. Well it was clear they somehow had inhuman abilities to break bondages and run away.

This one definitely has an attitude. I do get the sense that you dropped to a level to get some real emotion for this story. A definite improvement.

Now, watch your word usage. You have a couple of loose phrases, and a number of wrong words. I don't want to harass you, but simply alert you.

Did I fully understand what was going on, no. I slightly gained the idea that what was going on was not physical, but exactly the level of mental presence did not fully come clear. Of course, having a 'crazy' as one's point-of-view does not help painting a good picture. You have to start somewhere with a story however, and you did make it slightly interesting.

I hope that you do have a story here, and this was not simply a toss-out. I am interested to see what you can do with it.

TerishD wrote:

This one definitely has an attitude. I do get the sense that you dropped to a level to get some real emotion for this story. A definite improvement.

Now, watch your word usage. You have a couple of loose phrases, and a number of wrong words. I don't want to harass you, but simply alert you.

Did I fully understand what was going on, no. I slightly gained the idea that what was going on was not physical, but exactly the level of mental presence did not fully come clear. Of course, having a 'crazy' as one's point-of-view does not help painting a good picture. You have to start somewhere with a story however, and you did make it slightly interesting.

I hope that you do have a story here, and this was not simply a toss-out. I am interested to see what you can do with it.

I noticed, side instead of sighed.
And one or two sentences didn't make sense when I read it for the fourth time.
But this is the story I have been looking for.
The one that wants me to continue writing it over and over again.
This is what I have been looking for in my writing this whole time.
This is a big confidence boost this story.
And I want to continue this story and want to get it the best it can be.
This is what I have been looking for in myself.

Cool. Get to work.

By the way, just in the first paragraph I caught these -

1) 'then did he realize.' Then did he realize WHAT?

2) 'the tearing of his flesh in his site' SIGHT site is a location.

3) 'He saw his skin split apart[PERIOD or SEMI-COLON - as these are two complete sentences] he screamed out'

4) 'Then again could the same mental illness really be contagious to all the men in this hospital' Should end with a question mark (it is a question).

Don't feel bad. This world is not a place where perfection can be achieved. Work at learning to edit yourself however, as it does help how others see you (including those editors you hope will become interested in what you wrote).

As someone that has written many a novel-length story, let me tell you that it takes a lot of dedication and work. So - GET TO IT! Wish you well.

Leaka wrote:

Red Eyes and Red Nails
They reminded him of a warm, soft turd, freshly shat out.

Best line ever!

For the most part, this was good, I felt a bit off, something about the mentality of the mental person, the number fixation got me a bit.

And the level of damage that was imposed and living though it, rather amazed me.

And depending on the mental ward, denoted if you got a diaper, pan, or exposed toilet (prison style), related to your level of psychosis and what they could trust you with.

Urs wrote:

Leaka wrote:

Red Eyes and Red Nails
They reminded him of a warm, soft turd, freshly shat out.

Best line ever!

For the most part, this was good, I felt a bit off, something about the mentality of the mental person, the number fixation got me a bit.

And the level of damage that was imposed and living though it, rather amazed me.

And depending on the mental ward, denoted if you got a diaper, pan, or exposed toilet (prison style), related to your level of psychosis and what they could trust you with.

lol! Best line ever.
I've seen better.
Well I wanted to make him sane enough for you to understand or kind of get a clue of what was going on. But insane enough for him to be in a mental ward.
I've been in a mental ward before...and I believe that was the system we had as well.
I was all right so I got a nice big room with a big window.
[Don't ask me anything else about my vacation there.]

Hello Leaka,

I guess this is one of those inspirational stories, huh?

The whole story concept is very unique. Now, there has been many stories of crazy people, but I absolute love how you enlighten your reader about this flesh phenomenon. I've never read or heard anything about it, so that immediately hooked my attention. And the little nicknames for each category, very cute.

As far as my suggestions go, I'm going to touch upon the sequence of your story. You've already started correcting grammar and sentence structure so this may be another element you may want to consider. Now, sequence is not set in stone like grammar, this is more a matter of opinion. I'm not suggesting it as the best way, merely a different way.

This is the sequence:
Perry Open
Audience history fill-in
Flesh-Phenomenon background
Perry Continued

I would suggest closing the gap between the Perry Open and Perry Continued, especially at the beginning because with so much information splitting the two scenes, it gets a little confusing focusing on the character.

