Chapter 1:
Chapter 1: the Bound Man
The 30th of February
Just as the Nurse was about to insert a needle into my vein and inject the funny chemicals into my bloodstream, I resisted and shouted: "Okay, fine. I get it now. February has 28 days, sometimes 29, but never 30. I was confused before, but I'm fine now. No more injections, please."
"I handle over 50 patients in this asylum. Every once in a while, one of you says, 'I understand,' or 'I'm okay now.' But you know what? I've been working here long enough to know it's all bullshit. You guys are crazy as hell." She pointed at a man sitting in the corner. "Do you see that man over there, the one with his hands bound behind his back? We call him the Bound Man.”
I looked in the direction her finger was pointing. Yes, there was a man in the corner. And then I looked around the room. It smelled of bleach and old metal. And the only illumination was a single flickering light bulb above our heads. The walls were padded to prevent suicide. No mirrors. No windows.
The Nurse then continued, “The Bound Man also used to tell people February had 30 days. But unlike you, he never resists the injection."
"Then why do you tie his hands behind his back?" I asked.
The Nurse moved closer. I could smell coffee and cigarettes on her breath. She whispered in my ear, "You're in trouble now. This is the punishment for resisting us."
She then stuck the needle all the way into my arm and pressed the syringe very, very slowly. The whole injection process ended up lasting three times longer, and ten times as painful as it used to be. I gritted my teeth, with my knuckles turning white. But I refused to scream. It felt like a part of me deep inside my soul was crying for help.
After making sure all the liquid was already inside my body, she took out the needle and said, “I can make it quick. And I can make it real slow. It’s all up to you. Next time if you resist again, I can reserve a whole evening just to serve you the needle.”
As soon as the Nurse left the room, the Bound Man walked up to me and asked: "What did she tell you? Was it about my release?"
"Nothing useful," I answered. But he wasn’t buying it.
"I saw her whispering something in your ear."
And at that moment, it hit me: honesty was the least important thing in this facility. After hesitating for half a second, then I said, "Alright, you got me. She did mention your release schedule."
The Bound Man's face turned serious. He said, "You shouldn't have lied. No one in this building will ever be released—not even the doctors and nurses. They're the sixth batch, and they have yet to learn their fate."
"Wait, wait, wait," I said, wanting to clarify certain things before moving on. "Why won't they release us? And what will happen to the staff?"
"I was about to invite you to our club, where we’ll let you know everything. But your performance is very disappointing. We won't let you in unless you stop lying to us."
Honestly, I didn't care about his stupid fan club at all. But out of courtesy and curiosity, I still asked, "What club is it?"
"It's the 30th of February Club. Our members are like you, who believe the month February should have 30 days instead of 28."
"I handle over 50 patients in this asylum. Every once in a while, one of you says, 'I understand,' or 'I'm okay now.' But you know what? I've been working here long enough to know it's all bullshit. You guys are crazy as hell." She pointed at a man sitting in the corner. "Do you see that man over there, the one with his hands bound behind his back? We call him the Bound Man.”
I looked in the direction her finger was pointing. Yes, there was a man in the corner. And then I looked around the room. It smelled of bleach and old metal. And the only illumination was a single flickering light bulb above our heads. The walls were padded to prevent suicide. No mirrors. No windows.
The Nurse then continued, “The Bound Man also used to tell people February had 30 days. But unlike you, he never resists the injection."
"Then why do you tie his hands behind his back?" I asked.
The Nurse moved closer. I could smell coffee and cigarettes on her breath. She whispered in my ear, "You're in trouble now. This is the punishment for resisting us."
She then stuck the needle all the way into my arm and pressed the syringe very, very slowly. The whole injection process ended up lasting three times longer, and ten times as painful as it used to be. I gritted my teeth, with my knuckles turning white. But I refused to scream. It felt like a part of me deep inside my soul was crying for help.
After making sure all the liquid was already inside my body, she took out the needle and said, “I can make it quick. And I can make it real slow. It’s all up to you. Next time if you resist again, I can reserve a whole evening just to serve you the needle.”
As soon as the Nurse left the room, the Bound Man walked up to me and asked: "What did she tell you? Was it about my release?"
"Nothing useful," I answered. But he wasn’t buying it.
"I saw her whispering something in your ear."
And at that moment, it hit me: honesty was the least important thing in this facility. After hesitating for half a second, then I said, "Alright, you got me. She did mention your release schedule."
The Bound Man's face turned serious. He said, "You shouldn't have lied. No one in this building will ever be released—not even the doctors and nurses. They're the sixth batch, and they have yet to learn their fate."
"Wait, wait, wait," I said, wanting to clarify certain things before moving on. "Why won't they release us? And what will happen to the staff?"
"I was about to invite you to our club, where we’ll let you know everything. But your performance is very disappointing. We won't let you in unless you stop lying to us."
Honestly, I didn't care about his stupid fan club at all. But out of courtesy and curiosity, I still asked, "What club is it?"
"It's the 30th of February Club. Our members are like you, who believe the month February should have 30 days instead of 28."
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