Insane

Chapter One- Maniac

I scan the room for any possible exit.

None.

Crap.

I'm stuck.

It's too white in here. Disgustingly white. I wonder how many gallons of bleach they used to make this place. I stand up off the cot in the center of the room and search the nearest wall for any imperfections. None. I scan the other three walls, but they're the same. Perfection.

I can change that

I slam my fist repeatedly into the wall on the opposite side of my bed, hoping to crack or chip the paint in some way. Anything to put a fault in this room. To make it even a small bit natural. It's not natural to be perfect. To be flawless. Everyone has secrets. Weaknesses. I've learned quite a few secrets in my day. Secrets you'd only hear in your worst nightmares. I hit the wall harder, fuelled by the fear of purity.Nothing. I hurl my back against the bleak white paint and slide down the wall to sit on the twelve by twelve inch white and black speckled tiles. What did I even do to get put in Solitary? Oh right. I pulled the fire alarm. Of course I would get a few days for that alone, but two weeks? What else happened... I remember! It's Billie. Stupid Billie and his paranoid ways... How was I supposed to know he hated loud noises? And why am I to blame for him banging his head against a brick wall until he was falling to the ground, unconscious and bleeding? Maybe they thought I did that. They're so stupid here. I would never do anything like that!

It's too easy. You need the victim to feel the pain. Not just a few blows to the head, and you're on your jolly way. Only use that tactic if you're making a quick getaway. No, you want something that people will remember you by. You want people to hear your name and shudder. That's what I've done. People hear the name 'Gerard Way' and you can practically smell the fear as it takes over their body. I'm a legend. In here, and out there. People will tell their grandchildren about me.

You see, I'm what they call a maniac. Crazy. Freak. Nut Job. Basket Case. Mad. Deranged. Lunatic. Off my rocker. Sociopath. Demented. Psychotic. Schizophrenic... The list goes on and on.

Fact of the matter is, I'm insane. Absolutely and completely neurotic.

I've been at Green Oak Institution For Mentally Ill Young Adults for about 6 months now, and I've managed to get Solitary Confinement three times before. The first was only for 3 days, but I hated every second. I spit in some germophobe's face and they totally flipped. I forget his name... Josh? Joe? Doesn't matter... he got discharged last month. I was quite happy about that.

The second time I threw a rock at some paranoid freak's head and he caused mayhem. I hit him, and he thought it was a signal. He ran around screaming "THEY'RE HERE! THE MONSTERS HAVE ARRIVED! THEY'RE HERE TO KILL US ALL!" And then continued to flip over all the cafeteria tables and fling jelly at the poor lunch ladies. I got a week for that. Doctor Frederickson told me that I would be getting more days than usual because what I did was 'Irresponsible and I should've known better.'

The time before this, I sneaked into the janitor's closet and turned the air conditioning all the way up in June. Brendon went wild. It was quite funny to see him worry about Christmas and building snowmen when it was 95 degrees outside. They eventually noticed the cold and checked the security cameras. I got ten days for that stunt.

And now I'm back. For two weeks.

I throw my head back against the wall and groan out loud to myself. What am I supposed to do for two weeks? That's a long time, if you ask me. I stand up and walk the rectangular premises of the room. 24 feet long and 10 feet wide. The ceiling has 28 squares on it, and 4 large fluorescent lights. I've been in here 10 minutes and I'm already bored out of my freaking mind.