Another reason for the change in sequence is consistency.

"He woke up to the sound of scratching on leather or at least that is what he thought he heard. It took a moment to gain his bearings in the lonely and silent room. When he finally, truly had awoken from his groggy slumber, then did he realize. It was his own flesh that was ripping. He felt the pain, and had the tearing of his flesh in his site from what little moonlight streamed in through the small window. He saw his skin split apart he screamed out, but then again no one would pay attention to him until morning. (Great opening...but then you change sequence. The reader gets confused because whose narrating? This is where that consistency is lost, at least in my mind. Perry's in pain, how can he be thinking the following few paragraphs? It would make more sense later in the story during a quiet moment to himself, maybe after this flesh episode when he has time to think. Or maybe even establishing that the episode has ended and he is thinking about this stuff following. ) That was the kind of treatment you got in a mental ward. Your screams of terror were your delusions, your cries of pain were the shout of rage, and your screams of help were mistaken for you talking to your good friends. And if they did come in the morning, they would blame him, but could he really do this inhuman clawing to his skin. It was if a beast had hooked into his flesh. The ripping was like taking out staples of paper, but these staples were your ligaments and muscles. Then again could the same mental illness really be contagious to all the men in this hospital."(This last line places questions in the reader's head, but I think it's a little too soon. Let the reader ask the question down the road after you establish Perry's state of mind and the hospital he is at.)

Keep on writing because whichever way you choose, you have me hooked. It's too weird not be interesting.

~New York Bum

Thank you Death By Pen, but why wouldn't he think about the flesh phenonmen and things like that.
I mean he decides to go back to sleep and deal with the pain. I sort of like that weirdness.

Here it is finished Chapter 1:

He woke up to the sound of scratching on leather or at least that is what he thought he heard. It took a moment to gain his bearings in the lonely and silent room. When he finally, truly had awoken from his groggy slumber, then did he realize. It was his own flesh that was ripping. He felt the pain, and had the tearing of his flesh in his sight from what little moonlight streamed in through the small window. He saw his skin split apart he screamed out, but then again no one would pay attention to him until morning. That was the kind of treatment you got in a mental ward. Your screams of terror were your delusions, your cries of pain were the shout of rage, and your screams of help were mistaken for you talking to your good friends. And if they did come in the morning, they would blame him, but could he really do this inhuman clawing to his skin. It was if a beast had hooked into his flesh. The ripping was like taking out staples of paper, but these staples were your ligaments and muscles. Then again could the same mental illness really be contagious to all the men in this hospital.

It was a phenomenon; some men woke up as they watched their own arms being pulled right off. They watched as their skin desperately tried to stay in tact, their veins, muscles, and everything else that was attached would leave their body with a loud crack as their bone, the last standing stronghold, gave away and then a thud as if their hand was crawling away.
Other men would wake up to the sound of crunching like someone eating cereal, but of course it wasn't a bowl of milk this creature wanted. The truth was that they were hearing their own ribcage being chewed on, their flesh ripped and hanging loosely as if flesh wasn't a necessity.
The medical personal called it the flesh phenomenon and when the personal entered to their rooms they would announce "there's a scratcher", "there's a nibbler", and "there's a ripper".
As if mental men had the physical strength of some wild lion, how did they get the tools to rip themselves apart? The rooms had nothing, but a bed, a small very small window, and a bathroom.

There was no sense in thinking about it or screaming about the situation. They wouldn’t believe a word the crazy said. If that was the case he would rather wake up dead, he hoped the beast who was torturing knew or could feel that. He would rather wake up dead than alive and then to be called deluded. He wasn’t in here for delusions, hallucinations, and psychosis. He was in here because of addiction and not addiction to pain, that was uncomfortable and to disturbing for him to get addicted to it. Instead his addictions was numbers, that sounded very odd for a human being to be in a metal ward for being addicted to numbers and the patterns they created. But it was the truth. And his addiction led him to a mental breakdown and an accident that nearly killed him. Problem was, this mental ward wouldn’t let you out even when you thought you were “all better” as the nurses called it.
Someone who was completely healed, would find God, and conform themselves to society. That is the way confinement in here worked. God and “normal” society was your cure, or else you weren’t getting out.

