starter for @divinediatribes
There is a moment, just after Norman wakes up in the morning, when he forgets where he is. He expects to open his eyes and see his room--the only room he ever had--and he starts to call for Mother.
But he stops. Mother is dead. He killed her. He killed seven people, the six Mother--no he--told them about, and the one that they found later. And he’s not in his room anymore.
He goes through his morning routine, the names of those seven people repeating in his mind. He remembers them now. He even remembers what he did to some of them. He brushes his teeth, showers, gets dressed, walks down to take his medication and eat his breakfast. It’s been seven years, and they only keep him locked up at night now, but they still won’t give him anything but a spoon to eat with. He doesn’t mind that. He wouldn’t mind never seeing a knife again.
He goes to the recreation area and gets one of the books from the shelves, then finds a chair by a window (full of bars, but it lets some light in). The books here are like the ones Mother let him read. Nothing filthy in them. Nothing too un-Christian. They are full of wholesome families of the sort he can’t imagine exist, but they must, mustn’t they? Or they wouldn’t be in books.
The other patients know what he did, and they don’t talk to him. Even here, he doesn’t have any friends. So he sits and reads to distract himself from those seven names repeating again and again in his mind.
