When my brother and I were young, we were sentenced to an asylum; our dumb parents thought that would help us… and it did but just not in the way they hoped. We learned new, better, more creative ways to harm ourselves and others.
We decided to re-visit our old haunt but we thought it’d be safer to go at night when it wasn’t as well staffed. They drug you at night; during the day is when you cause trouble. When we drove up, everything was dark and the building barely stood upright. Windows, walls, and doors were missing. We investigated the debris with our flashlights. There were toothbrushes by the sinks as if everyone had been unexpectedly interrupted in their routines.
It seemed like fire was the cause of the destruction. There was one place that we had to check for old time’s sake: a trap door in the floor. It creaked a little, then broke, as we removed the lid. When I shined my light down below, I saw a skeleton. My brother and I laughed because it had a name tag; and the only people who wore badges were nurses. We strained to read it: R-e-b-a. That was the head nurse!
We looked up at each other and instantly knew what had happened: no one knew about the trap door except patients, and that fire had been set on purpose, most likely to cover up dear old Reba’s death. We looked a little further and could see a few patients’ bracelets. “We finally revolted,” my brother said. I told him that it was a shame that we hadn’t been a part of that; but, we did our legacy…and that’s for another time. We walked out of the abandoned building and said, “Keep it tip-top,” which was Reba’s motto.
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