At least he found something else to think about as he felt the clawing. Maybe the beast just wanted to give a massage, but didn’t know how to be soft and gentle with its touch. All he had to do was think of this and maybe he could go back to asleep even with the sharp pain and the tearing of his flesh.
“A scratcher, and now him and I had high hopes for him,” said a voice with deep baritones.
“I wonder where we went wrong in the treatment,” said a voice that sounded like a young teenage boy.
Damn, he didn't die last night. Then he would rather not open his eyes. He held them closed tightly instead. He was hearing the men continue their conversation and he heard their shows, their haunting shoes come closer to the bed. They touched his shoulder, their ghostly presence almost emanating from their bodies. They were just voices and this was just a dream. He would rather think like this then open his eyes.

“Perry, its time to wake up,” the younger one said, “We have you all patched up and now we are going to take you somewhere special and nice.”
Their voices were mocking him, as if he were a child or he didn't understand plain English. They thought crazy meant mentally retarded or something. But even with their words he refused to open his eyes, maybe death was just a little late. Maybe death was busy with some other freak who was burned in his own home, maybe death was being yelled at by Lucifer himself asking why he skipped on the job. Oh! How he just wished death would come right now.
“Perry,” the younger one said, “I know you are awake...so if you aren't moving then tell me why you did this?”

The answer should have been clear to them, especially with his eyes closed, he wasn't guilty. But then again an innocent man would have opened his eyes by now. Maybe the sensed his wish to die or maybe they sense he was guilty about not being guilty. Whichever he wouldn't open his eyes, the younger one side.
“Get security in here, we'll be moving him to a new room today,” the younger one said.

A new room meant they were sending him in the rooms with the others who have experienced this phenomenon. He kept his eyes closed, he knew the young doctor was still in here. He could feel his phantom like presence hovering over him. He was checking his life signs by observation. Perry just continued to keep his eyes closed, and in no time he would be moved. He would be moved and he would be more comfortable, obviously, with his “crazy” friends. Then again he had never met any of the men who had experienced the torture before. So he only wondered what this new room and this new maddening life would be like.

It only took a few minutes before he opened his eyes because he had the uncomfortable feeling of someone large and meaty touching him. He stared eye to eye with the security guard the security guard had brown eyes, how homey and comfortable those brown eyes look. They reminded him of a warm, soft turd, freshly shat out. While he was trying to die even when clearly alive and healthy the security guard and the two doctors were strapping him in a tight bonds to make sure he was clear to move into a room.
What did they think, he was going to scratch them or something. They took him through three locked doors with only one when of getting in medical personal ID cards, he thought it was pretty unnecessary what are bond “crazy” people going to do, run away. Well it was clear they somehow had inhuman abilities to break bondages and run away.

A blinding light enter his eyes and suddenly he was in a white room. With other grown men sitting the floor like two years old. There was no furniture and only soft carpet. There were no windows, just really bright and white walls. He had a vague feeling someone brought him here, but the funny thing was that he couldn't remember.
But he should remember, he was wide awake, he stared into someone's eyes. He even made a joke about them he thought.
“They were bl...br...blue...the eyes were br...the eyes were blue,” he said.
Suddenly he was greeted by long slender legs, a nurse bent down. She had golden blond hair and smiled at him.
“Welcome to the special room...I have your charts, you are Perry and are suffering from scratching,” the nurse paused, “You naughty scratcher...I'm Pam.”
“Did they give me anything drug wise?” Perry asked.
“Oh no...that wouldn't help the healing process,” the nurse replied with a giggle.

“I can't remember the people who brough me in here,” Perry said, “The eye color that I made a joke about was bl...br...blue.”
“Aww, thats sweet,” the nurse said.
Then she walked off leaving Perry for who knows how many elasped minutes. Then as Perry tried to remember the nurse he had talked to before.
“Pa..Patricia,”

Why couldn't he remember her name? It was only a few minutes ago, wasn't it. And why hadn't these grown moved an inch. Other nurses were passing by, but he hadn't realized that until now. Why hadn't he realized that? All the nurses seemed heavily makeuped with really rosy cheeks. They were young and cheerful.
Another few minutes of elasped time and Perry couldn't remember what the nurses looked like and he hadn't realized it wasn't so busy with nurses either.
“They aren't watching us any more newcomer,” said a voice, the voice sound scratchy and dry probably from heavy drinking.
“Who?” Perry asked.

