Locked inside the paradox that was her mind, she had fewer and fewer rational days. On Monday, she was Mata Hari, Tuesday she was Scheherazade, on Wednesday she would consult with her doctors as Anna Freud. Whoever she was, there was a mystery to solve, a riddle to decipher.
No matter that on most days she couldn’t remember what year it was, when in character her mind was keen and logical, her arguments infallible, her conclusions irrefutable, and her storytelling mesmerizing. While entangled in the persona of Anna, her German was impeccable, regardless of her Mid-Western roots.
The further away from her reality she drifted, the less and less of her you could see behind her pale blue eyes. It was if what made her, her, was leaching out of her with each passing day.
Confused and lost in a psychological labyrinth, her doctors had found no clues to freeing her from this chaos.
What the doctors missed in their excitement of having a patient who would make a titillating subject for publication, was her complete duplicity.
She knew where all the cameras were inside her room. If she sat in the rocking chair in the south corner, she was out of sight.
The doctors didn’t perceive how well she honed her craft, How totally immersed in her roles she became. They didn’t know about the research she did, the months of preparation and practice that went into each of her guises.
There was no financial benefit from her game, no blackmail, no thievery. It was the art of her fraud that kept her satisfied. Tomorrow she would escape from this asylum, choose another name and a new target.
Perhaps she would move south. Winter was coming, and the promise of warm weather was tempting.
Rising from her chair, she rubbed her palms against her thighs in anticipation of the challenge, and stepped back into view of her clandestine watchers.
*I really should spread out these prompts, especially since I have committed to the NaBloPoMo challenge to publish a post a day for 30 days. But… day-um… sometimes it’s like the moderators all get together and conspire, “whattya you gonna do this week? Ida know, whattya gonna do?” and they all meld together like they were made for each other.
NaBloPoMo 4/30
Thin spiral notebook 
Nice job. I love the ambiguity of the piece contrasted with the precise clarity of the details. Great job meshing all of the prompts together. They worked well. I think exploring this piece could be rather interesting and fun.
LikeLike
Compelling! And good job combining all the prompts. I’m not doing NaBloPoMo but I am doing NaNoWriMo. All these Na..Mos! As long as it gets us writing, huh? Good luck!
LikeLike
She’s a fascinating character. What is she doing? What is she up to? I’m hooked!
LikeLike
I’m reminded of Vonnegut’s “Who Am I This Time?” You’ve done a lovely job taking this character to new places and identities. I like what you’ve done.
LikeLike
Love these blurrings of fantasy-reality. The ultimate identity crisis.
Like the polar opposite of Shutter Island.
Terrific story, Tara!
LikeLike
This is simply brilliant Tara!Love it:-)
LikeLike
Very compelling story, Tara! I was utterly intrigued by the workings of her mind!
Excellent piece of writing!
LikeLike
Fabulous write – So devious!
LikeLike
This makes me wonder if her “true” self and purpose is just another facet of her crumbling mind. Great work.
LikeLike
That’s what I love about this community… a reader can leave a comment and take a story in a totally different direction than I imagined, and I’m all “that’s fantastic! I love that idea!” Now, I’m pondering if she really just thinks she is escaping and it is part of her break from reality.
LikeLike