The Tortured Artist

Chapter 1: A Prison

They say that the hardest prison to escape is one's own hell. And to it's own right, this is true. A hell designed pragmatically for one's suffering and lesson sounds utterly horrible. But for me, I don't exactly find this to be the case. 

To me, the hardest prison to escape is one's own mind. A prison that only one person sees and experiences, while the rest merely see another human. Just... out of touch. It doesn't sound terrifying to most, but they don't understand the toll it takes. 

I for one... dealt with this prison. It was horrible. Utterly horrible. No one understands that what I am doing isn't really under my control, as much as I want to make it stop. I know it doesn't excuse what has been done, but I just want them to try and understand what I'm dealing with here. I mean no harm. I really don't. It's just my mind that's the problem... 

But some people want to do me harm, and I don't like that. I don't appreciate it when they say such horrid things about me. It hurts me to hear it too. I never did anything to them. And I merely want to stay in decent terms, but everytime I see them... I get these visions...

These visions are very specific but... I'm so terrified of them. When I sometimes look at someone, they begin to die. Right in front of me. They just start to bleed to death and crumble down. Blood just gushes out like a geyser, or stream down like a calm river. I want to try and help then or cover my eyes, but I can't. They think I'm crazy or rude. I'm not.