“The nurses they aren't watching us any more...names Holsey,” he said.
“Perry,” Perry paused, “I can remember my name, but of the minutes that have elasped I cannot, are they sure they didn't give me a drug?”
“No drugs, drugs don't help the healing...or that is what they say, but it sort of happens to all of the newcomers even myself and not minutes of time elasped hours of time...I don't understand time in this place don't at all,” Holsey said, “Don't even know why I am in this god for saking place..shit I'm not even crazy...my wife put me in here when we divorced she said that divorcing her was crazy.”
“Strangers don't usually just spew out information...”
“Real cute thinking, but we ain't strangers...you know why because no matter if you are healed or not they won't let you out, so we alls family you see...I'll be your uncle Holsey,”

“We just met I can't be family,”
“Just met turns to family...ya hear me,”
Perry just stared into Holsey's eyes and Holsey stared back. Holsey's eyes quivered in aggravation and fear. What did Holsey fear? It was obviously not him, who would fear Perry. What information did Holsey hold? Why did Holsey speak to him?
Another presence came behind Perry and Perry turned his head slightly. He saw a big muscular man, he had dark skin and a bald head.
“Forgive Holsey...he's as mad as they, well half as mad as they come Jamie is more mad then he is,” the man said his voice rich and deep like silk chocolate.
“And you are?” Perry asked.
“Foster,” he said.
“I'm...” Perry began.
“Heard already...we can't speak much when the nurses are here...they are afraid we would be conspiring against them...right now its their lunch time and people rarely come through best time to talk,” Foster ended.
“Talk about what?” Perry asked.
“Why you here?” Foster replied.

Perry looked at Foster and Foster looked back. It was almost like language here. The insane's eyes told more then their words did. They trusted each other's eyes more then there words. Because the truth was you couldn't really trust the words of someone suffering from meglomania, now could you. Of course Foster probably wasn't suffering from meglomania. His eyes told Perry a sane story of a man who had become lost and depressed, but gained strength to live.
There was no need for Foster to be in here any more. That is what Perry got from his eyes, Foster was the sanest of them all.
“I see the flesh phenomenon,” Foster said.
Perry just nodded.

“That's why we are all in here...its like they are trying to keep us from the others..like they know something,” Foster paused, “This is what we call the Phantom Room...the only place that you'll few like minutes are passing by in truth hours, you'll never remember what you ate for lunch and when you try remember its something opposite of what you ate...the nurses so beautiful like phantoms.”
Perry looked at Foster and Foster seemed to smile smoothly and calmly. Something you don't see ordinarily with a man surrounded by the crazy. Foster gave Perry a look to follow him. Foster moved cautiously on the floor, it look awkward to him like a baby, but Perry could see a reason for it. If the nurses were watching they would notice men getting up and standing. And if they were trully phantoms that believed they were conspiring against them standing up may seem like the move they would make. Foster escorted Perry to a sixteen year old kid in the corner, so young, but so here. Why so young?

“This is Jamie...he's a nibbler as they say,” Foster said.
Perry looked at Jamie and saw the evidence of being a nibbler. Part of his pinky was missing as if something had bitten it off.
“We have a newcomer Jamie,” Foster said.
“We all are running about when the swing fell right underneath the taco stand and the bear claw came running down the pond,” Jamie said talking to the corner.
“Um he's talking to?” Perry asked.
“One of his friends,” Foster said.
“He's so young,” Perry said.
“Not as young as you think...he's twenty before you say anything about sixteen...my mistake as well, until I took a look at his charts,”
“You read others...”
“Yes,” Foster paused, “Well you're the fourth.”
“The fourth?” Perry asked.
“Everyone else who has come in here suffering from the flesh phenomenon has either been miraculously cured because they found god or they died the first night sleeping here as they had a mental breakdown...all day in fetal position they would be rocking themselves and they just kill themselves at night...or they stay here for a few months and then they found society and god,” Foster paused, “But Holsey and I even Jamie have been here for six months, have not found society and have not died...you are the fourth because you are moving around and I believe you won't find society either.”

