Perfection.

So this is a one-shot that I had to write for English. I'd appreciate all feedback good and bad for this, as I want to impress my teacher. (Especially typos, spelling or grammatical, that you catch). Thanks.

※〜※〜※

"Hello. My name is Chrisette Merrick, and I'm insane."

"Could you try to elaborate on that?"

She gives an incredulous laugh, a short, hysterical sound that bubbles out before she can stop it. The woman doesn't even deny it. "Okay. My name is Chrisette Merrick, and I have an extreme case of OCD, or Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I know a lot of people our age joke about having it -- or at least they did two years ago before I came here -- but my case is serious," she intones. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things perfect. I kidnapped a classmate to make the numbers even. So here I am."

The woman, Laura, nods approvingly and calls on the next person.

"I'm Brent Tidelay, and I…"

Her eyes drift to the door as the next person starts speaking. A potted fern is on either side, a failed attempt at cheering up the sterile white room. But wait. The right one is closer than the left…

Chrisette lurches to her feet and staggers over, her frigid metal chair skidding a few inches away. The effects of the medicine they drugged her tea with are just wearing off.

"Excuse me, Ms. Merrick, please, you're interrupting the session…" the unfailingly friendly woman calls, faltering as Chrisette places her hands on the wicker basket. Instead of shifting over a couple feet like she intends it to, the plant topples onto its side. Dirt spills out onto the pristine white tiles. The plant slides out of its container. And Chrisette feels like crying.

She falls to her knees to scoop up the soil, ignoring the shouts of alarm coming from the workers.

"Chrissy, sweetheart, please step away from the plant."

"It's Chrisette," she snaps, ignoring the request.

Laura gently takes hold of her arm. "I-"

All she can think of is the asymmetrical scene that's being created. Panicking, Chrisette does the first thing she can think of. She flings her arm into the air to try to twist out of the woman's grasp. But she's still clutching a handful of soil; soil that's flung into Laura's face.

Everything happens at once.

Hands are everywhere, imperfect ones, grabbing her hair and messing up her clothes and spreading flaws everywhere, shoving her to the door, dragging her to a deserted corridor. They shepherd the mental patients out of the room to another just like it. All of them except Chrisette.

"Vicki, put her in the Reflection Room."

The tall, heavyset woman nods and smiles maliciously. "Gladly." She's hated Chrisette ever since she found out that she was the one who traumatized her nephew.

Contrary to its peaceful sounding name, the Reflection Room is a place dreaded by all mental patients. The walls and floor are coated with a thick layer of fluorescent pink styrofoam to prevent any sounds from escaping or self-inflicted injuries from happening. Only food at mealtimes is allowed inside -- otherwise, there's nothing for the kids to do but let their fears consume them until they are tormented into oblivion. The workers claim the room is for their charges to "reflect upon what they did wrong" when in reality it's just for the children they don't want to deal with.

"No, please, don't put me in there," she begs. But her pleas fall on deaf ears.

"In you go," Vicki declares with a smirk, unlocking the heavy metal door and shoving her inside. The ceiling has a water stain in the corner. The floor is slanted. Chrisette can feel the energy rapidly draining from her body, causing her knees to buckle. The last thing she sees before falling to the floor in a dead faint is Vicki's snarling face.

※〜※〜※

Never in her life had Chrisette Merrick been in so much agony as she is now. Slants and angles haunt her, looming and cackling and lashing at what little sanity she has remaining. It's like she's in an alternative nightmare realm, full of irregular shapes, contorted objects, staircases leading to everywhere and nowhere. Shadows invade her mind like the plague. Flames of terror flicker around the edges of her happiness, threatening to consume it all. And floating in a prominent position in the center is Vicki, her lopsided face twisted into a malevolent sneer.

Chrisette awakes with a start. She's lying flat on her back, staring up at the uneven water stain. It's taunting her. Tainting her with its imperfection. She hastily jumps to her feet, searching for a way to fix it. There is none. With a shriek of frustration, she bashes her head against the wall. Once, twice. It doesn't do anything. The styrofoam is too thick.

She begins to cry, wailing and screeching, lamenting the imperfections.

Then the screaming starts.

She screams no particular words, just sounds of hopelessness, the knowledge that she can't stop the things that question her very existence. She screams until her voice goes hoarse. Until she can no longer utter a mere whisper. Until she realizes that the only way out of this is escape.

"Please, I'm begging you, let me go!"

Chrisette tentatively peers into the hallway through the minuscule barred window in the door. A petite blonde girl is standing on the linoleum tiles, her arms being held by two workers.

