Setting: Arkham Asylum
"Buzzzzzz," screams the red flashing light on the wall. That's Arkham Asylum's way of alerting us that it's time for lunch.
Those of us in solitary only get let out once a day.
It's animalistic, really, the way they treat us. We sit 30 feet away from each other, unable to touch another living creature.
I suffer through gulps of mystery meat and runny potatoes first. My Jello—green, like my hair—shall be saved for last.
Just as I am about to open the package encasing the gelatinous dessert, I am hit upside the head with an orange colored version of the very treat I was about to enjoy.
I look up to see him. A scrawny, young-looking, measly little freak. His face omits an impish glow that holds my attention for longer than I'd like to admit.
I shake my head, ignoring the lurch in my chest when his gaze meets mine. It only takes moments for me to realize what has transpired.
This...this twink just chucked a cup of Jello at me.
Jesus, what a waste!
As much as I'd love to return the favor and drown his clothes in my 2% milk, I know better.
The doctor said I only have two weeks left in this hellhole, so long as I behave. Entering a food fight with a Peter Pan looking creep would do nothing for my case.
I can do this.
I clench and unclench every muscle in my body.
With permission and a chaperone, I make my way toward the shared restrooms to wash the sticky, orange chunks off.
I hear yelling in the background, but I ignore it. This is Arkham after all. People aren't treated like people here.
My escort watches as I scrub at my face with the crunchy paper towel. I open my mouth, about to crack a joke with him, when the door slams open.
In walks my attacker from earlier. Only now, his left eye is swollen and lined with purple. I can't help but think about how beautiful he looks despite the obvious contusion. Cherry red liquid flows from his nostrils to the linoleum floor. Something's happened.
