Insane (Jack Gilinsky) on hold

ii.

"The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls..."

Don't ask me my name, because I couldn't tell you. I am subject 13C, as far back as I could remember that's my name. I probably had one pre-life, but not anymore. That's what we call it, pre-life. Before all the torture, pain, the endless nights.

You see this wasn't living it was surviving. Everyday you yearn for your life to end, for the pain to stop. Everyone is looking for a way out.

When I woke up in my metal mattress-less bed my neck was sore. I looked across to a empty bed. I grinned a little. The closet was still empty. My only haven was still the same.

I recollected last night's events, much to my displeasure. The doctors face, was etched into my mind. His face was a face I was not fond of and I wouldn't mind never seeing it again. His crystal blue eyes, almost were dull, they had specks of grey. I remember them the most.

I remember eyes. Eyes can tell you allot. Usually they show sorrow or joy, but at this place, most of the eyes were hollow and shallow. Some nurses showed regret, only a select few. Most of the doctors I remember had a spark in their eyes, each test was like opening a present Christmas Day. It sickened me.

It was fall, I'm pretty sure. The leaves were turning brown and falling down. A gust of wind occasionally blew on the leaves taking them to better places. You could see the trees when you ate. The only windows in this entire place was when you ate. They liked to show you what you could've had, to almost throw in your face, of a world with freedom. Freedom, almost a luxury it seems. For those who have it, waste it.

Sometimes I dream of the wind. Sweeping me off my feet, taking me away to a far off place. Where it's quiet and I am free. Somewhere out in the country, in a small home with trees and flowers. Where there is a field to run in, and a barn to sleep in. That to me is paradise.

A series of knocks on my door interrupted my seconds of peace. I prepared myself for the worst, soon the door was propped open.

"13C we're ready." A deep voice spoke to me. He was a large man, in both ways. His eyes were dull, I saw no light, he wasn't the man who drugged me, but I did recognize him.

It was time for lunch, I think. I knew I woke up late because if I have lines on my right arm it means I slept long and hard, but I didn't think it was this late.

"Good day Paul." I said walking out the door.

"I am not allowed to communicate, 13C." He told me with a stern face. His tone was serious and professional it made me laugh a little.

"Is your name Paul or is it actually Harry?" I chuckled.

He grunted. I continued to have this delightful conversation with myself all the way to the mess hall.

Rutherford the home of the Criminally Insane, the name displayed all over the almost empty walls as a reminder. It was disgusting the white walls weren't even white, they seemed to be a pale kind of color, every once in a while you would see dried blood from some of the experiments that went wrong. Cracks and holes were along every hall, the rugs seemed to have certain designs, that when you would walk through the long hallways, it seemed as if you were going nowhere. Each room you passed you heard a new screech, a new victim, a new experiment.

Inside the dull walls of this dreary place, sometimes it gets interesting. Only at the mess hall. Food is thrown, yells are heard, muffled whispers of the almost sane are heard if you listen close enough. I sat down with one of the few sociopaths I could stand at this place.

I called her Victoria. She was pale, her skin always had scabs and no nails. Her curly light blonde hair made her look like a mad scientist. Victoria was older, at least in her 40s, would be my guess.