My name is Kaytee W. Yen. I was arrested at the age of twenty-two for twelve counts of first-degree murder and was sentenced to prison for 125 years. During my tenth year as prisoner, I took the life of my cellmate because her snores had been annoying for the past year or so. The security guards reprimanded me by sending me to solitary confinement. I had to “learn my lesson,” they said.

Three years had passed and I am still here. Apparently, I am to remain here, a dank musty cell with only a bed and a toilet, for an indefinite amount of time. The only things I have to keep me occupied are a lousy biography of Martha Stewart and a little doll that I had in arts ands craft eight years before. Amazingly, I found that the doll was much more interesting than Martha Stewart, once I realized that it had the ability to talk. It told me that its name was Ghangis Khan.

At first, Ghangis’ accent reminded me of the utterances inside my head when I had murdered those twelve people and my cellmate. But I thought nothing of it after I noticed that it did not threaten my sense of security. We talked about many things, such as the outside world and Martha Stewart. Sometimes we contemplated what we would do once we got out of prison.

Years later, the guards took me to see a psychoanalyst. I did not know why, nor did I understand the reason for such an analysis. Once I got there, Dr. Jerkyll, the psychoanalyst, asked me about Ghangis. Everything finally made sense. They wanted to take him away from me because I was supposed to be in solitary confinement. If he were there, then I would not be. I began to plead with him that I was not doing anybody harm with having Ghangis in my company. After an hour of beseeching their mercy for his presence in my cell, Dr. Jerkyll stopped me.

Dr. Jerkyll started asking me questions. He inquired as to how I met Ghangis, what I felt about him, etc. I apologize for not being able to keep track of the amount of time that had past because I had begun to space out and gave automated answers. He had been swinging a really nice looking watch in front of me.

The next day, I went back to see Dr. Jerkyll. He greeted me and made sure I was comfortable first before addressing me. He started to sprout outrageous notions. I thought that he needed to be the one analyzed, not me. He said that Ghangis was not real, and was just a figment of my imagination born of boredom. I just laughed in his face and went back to my cell to tell him this. Like always, he was sitting on the toilet waiting for me.

I told Ghangis what the lunatic had told me and pretty much laughed it off. When I finally stopped chuckling, I became aware of the look on his face. It scared me a little because he had not done anything to dissuade the psychoanalyst’s opinion about him.

“You are right, I am real,”he said softly. However, his whisper sounded more like it was inside my head, instead of outside. “You make me real. It is your belief in me, is what makes me real. Only you think I am real.”

“What are you talking about? I do not think you are real. You are real,” I replied.

“Why do you think the guards sent you to that shrink? You are starting to you scare them. They thought you had gone off the deep end.”

“Stop talking to me inside my head. I can hear you just fine when you are outside of my head."

“You cannot tell me how I speak to you. I decide that, and besides what makes you think I am a different person than you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am you. I am the side that you held in check all those years ago. I am the side that you did not let anyone see, hear, or sense. Do you remember all those times where you felt calm after enduring the beatings you got from your parents? Do you remember all those times you saw disappointment in your friends’ eyes when you told them you couldn’t help them? Do you remember all the times when your parents chose to ignore your accomplishments? There are many more incidents, and I know you remember every single one. I can already feel the anger building inside you right now, and you have not even gone through a quarter of them.”

“You made me murder my friends and family? How could you?,” I whimpered.

“I did not make you do anything. I just gave you a few suggestions. You did not have to physically act it out.”

“Why did you?”

“I was just simply tired of you, well me, for not standing up for yourself, or myself. You also were leading a boring good life. You need some zest in your life. I thought I would be the good friend and give it to you.”

I grabbed Ghangis and threw him down the toilet. I tried to flush him down, but it did not work. I sat down on the bed with head buried in my hands, struggling to stop the pounding headache. I tried to find ways of explaining what triggered my murderous rage and Ghangis. I fell asleep with my thoughts mirrored on my face, frustration.

“You cannot escape the facts or me. Sleeping will not help at all. I am you, and you cannot escape from yourself.”

I woke up immediately; a cold bead of sweat ran down the side of my face. I laughed at the ceiling madly. “Yes, I can. I can escape you and myself. Do you know how? You already know how.” I threw off my thin blanket and proceeded to attempt to overturn the bed, forgetting that it was bolted to the concrete floor. Then I ran to the door and began to smash my cranium against the metal door. With each hit, I heard him, me, say, “You cannot escape.”