Foster stared at Perry again and then the doors opened. The nurses came back in and then they all just sat like statues, well except Jamie who just sat in the corner mumbling and jumblingd to one of his imaginery friends. Then something poked in his mind, why could he remember their names? The men he greeted just now, how could he remember their names? But not Patricia's name. What was the difference?
Suddenly a couple of guards walked in.
“Lunch time,” they said to the group.
They were rounded up like cattle into the cafeteria and then the guards left. They were alone again, and then Perry tried to remember were he was. Foster had given it a peculiar name, but he couldn't remember. He couldn't even remember the names on the badges of the security gaurds. There were two doctors in the room, had they been escorted by the guards. Why couldn't he remember? Why could he only remember things he really didn't want.
Perry really did wish he died last night, this was worse then living. To never remember what happened just a few seconds ago.

Foster eyed him curiously as they sat down with whatever food they chose. Hosley had a roll and some soup, Foster a ham sandiwhc, Perry[himself] meatloaf and Jamie a ham sandwich. Foster must have helped Jamie along.
Perry found his behavior of accusing and searching peculiar, this was not him. This was not. Then why was it him at the moment. Then suddenly Perry saw on the doctor's tag a bunch of numbers 9289. He liked the combination a lot. It just ringed in his head 9289. 9289. 9289. 9289. 9289. He just wanted to repeat it over and over again.
The millions of things he could do with this combination 9+2+8+9=9289. 9 x 2 x 8 x 9= 9289. Oh, the way it jungled in his mind. He liked this combination and he mustn't forget it. He mustn't. If he repeated it enough he surely would remember.

And here is half of Chapter 2...not finished yet though:

Chpt 2
We had written our religious marks on the wall, to be able to remember who we were. A sudden flash of a wall painted white with three gold symbols appeared. The marks themselves just looked like snowflakes, but whatever floated their boats. Though it seemed odd to him that he couldn't clarify if he were alive, dead, or dreaming.
And then they took our religious marks, and stained our wall with the blood of our people. A sudden flash of the last woman wounded clutching onto the wall leaving just her four fingers as a mark. And then one night those symbols came back painted on the blood of our people, no one would do such an unholy disgrace. Only those who didn't understand our religion or didn't believe would disgrace the dead like that. Who can bring back peace? Who can bring our people back?
Suddenly he felt a prickling feeling on his adbomen, it better not be one of those weird moments like they always do in those weird horror stories. He looks up and noticed he's pregnant or something. No instead he looked down and saw nothing. He then realized now that he awake, but how. He still felt as if he were in a dream, but he was awake which surprised him the most. He still felt the prickling and then looked down, maybe it still was a dream.
He then noticed a paper doll walking on his abdomen, oh god it was a dream still. The paper doll looked like a king, he wore a nicely drawn hat, had a nice mustache, a smiling face, cartoonish eyes, and a pretty nice representation of mid evil king dress.

“Then the pilot came down and the bar is open late, while the pool is full,” the king said.
If this was his dream, then his dreams should be more coherent then that. He didn't understand how a king would be talking about a pilot, when there were no planes in his time, a bar, and a pool. He then realized a scrawny thing figure in the tiny crack. He had frogotten he had been living in the Phantom room, that he and three other men had been cramed into a small room with thin cracks seperating their boundaries of the bed.
He had forgotten for a moment the annoying snoring of Holsey, the dead like posture of Foster, and the odd mumbles of Jamie. Just for a moment, until he realized why the king talked such nonesense.
“Jamie is that you?” Perry asked.
“Then Sam Wicky came over funy shaped boxes, Hawai has a lot of those gummy bears,” said the familiar voice in the dark.
“Yeah its you...get off of my stomach, what are you doing with paper dolls?” Perry said.

“I made them at the snowflake festival down in old, CDs are half price these days,”
“Wait Snowflake Festival? That's in New Zealand.....oh, god don't tell me I was dreaming about that dumb ass play back at the Snowflake festival..see what happens when you play paper dolls on my abdomen,”
Perry sat up from the bed and used his hand to clear Jamies away. It didn't exactly bother Jamie, he just moved the paper dolls to the edge of his bed. Perry watched him for a moment he realized at the crack of the door, which he could see clearly from the end of the room, that lights were being turned on. It was almost time for them to wake up anyway. So Perry didn't try to go back to bed. Forgetting and memoring was becoming almost like a schedule to him, just as these guys were pretty much use to. He wondered for a second while watching Jamie, if Jamie would be a lot better out there were he could get the medicine he needed, where he could get the therapy he clearly needed. Jamie stopped and playing with the dolls, which was odd to behavior. He kind of got use to watching Jamie fiddle with something. Last night it was the god damn blanket, it was driving Perry up the wall. He just wanted to bind Jamie to the blanket.

