The Russian Psychic

I was what you might call an idiot savant. My mind did not work like the others. It was deficient in some areas, but brilliant in others. They kept me here in the this insane asylum, but I was not part of the general population. Still, I liked to lounge in the hall near a small planted area and watch as the insane people passed by. One of them did not like me and on this one day, he decided to challenge me with rude words. I knew I could easily crush him with my strength. My huge male body was naturally strong and bearlike compared to this thin little spastic man. I knew I should ignore him, but today he had hurt my pride and I got up and spoke words back to him. Suddenly, he jumped on me attacking and biting. But I did not want to fight him.

Guards sprang into action and pulled him off and no one was seriously hurt, but from that day forth, I was banned from that area of the ward. I was too valuable for my life to be risked in that way and so I was disconsolate. I knew in my heart that the incident was my fault. The crazy man had sensed my pride and that had triggered his attack. I could not blame him as he was crazy, after all, and I was not like him. I knew better. If I had controlled my pride, it would not have happened. Now I was no longer allowed to go to the only place I liked, the only place where life throbbed around me. I was disconsolate.

The officials were concerned about my sadness and so they prepared a special room for me to try to make me feel better. The room had many tables and small machines and some tapestries and a nice new expensive grey carpet. They presented it to me with great fanfare, but to me it was dark and dead. Lifeless. I hated the room and continued to be disconsolate.

At times, me and others were expected to gather in the room together. The others were psychics, specially trained and regularly practicing their skills. They were proud of what they did and often spoke of it. I was glad they had this important job and they did seem to like what they did, but I did not consider myself one of them. I did not understand their training and I did not speak with them about what it was like to have this job called 'psychic.' They were different than me, of that I was sure.

We spent most of our time in the building that contained the insane asylum but once in a while, they would take me out in a car, late at night, to visit someone or do something. The streets would be deserted and dead around me as we usually traveled at weird hours. I remember when I would return from these trips, I could see the outside of the facility. It was only about two stories tall and reminded me of a 70s style movie theatre with swooping stylish curves. It seemed an unlikely place for a secret government psychic program.

One time, I was taken to a large factory with many long work tables and workers milling around working hard, and a woman that was one of my overseers led me to a table with some machine parts on it. One was a canister shaped piece of metal and she asked me to pick it up and hold it in my hands. As I held it, I said, "Falls apart after 300 tries." I would say these things with little understanding of how or why. They would just sort of spill out of my mouth unbidden. I didn't even understand what they meant, but the woman was angry now, not at me but at someone else. She snarled to the man near her, "We are NOT buying them! Did you think you could fool me?" And then she led me out. My task was over already. I was glad because I did not like the feeling of anger and tension in that place.

Occasionally, I would linger by a back door in the facility above the insane asylum. I could feel with my mind that the burning life giving sun was behind that door. The door was locked, but I knew I could easily escape if I felt like it. They could not hold me against my will and often I dreamed of being in the outside. But always, I decided against it. They would hunt me and track me and I would have no kind of good life. I would not have food and I did not have the skills to survive on my own out there. I knew I would not succeed. So I allowed them to think they contained me, that they held me captive, and I stayed in their facility, even though I often did not like it.

One day, I was doing something else when something caught at my my mind and I came running as fast as I could towards that door. The door was open and my friend was leaving, the only friend that I really cared about and that really cared for me. I ran through the open door and screamed "Natasha! Natasha!" as anguish oozed from every pore of my soul. How could she leave me!

She was walking away rapidly. They had thought they could have her sneak out but of course I knew. She turned now and looked genuinely sad in her tight grey skirt suit and beautiful blond hair, as she told me in a pinched voice that she would return later. But I knew she was only saying that. In truth she had little knowledge of her future assignments. I might not ever see her again. The sadness overwhelmed me.

End dream.