They say you go crazy out here, but he hadn't thought it was true. Sure, the moon sucked, but at least there was a way off of it. And if there was a way out then you weren’t locked in.

Fuck this place, he thought. There was a time that he could come and go as he pleased. Back when he had a real job and a spaceship. But now he was stuck mining moon dust. What a madhouse, this place. They call it an opportunity when they invite you in, but it turns into a prison when you’re forced to stay. Fuck Mars, too, he spat.

It was the hundredth run of the day. The Lunarcrete-making machines had needed new blades so many times today that he had lost count. Hundredth time was an exaggeration, he knew that, but he didn’t actually know how many times he been out between sunrises. When the sun doesn’t set like it does on Earth, one day runs into another. One day is thirty days, give or take. And you lose track of time. Did people even have birthdays on the moon? He wondered. Holy shit, have I been here longer than I think I have? Had it been a month, or was it more like a year?

As his vehicle drove between the grey dust of buildings to the grey dust of the mine, Mac felt even more disoriented. The humps of the Lunarcrete buildings without windows looked just like the hills in the distance. Was he going the right way? He wasn’t even driving, of course it was the right way. The grey of the ground blended into the black sky, and for a mining repair guy like him, everything was grey. They say you go crazy out here, he thought. I might be going colorblind, but I’m not crazy.

Mac made it to the mine and the equipment that was stalled, cutting shapes out of the pressed Lunar dust that could be moved and used for constructing new buildings. He carefully used his tools to remove and replace the blade before switching on the robot again. Job done, he got back in the vehicle, back through the grey emptiness, and back to the grey inside, and back to the grey of his sad life.

"I gotta get off this rock," he said. "Before I really go crazy, I swear. I gotta get off this damned moon before it kills me." He looked at his head-up display for what was in his bank account. It was still not even half the amount needed for a ticket off. He had to find another way to escape this greyness.

Mac usually turned to Mary Jane for solace, but after his shift now he needed something stronger. He went to his regular spot where he went to get into trouble, the Irish pub. The standing bar tops were full tonight, each person zoned out on their personal head-up display. People weren’t here to socialize, just drink until they passed out enough to go to sleep. The sounds of people snorting and burping filled the air and matched the smell of BO and flat beer. No one paid him any attention as Mac discretely asked the bartender for something “with a little more umph”. The bartender obliged, but not without making a mental note to add Mac’s face to the list of those that might not make their shift tomorrow. If he didn’t, there’d be hell to pay.

“Don’t worry about me, man,” he responded to the bartender’s gaze of don’t fuck up and blame me.

Mac placed the fragile piece of paper laced with his escape on his tongue, closed his eyes, and inhaled through his nose deeply. The crazy swept right out of him, and the grey jumpsuits that stood around him started to turn purple and red. Color sprang into his eyes, swirling and blending the lines of faces and objects together. Yes, he thought, this is pretty.

Escaping to the many rooms your mind has created just for you. You get to choose if, or when, or how long, you stay in that room. Sometimes it’s a madhouse that you seldom escape from. A young man going through his own person hell says to me. “You can’t fix crazy.” I pause for a moment taking it in, I beg to differ. You can fix what is broken because nobody’s perfect. It’s in that perfection that we create our own madhouse. It’s up to you to find the strength to leave that broken place and bring yourself back to reality no matter how hard it’s going to be. You have to fight for you because you are your own champion. Be that healer, the hero of your own madhouse, and declutter any and everything that is not working for you.

Escaping the Madhouse

I yawned and stretched my arms. “Today is the day Toby!” I sit up and look over at him, “I am going to get out of here.”

“Come get breakfast,” Mrs. Rachel calls. I always loved that name, it was my mom’s name. I walked to the dining hall and took a seat at the table. My meds were already waiting for me. I only take them so that the nurse will put chocolate chips on my pancakes. As I waited for my pancakes I overheard the nurses talking.

“Rob I am telling you he needs a different medication he’s getting worse.”

Rob is our other nurse, he never listens to Rachel, but I don’t blame him. They always have something to fight about. Toby and I think that it’s very unprofessional, but we don’t say anything.