Jamie stared at him straight in the eyes for a good two minutes. Foster and Holsey were still asleep and Perry didn't want to wake up Foster. Truth was Jamie kind of scared him a bit, especially at moments like this. Jamie turned his gazed away from him and started moving his head around and around. As if he were looking for something.
Perry watched him, he was sort of interested in this behavior of Jamie. So interested that he didn't want to bother with Foster.
“SAM!” Jamie screamed suddenly.
What the hell? Is that it? Who the hell in the world is Sam? Jamie continued just searching around the room, his eyes were in this desperate state Perry had never seen before. This was a true crazy person on the desperate edge.
“SAM, SAM, SAM, SAM!”

It appeared with each time the name was called the more desperate the name sounded. Foster eyes opened, the dead had rised, he stared off at the end of the bed. He sighed, but he was still to groggy to full get up from the bed. Foster tried to though and ended hitting his head on Jamie's bed pole. Foster rubbed his forehead.
Jamie moved from the edge of the bed to Perry and Jamie gazed into Perry's eyes. And Perry couldn't believe what he saw in the frighten Jamie's eyes. As if Jamie were looking into a world that they couldn't see.
A man in a fisherman's outfit was taking a curly haired guy with red hair into a bright dooor.

Suddenly something clawed at the back of Perry's mind. He had seen the fisherman before, in his own dreams, but Jamie was clearly awake. The fisherman had taken his numbers away. But he had seen the fisherman before he had become a part of the Phantom Room or the Flesh phenomenon. He then remembered the voice in his head. Before Foster could recover, Perry grabbed Jamie's wrist. Jamie continued his gaze.
“The man is showing you what you don't want to see, he'll take everything from you if you don't close the door,” Perry said.
“SA...”
“Close the door,”
“S.....”
“CLOSE THE DOOR JAMIE....CLOSE IT NOW!”
The door was closed and Jamie still continued his gaze at Perry. Foster was staring at the events and Hosley kept on sleeping his snores like his earplugs or something. Foster came over and stared at Perry, then grabbed Jamie for himself.

“You okay?” Foster asked.
“The big man took Sam away from me,” Jamie said.
“The big man?”
“The fisherman as I call him...I had the same thing happen to me and the numbers,” Perry said, “This man seems to take the thing that is closest to you...or that is what the voice inside my dreams had explained to me...anyway I think this man took Sam, who is Sam?”
“One of my friends, my very good friends,” Jamie replied almost as if trying to get answers himself, which Perry found another paticular odd thing.
Jamie usually forgot quite quickly, but he couldn't forget this for some reason. Perry looked at Foster.

“His imaginery friend,” Perry said.
“He ISN'T imaginery!” Jamie said.
Foster shook his head, yes. And winked at Perry a language, for some reason, Jamie couldn't understand.
“No,” he said.
The lights were turned on in the room and a bunch of pretty nurses came in. They smiled at them.
“We heard screaming did Jamie bother all of you,” the nurses said making almost like a carol out of every word.
“No...we were playing a game,” Perry said.
“We'll just take him, he'll be in the room by the time you guys are done with breakfast,” the nurse said.
“I said we were playing a game,”
“We have to make sure did Jamie is all right, after all if he screaming the way he was he is clearly needs some happy time,”
“I said we were playing a game,”
“Yes, we were playing a game,” Foster said.
“Jamie do you want some happy time with us?”
“We were playing a game...or can you guys not get that through your pretty hair sprayed skulls,”

