Iron Quill (Honesty) Insomnia

[Brewmaster]

“You’ve got a lot to learn about how it’s done around here.”

 

Adam snapped awake with a panic drenched sweat. His short raspy breaths scraped against his ears as he tried to calm the terror clawing at his heart. The fibers of the thin blanket covering his form scraped against three day old stubble as Adam brought his knees to his chest, rocking slightly on the flimsy metal cot.

 

His mind was a patchwork of barely sewn together thoughts, held together by fraying strings. He knew he was in an asylum room. His wrists and ankles were rubbed raw by restraints he apparently needed. His unkempt hair snaked down to his shoulders in oily vines. A blade of moonlight provided a silhouette of 6 tin trays stacked up with the stagnant stench of half-eaten food. “Alright… so we’re here… question is, why?” Adam commented to himself, the drumbeat of his heart finally settling.

 

“Oh come now, surely you remember the deaths, yes?”

 

Adam’s eyes darted around the room frantically, looking for the voice that had spoken to him a second time. The voice had a coldness to it, some catalyst that brought his fear boiling to the surface. Adam scrabbled backward on the bed, pressing his back up against the stone wall. Adam’s muscles tensed in anticipation of flight, ignoring how unreasonable escape was in this stone room. Adam’s panic congealed all the more as the minutes ticked by with the sound of his breath being Adam’s only companion. His heartbeat kept the minutes that passed with an erratic tapping. As he waited for what would come, only one thought crossed his mind.

 

Where’s that blade?

 

Adam snapped awake again with the taste of wood in his mouth. He found his arms pinned against his chest in a straight jacket. Standing near the door to Adam’s room was a priest, weathered by old age. The priest smoothed his bone white mustache to one side as he inched inward, keeping his attention locked on Adam. “Can we get the bit out of the boy’s mouth?” The priest asked out into the hallway. “If I’m giving him his rites, he might as well talk back.”

 

“I don’t know why I’m here.” Adam blurted to the priest as the gag was taken out, earning a guffaw from the asylum guard before he left Adam and the priest in the room.

 

“We’ve had this talk a couple of times boyo.” The priest began with a dejected punctuation to his words. “Honestly I don’t know if even I have the patience for it any more. Now, we need to see about at least getting you some solace in the next life.” Adam’s fists balled up as he strained against the straight jacket.

 

“Why am I here?!” Adam insisted, wild eyes begging the priest for some sort of help. “I’m being held against my will, is that it? They’re threatening you maybe? Please Father provide some…”

 

“YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE OF MURDER!” the priest shouted, the words echoing like a gunshot. The priest waved the guard away, took a deep breath, then continued. “Adam… You are here because you took a life. A precious being. You used…” The priest was fighting back tears at this point, “You used a butcher knife. And now you sit here, and claim naiveté? You claim no knowledge? Boyo they saw you do the deed! People saw you use the weapon! Might as well have been out in the middle of the street for all the good you did yourself. NOW… I am trying my hardest here to show kindness, but if you are to find peace, you need to stop this foolishness and REPENT.”

 

“He’s right you know.”

 

Adam snapped awake once more, the moonlight stabbing in through the window once again. That fearful voice was hiding in the shadows once more, that last shovelful of dirt on top of his grave. Adam’s hands were free now, and so tightly balled up, he could feel a slight trickle of blood.

 

“What are you?” Adam managed to force out through lungs grasping for air.

 

“Wrong. See, you’re asking the questions in the wrong order. No POSSIBLE way you can find the right answer THAT way. But, it’s understandable, given your condition. Let me assist. The first question you should ask is ‘What murder?’ Learning why you’re shackled should tell you where the stress points of the shackle are.” The voice replied, standing just at the edge of the light but not quite showing the figure attached to it. Adam finally let his hands relax, calming his instinct and trying to think.

 

“Alright. I killed someone with a butcher’s knife. The priest seemed upset, so someone innocent?” Adam pondered out loud.

 

“Hardly a common commodity in this town, but reasonable.” Was the response.

