Alyssa's Asylum

Our Parting

Chapter Three:

"Ally," the voice called. "Ally, I love you!" Christopher's voice. I see his yellow curls over his face as he pleads for me. I remember this day. It is the day of our parting.

"Christopher, I love you too," I hear myself whine. "But... I can't tell you what I've become. I'm cursed, Chris, I'm cursed! I'll never be able to love, never because of what I know!"

Always calm, he responds, "Alyssa. I love you. I love you, and I could be with you forever. I can imagine it. You can tell me anything, and I will still be there for you,"

"You don't know! I CAN'T tell you!" I know I started to cry at this time. Cry over my loss of Christopher, cry over what I had to do, cry over my father's death, cry everything. Something crosses Christopher's face, and I think it is anger. But he hides it with sadness. He pulls me into an embrace and kisses me softly. I don't kiss back.

*

A scream awakes me from my fitful slumber. I don't know if it was my scream, or somebody else's. Either way, I am sweating, both from the humidity and the exhilaration of the dream.

Last night, I had made my plan. The Asylum was renovating soon, and they were going to put a much- needed new coat of brown paint on the walls. I knew that my wavy red hair was going to need to be hidden, so I would dunk my hair in the paint when the Viligants weren't looking.

I am naturally stealthy, it comes from hiding from all the Viligants who will arrest you for all the smallest things. From the horror stories of the other inmates, most of who are not as strange as I expected, I know that the Electrocution room was only the first. There are medication rooms, where instead of treating you, they shave your head and inject you with potions to make you hallucinate. Courtyards of things from my nightmares are rooms for those who disobey the Law. Punishments like no food or water are common, and knives are used so recklessly that cutting could be considered a recreational activity.

From their web of tales, I gather a good idea of the layout of the Asylum. I know of the rooms with windows, and I know of the rooms without them. I have an idea of the older, unused rooms and the ones with crumbling walls. They tell me how the Viligants keep them in, and the traps around each corner.

To all Peasants, books are a luxury. But I have read enough in school to know what is fantasy and what is nonfiction. I know that stories have an intricate plot and an intricate character and an intricate setting.

Now I don't know the difference from fantasy and reality.

And I feel like the plot for escaping is from one of the most intricate books ever.

It will be impossible, but it will be worth it for seeing Darren's pale face and green eyes and feel Adelie's soft blonde hair one more time.

I finger the book pennant, now hanging around my neck. Papa died as a rebel. He would want me to escape.

And I will.