The group of nurses were walking over. Perry needed answers and he still needed Jamie for those answers. Because Jamie was somebody who had seen the fisherman as well. He needed Jamie.
“He'll be back we promise,” the nurses said.
“We were playing a game,”
“You couldn't possibly be playing a game look, why are you protecting him then?”
“Maybe because he is innocent,”
“Don't treat him like a child, he's ill,”
“And you do nothing about it, instead you blabber about how medicine doesn't help the recovery...he wouldn't be doing the things you thought was the behavior of the crazy if you gave him medicine...anti-psychotics, he needs them,”
“Sounds like someone else needs happy time as well,”

One of the nurses breaked from the group and started coming in close. She put her hand on Jamie's shoulder and Perry's shoulder. Perry slapped the nurses across the face she fell back the other nurses looked at him almost appalled. Another nurse, stupidly enough, tried to do the same thing. She was slapped as well.
“I don't punch woman, but I'll slap them if I have to...we don't need happy time, we are clearly far more saner then you are,” Perry said, “Can your cards get clearance to the whole office?”
“Why would we answer your question?” the nurses replied.
“True,”

Perry got up swiftly and grabbed the one of with an acess card. He was able to round the woman up in the corner. He made sure it was the corner without the safety button, just in case they decided to be sneaky about. Foster woke up Hosley.
“Where are the damn dwarfs they stole my beer?” Hosley said.
“There are none,” Foster said.
“Hosley help me hold these girls,” Perry said.
Holsey came over a big burly overweight man, but he sure did make a good fence. Perry smiled a little.
“Foster, help me...get me a few straight jackets,” Perry said.
“Right away,” Foster said almost excitedly.

Ack! You did not read this thing, did you? I do have to give you credit for spell-check, but get a dictionary. 'mid evil' for medieval is just wrong. There were many other word exchanges that should be unforgivable.

I am not even going to attempt to fuss at you for grammar.

The wrong spellings and poor sentence structure prevented me from enjoying the images you presented. Where it really hurt was in seeing your people as different. I did get the sense that you were attempting to give them separate emotions and speaking styles, but nothing definite could be determined.

I assume that there was no 'Nurse Cratchet' in the group, because you have them corralled rather easily. Some description of the process of overcoming and containing the nurses would be desired. Other than that, I did accept that you were moving the story along rather creatively. You just need to accept the work that comes with the process of presenting your ideas.

This is a good first draft. It is rough and you need to polish it up a bit.

I would suggest that you read this, print it out, get a red marker and then read this and make manual corrections as you go though it.

I think you will find that you learn quite a bit doing things in that style.

All in all however it has a good story arc and concept going for it.

Well with the nurses being caught so easily I thought the idea of the nurses being to afraid to fight would work. They curled themselves in the corner and now are trapped.
The nurses made a mistake.
Its cause in the first chapter I think I hinted that the nurses were afraid of them in some way, because they are nutcases or is there something else going on?

And my characters sound different?
How?

Also I got a comment about how the dialogue sounded high schooler.


Can someone tell me if they think if the dialogue sounds high schooler?

If so what is it?

Re-post a polished draft Leaka and I'll look at it again, ok?

Keep writing your story, chapter by chapter. If grammar is hard for you to perfect, maybe leave edits for when you have grasped it. All I could offer as advice is write your chapters, but constantly read books by the best authors. You can learn how they adjust their sentences in size to fit certain events, how they mix prose, narrative, dialogue etc to give the story a nice, easy flow for the reader. Learn words, whenever you read a book, write the words you don't know down, find their meaning, and keep them logged in a folder or something. So, when you go back to edit your words, you can flick through it, and have a selection of good words to add into your story. Get some grammar books, read them as you write, and instead of going back and making changes, put what you learn into your next piece of writing. That way, your story advances, and you're constantly improving it. And by the time you get to the end, you would have learnt so much you can go back, and know exactly how you need to edit your earlier writings.

Of course, this is just the way I do it, other writers may not agree, but the most important thing is to keep advancing your story. The more you are editing, the less its advancing. A good edit can only be done once you know what it is you're actually editing.

As for the idea? I like it

I can tell you wish to emphasize the horror of the situations, so maybe add more descriptions rather than blunt narrative. Describe the smells of their anatomy, maybe the morbidity feeling your blood trickling from the wounds, and pitter-pattering onto the floor. And I didn't buy the pain coming from the crazies (good noun btw), describe the pain they felt, and how the screams sounded against the walls (just examples) the reader should be just as terrified as the victim. The pain sequences all happened a bit fast if you know what I mean.