Today in training we throw knives. I'm horrible at it, I don't hit the target once, due to the lack of throwing skills.
"You, why haven't you hit the target?"
I hesitate, contemplating whether I should let my fear show or be me.
"I'm not good at it."
"Why?" Adam presses on, anger snaking into his voice.
"Because."
"Because why?" Now he's fighting to stay calm.
"Because you're a terrible teacher." I say, and that's when he explodes.
"Hefner, in the ring with Jade!" Malcolm gladly steps in with me, it's not like I can't hear the words he says against me, using them to cut me down to size.
This time he doesn't give us swords.
First I get punched in the face, then my stomach. Then I'm being kicked.
I'm coughing up blood onto the blue mat. But I don't beg for mercy, that would be uncharacteristically of me.
I see Adam out of the corner of my eye, He looks coldly down at me.
I see black dots clouding my vision, until I see nothing. And I hear nothing. Everything is black.
I curl up, as if it will protect me.
I'm left with the same question I had when I first came here; am I dying?
I wake up in the infirmary...again.
No one's here, everyone must be sleeping.
I get up despite the aching.
I learn after the first few steps that the wall is my friend, and I need it to support me. I stumble and fall a few times until I get to my destination. The training area. I shakily grab a steel dagger ever so carefully. Now to my final destination. Again I stumble and accidently slice my arms up a few times, I feel a burning sensation every time I do, but it always heals itself. I think nothing of it when I arrive at Malcolm Hefner's room. I slip in through the unlocked door and I find a sleeping Malcolm on the plaid couch. I lift the dagger up and plunge it into his heart. The thing is I mistook the metal. Its silver, or at least the blade is. I see burning flesh and blood pouring out as I cover his mouth. To keep him from crying out in pain. "Shhh...Don't worry it won't hurt for much longer." I rip the dagger up and slide it across his neck. I slit his throat, I grabbed the blanket he had and stuffed his mouth with the rolled up corner. As for his hands, why not the drawstring on his hoodie. I murdered him. After a few seconds of quiet laughter on my part my comatose had worn away. I murdered him. He's dead. Gone. "What have I done...?"
I ran.
After about ten minutes of running I've hopped back into the bed I was on. I fluttered my eyes shut, as if I was sleeping the whole time. After one hour I know that there's no way I'm going to fall asleep, not after the image of a tied up, gagged, and dying Malcolm is tattooed on my eyelids.
What the hell had he done to deserve thaw pain inflicted on him?
YOU ARE READING
Insane
Подростковая литератураTo most people she came off unaproachable, full of hate. Constantly abused her father that never wanted her, she learnt the hard way to shut her mouth and smile. But when her species is not human, and her father is mysteriously murdered, she most fi...
