Inked

Chapter 1: Welcome to the madhouse

Chapter 1

Slowly, the sense of falling overpowered her, and she pitched over the cliff. Helpless, I stood by as her raven hair fluttered in the wind, her violet eyes boring into my consciousness. She fell, fell into the inky black sea, and I realized that I looked upon my own likeness as she fell away from me, and suddenly, she hit the surface of the black sea, but it wasn't water that hit my face. Shards, glass-like shards of black ink stabbed me and cut me, and I was writhing, writhing, and ink in turn poured from my veins....

My eyes flew open, and white blinded me. I covered my ears as a horrible scream pierced the air, but I realized my own voice rent my surroundings. I gasped, rasping for air as I disentangled my clammy limbs from the starched white sheets. A bolt clattered, and my cell door slid open. Marta, my caretaker, entered, and she sat down on the end of my cot and gently rubbed my back as tears of utter terror rolled down my cheeks, all powers of speech beyond me. 

"Shh," Marta whispered, "You are ok now, was it more of the same?" 

I nodded, shaking, my hospital gown bathed in cold sweat around the collar. I stared at my hands, my paw-like hands, and they shook before my eyes. The tips of my fingers looked like they had been dipped in quill ink, the prints swathed in black, and no amount of scrubbing could clean them. My violet eyes pleaded with Marta. I didn't know who I was, all I knew is that I was evil, evil, and every time I looked in the mirror, purple eyes stared back at me, vivid against paper-white skin. Even my lips had barely any color to them. I wrung my hands, trying to wash the blackness off, my tears made the world swim and I saw a waterfall of ink fall from my hands and for a moment I thought I had achieved victory, but to no avail. Marta stayed my hands and whispered gently, "Evara, you need to stop. The ink won't come off. Its part of you." I swallowed, and though the words were far from new, they made my heart, my black heart, ache every time. "Part of me..." I echoed slowly, my colorless lips forming the words I never wanted to hear. 

I was spared further contemplation of my predicament, though, as a bell clanged in the hallway, and three white-clad guards filed into my cell and dismissed Marta. I stood mechanically, and they fastened restraints, manacles, onto my ankles and wrists, leading me like a dog out of my cell. Joining with the other girls in the 'Highly Unstable' wing of the Rockford Sanatorium, my chains were clasped with the others, and the led us in a clinking line through the vaulted hallway and out into the commons, seating us on a bench far removed from the less 'volatile' cases. The guards clamped our ankle fetters to the bench, and trays of steaming oatmeal were served to us. We ate slowly, deftly maneuvering around our chains, careful not to let them ruin our perfectly good breakfast. Suddenly, there was an almighty tug on my wrist, causing my fork to fly the length of the steel-paneled mess hall, clanging against the floor. Gertrude Francis, a critical case, had ripped free of her bonds. Her wild bronze hair framed her feral face as she bared her teeth, amber eyes gleaming with fury. With a bear-like growl, she launched herself at the nearest guard, ripping his shirt and clawing at his skin. I saw blood begin to stain the white. He fought bitterly against her raging nails and teeth until two other guards bore down upon Gertrude, extricating the guard from her wrathful fingers. she roared like a besieged lion, and struggled mercilessly as two more guards wrestled her into a straight jacket and gagged her, stifling the cannibalistic roars into huffing growls. A stretcher was called, and the young guard was carried away to the infirmary, bleeding severely. The H.U. (Highly Unstable, or Maximum Security, as we call ourselves) patients looked at each other in fear. I could tell we all thought the same thing. The last time Gertrude had attacked someone, she had killed them. That was two years ago, and it happened right before evening meal hour.

Gertrude, much like today, had broken free of her bonds, which was no mean feat, as they were solid steel. She had set upon a newly admitted ten year old, with wide eyes and who screamed like a possessed demon in her sleep. the girl, powerless to stop Gertrude, was flung to the floor as Gertrude tore at her. Unfortunately, help came too late. The girl died in the infirmary two days later, of severe internal bleeding. I never even knew her name. 

I blinked quickly, the meal hall coming back into focus. I wondered if they would put Gertrude down, much like they would a feral dog or cat. Nervously, i reached up and began to play with my plastic collar, which bore my name, patient number, gender, and age. I knew it by heart: Evara Allegheny, 2257a, Female, 16. It was comforting to me, playing with this collar, it was the only personal thing I had. I turned around as the doors behind me banged open, and ten guards wearing armor and carrying gleaming cattle prods marched over to our line of fifty or so girls. Maids whisked away our food, and I watched glumly as my porridge was carted away, a perfectly good breakfast. The armed guards marched our motley crew ceremoniously out of the mess hall, drawing pointed fingers, whispers, and stares from the more stable cases seated around us. I lowered my head, keeping my conspicuous violet eyes hidden from prying onlookers. 

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