Purple’s Unusual Occupation

   I'm sure I'll survive as long as I write. Write it down, Purple. Get it out. Over the past 12 months of my life, my only goal has been to not cause harm to anyone else. I had these tendencies, these moments, where I was cruel and they began to multiply last year. You see, I felt no pain. Physically I felt amazing all the time and emotionally, no, mentally I was in control. It was like a miracle. I wasn't just in control of myself either, I seemed to control everyone around me. I didn't really understand at first, then I looked back at what had changed. I wouldn't put it together until I was out of control, until I had shared it with so many. I'll write it all down. I'll stop it from intoxicating everyone. I'll stop it because it's all my fault.

   I stared working at a very interesting place about two years ago. I had been arrested and it made finding a new job imperative to pay court costs and impossible because I was officially a low life on paper. It's right after you get out of court or out of jail that you start to consider which path you're going to go down. Every time things get hard, you get a push down the dark alley where you know things are exciting and a little bit easier. I always liked excitement. I always preferred a little chaos. Most importantly, I'm constantly pulled towards places and people who are no good. So when my parole office told me a maximum security mental institution was working with ex cons to rehabilitate them, I leapt at the job.

  "This might not be a good place for you, Purple." she tried to warn me. "Anderson Asylum is not only a dangerous place for a young lady due to the fact that it's literally filed with insane criminals, but they use controversial treatment. The work environment alone changes people. People go missing! People die there! " She cut herself off. It was like an invisible hand pinched her lips shut.

   "Then why tell me about it at all?!" I demanded, irritated as hell at the tease. She stared at me while she took three deep breaths. Her breaths were filled with intensity and what seemed to be remorse. I had planned to rant a bit more after her warning, but I was perplexed into a state of silence. What was going on with her?

   "Because I literally have to." I didn't understand. I didn't care. I didn't hesitate.

    I had almost arrived on my first day of work when the taxi suddenly jolted and stopped. A familiar feeling washed over me. You know when you're about to do something wrong, but you're pretty sure you're going to do it anyways because it's a rush? And there's electricity buzzing around in your stomach and chest? I felt that when the car stopped. We had a flat tire. I checked my watch and realized I only had 15 minutes to my shift.

   "Hey, I've got to get in there it being my first day and all. Do you need me to let anyone know you're here so they can help you?" I asked.

   "No. Send no one!" the driver insisted. "I  will be fine. Follow the road to the left when it forks and the entrance is right there." I nodded to the driver and began up the road. The feeling in my stomach was still there when I hit the fork in the road and it was about to worsen. I heard a faint whisper. I scanned the tree lines on either side of me. I had a small blade up my sleeve. I touched it a few times for reassurance but decided not to pull it out unless someone tried to touch me. I figured there were crazies upon crazies up the road and I was probably just hearing one of them.

   I passed the fork in the road and the whispering voice echoed to my left. My pace quickened with my heartbeat. I heard the whisper to my right this time. It was saying something starting with d. It was like an exhale. At this point I decided some psycho was messing with me, grabbed my knife out of my wrist scabbard, and sprinted to the gates. Each whisper became cleared and cleared the closer I got. I was almost to the gate when I felt the air from someone's mouth as they whispered a panicked, "Don't!" into my ear. I swung a closed fist around me, reaching to make contact with the perpetrator. The knife was in my other hand, pulled back and ready to slice whomever was tormenting me as I crouched on the ground. I scanned my surroundings. Nothing and no one was around me.    After I pushed my terror and confusion to the side of my mind, I realized I was armed and probably psychotic looking right in front of my new place of employment and a place that could lock me up if they wanted to. I was sunned when I check my watch.

I had five minutes until my shift started. I had not been walking for 10 minutes. Maybe this was a bad idea. I wondered if it was too late to back out. If I did, I'd violate the terms of my parole. The gates were too thick and too high to see inside. They were topped with barbwire and cameras. I wondered what they had seen. I wondered what they thought. What that voice was. A soft bell noise came from the intercom attached to the gate.

   "Welcome to Anderson Asylum. Are you checking in?"

   "Hello, my name is Ms. Push and I'm here to start work today." I desperately explained, praying I hadn't just lost my freedom.    "Please place your court order, your identification, and the knife in the basket under this intercom." Shit, I thought. Maybe it's a good thing I blew it already, I thought. I placed everything where the pleasant voice had asked me to and I waited. I scanned the tree line again. Then the gate began to open.

   "We've been expecting you, Ms. Push. Please come in."