Some people are born into fortunate circumstances. Isaac was not one of them. Caught between two parents who wouldn’t have known what a civilized conversation sounded like if it struck them between the ears, and a sister that depended on him to be strong (no matter if he had been beaten bloody by his father for the second, third, or fourth time that day), Isaac had learned to dissociate himself from his circumstances at a very young age. He was enraptured by the large book of grim fairy-tales his grandmother had left with him before her passing, and while his parents argued violently in the next, dust-silted room, he would softly read them to his sister while hiding under their shared wooden bed. This became their ritual, and his escape from reality. Often he would stay up for hours and imagine himself as the main character of his own fairy-tale; that one day he would leave his malnourished, miserable existence behind; and together with his sister, would have wonderful, enriching adventures of their own. However, this future would never come to pass.
One particular night creaked on, darker than it should have been at that hour. As the eleven-year-old Isaac waited in his usual hiding place, he counted six gun shots ring out, a scream that had been cut off by the fourth, and 11 footsteps coming groggily closer before the door to his room creaked open. Black shoes let out a wail as the feet stumbled to the open window, thinking the boy had run. Isaac hadn’t dared to make a sound as they rounded back to the center of the room to set one more bulletfree. It was only when the body fell that he realized it was his father. A gunshot straight to the temple, with a note curled in their hands that only read “we have seen too much.” His mother and sister were found dead in their beds, arms crossed, each with a bullet to their hearts and one in each eye.
Foster-care did not treat him well. With the untimely and gruesome death of his family burned vividly in the back of his mind, and his father’s words weaving its way through his consciousness like embroidery, Isaac’s reality began to shift greatly. His fantasies of fairy-tales became delusions, and he would pour himself into books and memorize their stories, inserting himself into them in the process. Though he was a quiet boy, what he often said felt ‘off’ to those on the other side of his conversations. He wouldn’t sleep with the light off; the shadows had become terrifying to him; black like his father’s shoes, like the gaping holes in his mother and sisters face, like the permanent ‘O’ his sister’s mouth had stretched into, scream still caught in her throat. He’d begun to call his own shadow ‘The Wolf’, and hold his arms close to himself as though he was hiding some small animal away from the world, though there was nothing there.
His foster-guardians never said anything to anyone about the strange child they had acquired. They felt it wasn’t really their job to deal with such matters. That being said, when his second bunkmate (the first he had went missing the year before, and was never found) was discovered to be dead one morning with their eyes removed, Isaac was brought to court for first-degree murder. A successful plea of insanity has brought him to Pilgrim State Hospital, where he has now resided for a year. He believes that he is the main character and victim of his own gruesome fairy-tale. In his delusions, his shadow is the Wolf from Little Red Riding Hood, and he believes the best way to keep it from making him “see” is to devour the eyes of others (though what he is not ‘supposed’ to see, the nurses have yet to be able to excavate from him). His other delusions include a white rabbit that isn’t really there that he holds close, and will sometimes lead him around and into harm’s way. During an episode, he has claimed that the shadows have eyes, and that some people are “infected by the darkness.” His father’s note still remains firmly etched into his mind as he reaches for what strands of comfort he can find.
“I have seen too much.”
Ward - 3 ; Taken