The nurse brought out my pancakes and then went back into the kitchen. Then came back with Toby’s pancake. Toby only gets one pancake but he never eats it, honestly, I don’t know how he’s never hungry. I can already taste the homemade syrup and chocolate chips. Sometimes Rob will sit with us and drink his coffee before clocking out, but today he was in a hurry. He works night shifts but always seems tired. That’s okay though. I look over at Toby who hasn’t touched his pancakes.

“Hey, Toby you want to get out of here with me?” I whispered so the nurses wouldn’t hear us. He didn’t answer but I kept talking. “Look I’m going to need your help okay? You’ll have to distract the nurses while I make a run for it.”

“Hi, honey do you need anything to drink?” Mrs.Rachel asked.

“No thank you, Mrs.Rachel, Toby does though.”

“Alright,” she sighed and filled his cup with water, then walked back into the kitchen.

I ate the last piece of my pancakes and went back to my room. I listened to my clock. Tik tik tok tik tik tok. Before I knew it, it was time for my night meds. I went to the dining hall to take them. Mrs. Rachel was chopping vegetables for our dinner. I snuck a veggie into my mouth.

“Hey buddy how are you feeling today?” It was Rob. “Listen, I went to see Dr. Linza today. She prescribed a new medication for you to try.”

“No. I don’t want a new one. I want to leave.”

“But honey this is your home why wou-” Mrs. Rachel joined in.

“Rachel stop let me talk to him.”

“This is a madhouse NOT my home!” I scream while tears run down my face.

“The only thing that’s mad is you!”

“Gregory please don’t do this. Just sit down and let’s talk.” I tried to run but Rob had a tight grip on my arm.

I grabbed the first thing my hand touched and used it to separate us. The last thing I remember is the feeling of warm liquid on my hand.

I woke up in a new hospital. The walls were blank. Where were my things? Did the nurses take all my things? I find my way to the dining hall. Wow, this is different. I sat at a table in front of the TV. They had the news channel on.

This just end. New information about the gruesome homicide in the small town of Conklin. Two parents murdered by their son Gregory Lincoln. Doctors say that he was, in fact, on medication for hallucinations. However, they were ineffective and did not stop him from repeatedly stabbing his parents. Linsey live at the crime scene now…

Billy could not tear his eyes off the clock. “Tik...Tok....Tik...Tok...” The sound filled the dark cold room with an insistent resonance. When rain slashed against the window with sudden force, Billy jumped. His brain shifted into overdrive, thoughts rushing through his mind faster than the speed of light. Where are my parents, he thought to himself. He had been waiting in the empty house for over an hour trapped by the sudden storm that had swepted in from the west. The house was beggining to feel like a prison and his nerves were stretched to the breaking point. When he had agreed to housesit for his mother's friend to make a few extra bucks, he hadn't realized just how close the house was to the asylum for the criminally insane. He looked out the window through the pounding rain and shivered at the bleak grey wall of the asylum with its coiled razor wired top. It may have looked inescapable but somehow the infamous Five-o'clock Killer had slipped right through its defenses and had been on the loose for two days. Billy took a deep breath trying to calm his nerves. “Tik, tok,” the hands on the face of the old grandfather clock shifted ever closer to five. “I’ve got to stop staring at that clock”, he told himself. He walked into the foyer to clear his head. “CREAK,” a small, barely audible noise came from the floor above. Billy froze, his ears strained. Was someone there, Should he check it out?  What if it was that escaped killer? He shook himself and told himself to get a grip. He turned to face the stairs. His foot hesitated above the first tread. “Tik ...Tok, Tik ...Tok,” the ticking seemed to intensify, the sound swelling to fill the house. “Is anyone there?” he called. Only the ticking clock answered. A flash of light cut through the window blinding Billy as he cried with relief bolting out the door sprinting to his parent's car. He felt like he had just escaped a madhouse. Inside the clock struck five. Upstairs in a tight prison jumpsuit a hand let the curtain drop as the car speed off. "Next time, "rasped the five-O'Clock Killer with a smile.