The Walls Are Closeing In On Me

The walls are closing in on me. It sounds crazy, I know, but they are. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time somebody would call me crazy. It's the only word I've been hearing this last year. Crazy. Insane. Out of my mind. I hate it when someone calls me that, the same expression of pity and revulsion smeared all across their faces. How can pity and revulsion even exist, side by side, on the same face? That makes me think I'm not the crazy one. But then again, so many people seem to say it, and I can't find the will to care anymore.

So maybe I am crazy.

Maybe I was out of my mind all this damn time- I could always see myself from above, see my weak body struggling against the bonds of the white strait-jacket – almost as if I wasn't inside my own body. I can't see it now, though, for some reason, and it's kind of unsettling.

I see the white walls around me growing closer and closer, silently moving. I wonder why no one else notices them shift. I see my crudely cut bangs, the auburn hair sticking to my forehead. It stings in my eyes. And I can hear my own faint screaming. Oh, sure, it's dim to me now; I'd learned to tune it out. It used to be very loud in the beginning. Very annoying too. But I couldn't seem to stop my throat from producing this shattered sound. My throat doesn't like me very much. Big surprise – nobody likes me.

Why are the walls coming near me anyways? I mean, they shouldn't do that. They should stay put, right? That's what walls do. They stand still. If I'd known they could move I'd have talked them into it a long time ago, and then they'd be on my side, and they'd let me go. Because I don't belong here. Not really. The walls know that too. See? They’re coming closer. They're not afraid of me. Unlike you. Unlike anybody, really. They're chilling color is completely different from the lively red liquid that filled the living room floor all that time ago. It seemed so important at the time.

It's a blur in my head, that time of my life. I can't remember really, but I suppose there's no harm in that. After that time, everyone got really nervous. People were shouting. I think that's when I started screaming, trying to drown them all out. They kept talking, louder after I started yelling. They didn't stop. And now I can't stop. That's not so good, I think, but I'm not so sure. Maybe the walls will know. Maybe I should ask them.

The walls are closing in on me. But then, that just can't be all that bad. Not after all that I've been through. Maybe I should just stay still and let them take me, because the walls won't hurt me. I think.

Ooh, I like this. It's very chilling and I like the way you slowly reveal details about the person. There are a few things I would maybe suggest:

The walls are closing in on me. It sounds crazy, I know, but they are. Besides, it wouldn't be the first time somebody would call me crazy. It's the only word I've been hearing this last year. Crazy. Insane. Out of my mind. I think repeating 'crazy' for a third time is a bit much here. It might work better if you had three different synonyms instead of repeating the word you've already used twice followed by two synonyms. I hate it when someone calls me that, the same expression of pity and revulsion smeared all across their faces. How can pity and revulsion even exist, side by side, on the same face? I wouldn't repeat 'pity and revulsion' here 'cause it gets a bit repetitive. You could maybe just say 'those two emotions' or something like that in the second sentence. That makes me think I'm not the crazy one. But then again, so many people seem to say it, and I can't find the will to care anymore.

So maybe I am crazy.

^This whole paragraph seems quite rambling considering that all you're really doing is establishing the fact that your narrator is a bit mad.

I could always see myself from above, see my weak body struggling against the bonds of the white strait-jacket – almost as if I wasn't inside my own body. I can't see it now, though, for some reason, and it's kind of unsettling.

I see the white walls around me growing closer and closer, silently moving. I wonder why no one else notices them shift. I see my crudely cut bangs, the auburn hair sticking to my forehead.

Okay, sorry to go on about repeating words, but you've repeated the word 'see' five times in this part. It would have more variety if you used other words to describe the scene sometimes.

They're -Their- chilling color is completely different from the lively red liquid that filled the living room floor all that time ago. It seemed so important at the time.

I like the way you're bringing in memories from this mysterious character's past, and the way you make it seem distant, but 'lively' seems an odd word to use to describe blood, especially as it more oozes than runs energetically, if you know what I mean.

I enjoyed reading this though and I hope you keep working on it

I think this is a rather good story, though you tend to ramble in parts. You repeat words and sometimes say the same thing more than once. I have to give you credit for being able to carry the metaphor through the whole story, though! So if you just clean up your prose and make it look less stream-of-consciousness, it'll be even better.