The Asylum

Just Another Day

Prologue

“I’ve found another one.” mutters Rex. He picks up the unconscious werewolf, an eighteen-year-old. She moans a little as he gently puts her in a medi-capsule, which he sends to the Asylum. He sighs. Why did The Hunter want all the werewolves together? What was he planning to do? Who was he anyway? Was he even real?

As these questions go through his mind, Rex shivers, but not because it’s cold. He keeps looking, sending any werewolves he finds to the Asylum. He stops for lunch around midday. He gobbles down his sandwich and goes back to searching. He looks up at the cloudy sky, reminding himself to hurry before it starts to rain. He checks his watch and catches the date; 13/7/2049. His hair is a rusty orange, gelled into spikes that seem to suit his grey-blue eyes. He wears green work clothes, covered in the grime of his task. He turns around and gets the feeling he is being watched…

*                *                *

The Hunter rests his elbows on his immaculate black desk.

“The Hunt was a success. We already have thousands of werewolves. Now we will have them under our control, so last year will not repeat itself,” he says to his daughter. He remembers seeing his wife, throat torn away, left in a pool of blood.

His daughter, Dakota, agrees wholeheartedly. She feels that werewolves are just beasts that have to at least be catalogued, numbered and kept out of sight. She believes that if they aren’t, they would run rampant and kill everyone in sight.

“But dad, why don’t we just kill them all? They’re just mindless animals!”

“They’re not mindless, sweetheart, and they were once humans, like you and me. They’re just… different. But nevertheless, they must be controlled.”

Dakota stands up, throwing her chair back and letting it hit the ground with a bang.

“No! They’re not like us! They’re heartless monsters! They’ll stab you in the back as soon as they have the chance!” she protests. The Hunter sighs.

“No Dakota, I’ve told you time and time again. They’re not monsters.”

“Yes they are!” shouts Dakota, stubbornly believing what she wanted to believe. She was not listening to her father, the only voice of reason in her life. Not waiting to hear the reply, she storms out of the office and into the hallway.

THREE YEARS LATER

Somewhere, in the dark, a pair of orange eyes glow…

*          *          *

Drip, drip, drip.

 Carmilla moves her arm and feels around to find something to stop the annoying plink that has woken her up. Not finding anything, she sighs and sits up. Just another day in the Asylum. She looks at the tiny hole in her ceiling, thinking about how she will have to fix it soon. She gets out of bed, her pyjamas rumpled and her mahogany brown hair a mess. She glances back at her doona, full of holes from her sharp claws. She has long stopped repairing the holes since they became too many to count. She pads, barefoot, into the long, cold corridor and down to the dining room of the old building.

She has a light breakfast of toast with jam and then heads back to her room, her long, luscious tail, thick and glossy, almost brushing the shiny clean floor as it swishes rhythmically. She goes into her bathroom to freshen herself up for the day. She looks at her reflection in the mirror and she sees her vibrant green eyes looking back at her. She brushes her soft silky hair and she smooths the fur on her wolf-like ears. She absentmindedly runs a finger along the fine scar across her cheek. She quickly changes into her usual outfit; jeans and a long-sleeved top. She looks at the tattoo on her inner left wrist that marks her as a werewolf.