 

“Did I smith it? I mean I do makes tools occasionally, but the only smithing jobs I had recently were horseshoeing. No reason to make anything bladed.” Adam questioned, venturing to stand on the cold stone floor with bare feet.

 

“It IS curious, isn’t it? And to murder someone that innocent with WITNESSES around… Seems like everything that could go wrong did. Awfully sloppy for someone who prides themselves on precision.” The fear that the voice brought was starting to leave. Adam took a tentative step forward, his curiousity starting to take hold.

 

“Yes. No family history of delirium, no history of opiates. There’s no logical reason why I would have lost it so.” Adam commented, staring into the dark, trying to make out some form in that inky shadow of a corner.

 

“There ya go. Now… time for your last meal.”

 

Adam snapped awake to another tray of food being slid in under the door, along with a small bottle. “Looks like you got a guardian angel who wants you to die happy. Pretty decent scotch there. And fresh cooked pork too!” The guard laughed. “Hope you don’t mind me helping myself to a bit. After all, you ain’t gonna be needing any food in 4 hours anyway are ye?” The guard slammed the slat closed and whistled as he clacked down the hallway.

 

Adam lunged forward, his body overtaken by the need for food. The guard had left him the scraps of what looked like pork and fresh bread and a half bottle of scotch. As he devoured the food, Adam recognized a smell, one that held a valuable meaning to him. The murky haze of memories lifted slightly at the smell of cracked peppercorns. “Phineas.” Adam muttered. The butcher that handled essentially all the meat in Adam’s section of town. The man who donated good cuts of meat to those in need, and was practically a saint as far as most people were concerned. Adam lurched back as he felt the blood drip off his hands to the ground. Phineas stared at him with those surprised bright green eyes, calloused hands clutching at the knife wound in his chest.

 

Adam snapped awake to a moonlit room once again with the blanket clutched tightly around him.

 

“You’ve almost got it. Just a few steps more and you’ll be able to find the right question.” The voice called out, it’s accent reminding Adam of something he just couldn’t quite put his finger on.

 

“No… this doesn’t makes sense. We were friends.” Adam muttered, the remorse wrapping around him nearly as tightly as the blanket.

 

“Well, why do you have the blood of your friend on your hands? Not exactly a normal thing to do I imagine.” The voice almost hung in the air like a frost.

 

“The drink.” Adam replied as he began pacing, the patchwork of thoughts finally beginning to sew itself back together. “I rarely imbibe, but Phineas was insistent we have a couple. He had just bought the plot next to his shop and was looking to expand business, so we were celebrating.”

 

“Still not seeing cause for death yet.” The voice offered.

 

“You see?! Someone drugged the drink! I wasn’t myself! It altered my perceptions. I don’t remember stabbing him, I just remember the blood.” Adam exclaimed, a whisp of hope appearing in his voice.

 

“But, you DO remember stabbing him. You just don’t want to think about Maggie, do you?” the sense of dread seeped back into the voice, causing Adam to shrink. “Phineas was so proud of his accomplishments. A self-made man who could afford to give away and still had so much. And here you are, toiling for every scrip you can manage, and you’ve been in the same broken down shack you started in soon as you left Earthside. Of course Maggie egged you on, but it was you who drank.”

 

“Stop it.” Adam said, putting his hands to his ears as the voice continued.

 

“You could have stopped at 2, but the more you drank, the more you thought Phineas’ happiness was pride. His accomplishments were only salt that he was all too happy to rub in your wounds.”

 

“STOP IT!” Adam shouted as he leapt, swinging wildly at the shadows. Adam connected with something solid, and felt a trickle of

blood on his fist as a shard of mirror slid into the moonlight.

 

“There’s no conspiracy here. Only jealousy.”

 

“I killed him.”

 

1544 wordcount

 

Theme (Being honest to himself)

Location (asylum room)

Quote

Item (the butcher's knife, and the moonlight)

Person (the priest, and at the end, I would argue Adam as well)