Travesty

By Adam Stewart

Zachary Brawler
is a man who has it all, a loving
wife, a beautiful young son, and
a respectful position at his law
fi rm, Jackson Law. On a verge
of self-awareness, his world
soon goes to ruin, spinning his
life into total mayhem. Finding
himself in the most notorious
asylum in the United States,
Can the deranged man survive
his own inner demons while
fi ghting the sadistic nurses in
Afterdark Asylum? Or will he
succumb to a bitter end in his
own prison?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469149660

Adam Stewart

Adam Stewart, born in West Virginia, began writing at an early age of ten. Fascinated by the genre of horror and fantasy, he began writing short stories and poems that signified these traits. At the age of 18, the young author began writing his first book, Travesty. He still resides in West Virginia where he is attending college in becoming a nurse.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

What is the difference between sanity and insanity? What makes a sane man cross the seemingly unnoticeable threshold into insanity? Some people say there is small thread-like line between the two, as easy as breathing to stumble and fall into oblivion. When a person crosses that line, they may never be able to cross back over to the other side. My name is Zachary Brawler and this is my story of how a man can deceive himself and others around him into crossing the otherwise invisible line.

I have been in this stinking asylum for seven years now, thinking of my life and how I ever got in Afterdark Asylum. All the medication my sadistic doctors forced into me has made my fragile mind a little warped and my memories fade into the endless darkness of my subconscious. I was not always living in the pits of my own prison. My memories of my partially erased life have been abruptly obscured from my ruthless treatments over the years. I can only tell you what I believe as of late.

I was originally born in a little town called Winchester in Catawba County, North Carolina. I am the son of Adam Lee Brawler and Ruth Katherine Wensley. I have no recollection of my father, he died in a tragic car wreck when I was two years old, leaving me and my mother in this pathetic joke called life to fend for ourselves. I guess some things in life are not always fair nor are they pleasant… I am getting off the subject, where was I? Oh yeah, the crooked agency I worked for before everything went to shit.

I was actually a well known lawyer or attorney at law to some, treated more than an equal to my peers and adored by my friends and colleagues. I lived in a blue two story house with blue shutters located in Dunklin, Missouri. Protect the Innocent was the well respected law firms, Jackson Law, motto. But behind closed doors the motto mysteriously changes to Win At All Costs, which is what my boss screams to me every waking hour of the day.

Jackson Law was a mediocre two-bit firm just ten miles from my last real home in Missouri. This is where I attended law school and met my wife, Elizabeth, working at a fast food restaurant one day after college. When my tinted, brown eyes met her smoky blue ones in that nearly vacant restaurant, I knew she was the one I yearned for; the one I saw myself growing old with and filling my life with love and happiness for years to come. And so it came to be. We soon began talking and eventually fell deeply in love, getting married after just a year of knowing one another, but when you know, you know. After I graduated law school, I went to Jackson Law Firm to see if they were hiring. With my new love and a baby on the way, I was willing to do everything in my power to get any position at Jacksons, even a mailroom boy. I remember the day as if it were yesterday…

I walked through the doubled, Plexiglas doors with nothing but excitement and determination glowing on my clean shaved face as I held tightly and nervously on my portfolio and resume in my right hand. I made my way confidently to the front desk where an attractive blond-haired woman, wearing hot pink lipstick, sat painting her nails. I stood there for several moments, wondering if she even worked here at all. I cleared my uncongested throat to get her attention from her slender fingers. Can I help you, she said uninterestingly, still painting her middle finger without looking up at me. I shook my head to rid my nostrils from the bitter fragrance of the nail polish surrounding me. Yes, my name is Zachary Brawler. I have an appointment to see Howard Jackson for a job interview. She let out a long dull sigh as she pushed a button on the two-way telephone resting on the marbled desk. Mr. Jackson? There is a Mr. Brewster here to see you, she muttered as she waved her left hand to dry the fresh pink polish. Actually it’s Brawler, I began to say but was cut short by the woman’s hand. Awww, shit! Send him in, a voice said bitterly from the talk box, giving me a sense of resentment for even being here at all. He will see you now Mr. Brewster, she said dully, continuing on her nails. I ignored the name mistake as I wiped beads of cold sweat from my hot forehead, awaiting Mr. Jackson’s office directions to escape the secretary’s mouth.

After about a minute of patient waiting, I rattled my knuckles on the desk, startling the eerily rude woman’s concentration once again. What! she yelled angrily as she looked at me for the first time since I have been here. It’s kind of hard to see Mr. Jackson without knowing where he is, I said nervously, shaking her dagger stare from my shaking body. Are you blind Mr. Brewster? It’s Brawler, I said quickly and sternly, and no I’m not blind. Well if you are not blind, can’t you read? She pointed at a wooden plaque hanging on the wall next to a door behind the desk that read "Howard Jackson in big black letters. Oh… thanks, I muttered stupidly as I gathered my things and stiffly walked toward the wooden door. Stupid prick, the secretary whispered loudly as I left her presence.

I entered the wooden door quietly, as if I were afraid of disturbing the awaiting figure head of the firm. I shut the door with extreme cautiousness as I focused my attention on the fat slob behind his red oak desk, fondling a slender brunette wearing a flannelled mini skirt for god