Facebook Popup Widget
The Scum Gentry Alternative Arts and Media.
Scum Gentry literary magazines and writing websites hub: literary fiction, horror stories, weird fiction and more...

Luna, The Rise of a Bipolar Superhero -- parts 1 - 3 - Fiction Serial by Louise M. Hart

A group of young men scurried past her. One of them deliberately knocked into an old, withered man. He had been standing dormant on the pavement looking up at the sky, as though only it and it, alone could offer him a solution to whatever big question his mind posed. Luna rushed to help the elderly man.

The world became green. Luna opened her mind, heart, soul, and finally her mouth and screamed, as no human had ever screamed before. Passersby covered their ears and fled. But Luna remained, her flailing arms reaching for something, a semblance of accessible materiality to make her feel real. She screamed and did not stop.

Minutes later, sirens announced the police’s arrival. They battled her to the ground, like a perilous criminal. Clearly, she was as mental as a kettle, madder than the porkpie hat to which she clung, like a child to a favourite teddy bear. Like all mad people, she needed to be locked up, thrust into a prison cell and forcibly taken to a place of safety.

The officers asked her what her name was, but still she screamed. So cursing loudly, they drove as fast as regulations would allow them to, to the police station and handed her over to their colleagues.

“...Mad fucking bitch,” said the more affable of the two.

The mad fucking bitch spent the next 10 hours bouncing off the cell walls. First the back wall, then the front. Her body became as bruised as an apple, decaying from the inside out. The world had bitten into and spat her out, like a nasty taste. Peeping into the cell a police constable sniggered, at least she had stopped screaming. He unlocked the door and let a doctor enter.

Consultant psychiatrist, Dr Sing smiled at Luna. “What is your name?” He asked. In seconds he grew from his usual height until his head touched the ceiling and then, became as small as a dwarf.

“Alice,” Luna replied.

Part 3

The Lunatic’s Fringe

The ambulance stopped outside Arkingham Asylum. Designed to terrify all those who entered, the building was a vision of ingenious Brutalism. The mere sight of it induced alienation. A tower block of forbidding darkness, it drained the light from all those who dared to look upon its fortified walls and peep through its barred windows.

Luna entered Arkingham handcuffed and as compliant as an infant in arms. Her head bowed and her ears shut out the sound of screams that bellowed across the courtyard. The police officers grabbed her arms and led her to the door. They dragged her inside.

Luna screamed and the police dropped to the floor, clasping their ears. The sound of her pain was like a thousand finger nails sliding down a chalk board, each one wrenching out their tears behind it. “Shut the fuck up,” the officers screeched in unison, gyrating on the ground, like women about to birth triplets. Luna opened the asylum door and a security guard grabbed her.

“Alright love,” She said to the woman, “I won’t resist you.” The police officers burst through the door, thanked the security guard and pushed Luna along a matrix of corridors until they arrived outside May Ward, the secure or lock-up ward.

“You’ve got a right one here,” Said the youngest officer, releasing Luna’s handcuffs and handing her to the care of the nurses inside. “Got any paracetamol, love?” When the police had left, the nurses strip searched Luna and shone torches up every orifice of her body.

“My fanny’s twice the size of my back passage,” said Luna, “You’d better have another look.” The nurses gave Luna a collection of tablets and she retired to her bedroom.

The waterproof bed sheet crinkled beneath Luna’s frail form and the air smelled of hostility. She possessed no tears and her screams were now confined to her mind. But, at least she had a bed for the night. Luna did not want to venture beyond her room. She feared those who were so mad that they were sane.

She spent the night awake. Her opened eyes stared ahead, hoping for solutions to the thousands of questions that presented in her mind. Every half hour the nurses would shine a torch through the door window into her eyes. Every half an hour she snarled back at them or covered her face with her pillow. By 7 o’clock she could hear the sounds of patients stirring, by 8 she heard shouts and screams.

At 9 o’clock a nurse opened her bedroom door and shouted, “Medication.” Luna’s mind raced, like a cerebral athlete. Her thoughts rushed between her ears, then disappeared into the ether, like the soap bubbles she blew when she was a child. Thinking hurt her, but she felt more alive than she ever had been.

She ventured outside her room and made her way to where the medication was being dispensed. “Did you sleep well?” said the nurse who slid tablets into her hand. She knew that they were aware that she had not slept and laughed. “The doctor is coming to see you soon,” continued the nurse.

Previous Page                                           Next Page