Michael Myers: Final Girl

Sad Lisa

Her eyes opened to the same white walls she had done her best to get used to. She had expected, hoped for, the death penalty however a certain doctor had intervened. He insisted that psychological damage such as she had must be studied, that she wasn't aware of what she had done. That was far from the truth. She wondered if this was his punishment for not heeding his warning. Loomis presided over her now, although for the most part, she was confined to her room alone. Isolation was something she had grown accustomed to before Michael. It wasn't an easy process the first time. The nights were the worst, but this time she wasn't waiting for someone to return to her. No one would. Days blended together as they had before but there was no sun to watch rise and fall. The only indication a day had passed was when the lights shut off and the room went from pale white to pitch black. She tried her old methods of coping and slept as much as possible, but her dreams were becoming worse than this reality. Sometimes he would come to her. Taunting. She would fall asleep surrounded by those white walls and wake in that room again, greeted by peeling wall paper and the musty scent that clung to the furniture. He was always waiting. It was like he had seen what she had done. She was riddled with guilt for each bullet she had put in Michael and he knew it. He was deep in his grave by now but she couldn't hide from him.

"He'll never forgive you," he would say, "when he kills you for it, I'll be waiting."

His attempts to poison her mind and fill her thoughts with fear were working better than she wanted to admit. Michael's death, though not permanent, had effected her badly. The image of him lying there, bleeding from wounds she had dealt haunted her. His life was the first she had ever taken and he was the one she loved the most. Even if he could forgive her, how could she forgive herself?

"We're not so different, you and I," he taunted, "in fact, maybe you're worse."

"No," she replied, "I would never do that to him."

"But you did," he said with that smile she had finally come to hate, "you did him worse. He sees you for what you really are now."

Her jaw clenched as his form crept closer. He had always loved to invade her space, make her feel small. His breath fell hot on her ear.

"A monster."

"Ms. (Y/l/n)?" A voice cut through his form and erased him from her view.

The white room fell back into place around her. She lifted her head to see a nurse standing in the doorway with a concerned expression.

"Sorry," (y/n) said quietly, "yes?"

"Dr. Loomis will be in to see you."

"In here?" She had hoped that by the time he was ready to speak to her she would get a chance to leave this room.

"Yes, given your condition, the Doctor believes it's in your best interest you stay confined," the nurse replied.

Condition? She wanted to roll her eyes, but refrained. What diagnosis had he tagged her with for her to end up here? It felt strange to be seen as dangerous, well, criminally insane. With what she had done, she wasn't surprised that was the label she was given. Still, in the time she had been there, she hadn't once given any indication she intended to continue her rampage.

"Are you okay, Ms. (Y/l/n)?" The voice interrupted.

She realized she had been staring. There was clear discomfort radiating from the young woman's body as her eyes stayed glued to (Y/n). She was afraid. (Y/n) wondered if that would be the only expression she would ever be greeted with from here on out.

"Will you excuse us?" Loomis' voice said, causing the nurse to jump.

She scurried out of the room, but allowed herself one last prying glance back before the door shut. (Y/n) didn't move from her spot on the floor against the wall. She watched him put his papers down on the small end table next to the bed. He pulled the chair they had given her out from the corner of the room and motioned for her to take a seat. She gave no response.