"Or at least help my parents. They live two blocks away on Elwood Street, above the Kilmed Bookstore and Cafe. They're really nice -- they take in just about anyone who needs work and a place to sleep -- and now their store is struggling. It's a great place. It just needs some organization and cleaning. I was their only worker, and now they're in desperate need of assistance. Please!"

"Do you think we should help them?" the male worker murmurs to the woman by his side.

"Natasha is a compulsive liar," she hisses back. "Don't listen to her."

"Yes, but that bookstore exists! It's all true. I've seen it myself."

"All of it except for one fact. The Kilmeds aren't her parents. She's trying to make us used to the idea of doing things for her so she can get more favors later on. I know it's your first day, so let me give you some advice. Kids. Are. Evil. Watch how I handle it." Chrisette looks on as the woman turns to the girl and starts talking at a normal volume. "Yeah, well, when we get to the cafeteria, your real parents will decide if you can leave or not. Oh and Buzz, go get Chrisette."

Of course! She begins to smile. Each year, everyone's parents come to the asylum and decide to either pay for another year or bring their child home with the help of progress reports. Since the worker in charge of her is new, she might be able to manipulate him.

Lost in her scheme, Chrisette doesn't notice the man coming until he's almost at her door. She hastily throws herself to the back corner and sits down with her legs tucked under her.

"Um… are you Chrisette Merrick?" Buzz asks, cautiously stepping inside.

She nods and smiles warmly. "Don't worry, I won't hurt you. I'm just the neat freak."

He sighs quietly in relief. "Thank- I mean, I wasn't worried. I doubt you could hurt me." He tries to give a condescending laugh, but an undercurrent of fear still belies his tone.

"Yep, sure. So should we get going?"

"Oh, um, yeah. Wait. Where… er…"

"To the cafeteria." She answers his unspoken question with a sympathetic smile. "New to the job?"

"First day."

"I see. Well, I'll need the payment form, the release form, and my progress report."

"Oh yeah. I… uh… um…"

"The payment and release forms are both on green paper, and the progress report is on pink," she prompts him.

"Oh right! We covered those in training. I know I have them somewhere…" When Buzz turns away from her to look through his bag, Chrisette slips the pink paper from his pocket. She quickly withdraws her hand as he turns back to search his pockets. "I found the forms, but not the progress report."

"That's fine," Chrisette answers quickly. "My family doesn't even look at them. They have their own method of deciding."

"That's good, but I still-"

"Do you really want to get in trouble on your first day? Besides, my parents won't care," she wheedles.

"Alright, fine," he capitulates. "Then let's go."

※〜※〜※

Chrisette comes to an abrupt stop as they're walking to the cafeteria side by side. "I need to tie my shoe." She bends down with her back to him, discreetly deposits the crumpled progress report behind a trash can, then ties the laces of her soft rubber sneaker. "Okay. Ready."

When they reach the massive room, Buzz gives the forms to her parents' maid then leaves Chrisette to talk to her alone. "Hey, Sophie. Were Mom and Dad busy again?" She barely waits for a nod before continuing. "Well, I'm ready to go home. I really improved -- that's why there's no progress report; it's only for the bad stuff -- and the doctors say I'm cured!"

Sophie winces. "Yeah, about that. I'm so sorry Chrisette, but your parents think you're bad for their image. That's why my signature is on your forms. They're providing the money for this and asking me to handle the paperwork so it looks like they have nothing to do with it."

She reels back, stunned. "So… so I can't come home?"

The young woman shakes her head. "I'm sorry."

Chrisette had always known her parents are important, but she never thought they didn't want her. Now she knows. With watery eyes, she places the payment form in front of Sophie.

"I know how hard it is to hear that," Sophie murmurs, signing the paper then tucking her pen back in her purse. "I really am sorry."

Chrisette takes the forms without a word and walks away, blinking back tears. "Who cares if they think I'm a failure? I can have fun by myself. I have freedom now. Freedom," she repeats, a smile tugging on her lips. The now independent teenager hands in her signed release form and heads for the door. While tying her shoe, she had also ripped out the signature section on the payment form in case she couldn't go home, and put the release form underneath. Sophie signed that instead without even noticing. That's one of the perks of having OCD -- perfecting the art of ripping a straight line.

The bookstore in desperate need of someone with organizational skills like her will be her first stop, Chrisette decides. Then, who knows? She might even try to start a business. Her optimism is certainly high enough to attempt it, because with her freedom she finally received what she'd been looking for.

Perfection.

※〜※〜※

So this is double the maximum amount of pages… I'll write super small on my final copy but I'd appreciate if you let me know about any unnecessary parts. Thanks.

 

Oh yeah and it's a little boring because I couldn't have anything too dark or bloody. Sob. I wanted murder in it. So sorry for that.