Asylum

Prolouge

I sit back down as the clock ticks, not moving, it broke a long time ago, but I wouldn't let them fix it.

Because they had to come in here to fix it. And no one wanted to be in a room with me, no one wanted to be near me. A shiver rolls down my spine as I stare at the mirror on my wall. knowing someone, or something, is behind it.

I roll my eyes. Nothing worries me that much anymore. Not after I killed so many people.

"Are you going to fucking let me out now?" I shout at the "mirror".

The mirror says nothing back. I sit in silence, other than my clock. There is a different clock on the other side of the room. This one works and is silent, as to not disrupt my clocks ticking. Its a few minutes till dinner time. Or "hell" as you like to call it.

I never liked this place much. I didn't know what to do with my hands, soon I would end up taking apart the clock. And building a gun out of it. A simple thing to do, and I had done it before.

A man walks into my room. Its a doctor. One of my favored ones, this one actually listens to me, despite never saying anything in return. He waves me over.

"Hi doc." I say walking over slowly. Last time I moved quickly he knocked me out. "What's the treatment today?"

"Just dinner, today is one of your off days remember?" He says all this with his hands, sign language. He looks strangely sad. "sorry about last time by the way."

I nod. It isn't a big deal, until I think more. The only reason that he could be coming in here if it's my off day is if I was getting a "roommate."

"Well um, by the look on your face you know why I'm here, surprise!" he does jazz hands. This is why I like him, but maybe now I hate him. He has humor. "A room mate!'"And more of the jazz hands.

"You fucktard! You promised I wouldn't get one! What happened to being to unstable?" He reaches towards me and I push him back. "Touch me again i'll kill you!"

"Ok ok! Sorry. You're better than you were. Much better, and this boy it getting better to so I figured you could help each other." He takes a step back. He seems very sorry.

I sigh and smile at him, although it was forced. "Bring him in doc."

A boy in dark clothes walks in. He looks at me and smirks. "Heya petals." He says noticing my flower crown.

The doctor leaves us alone and I frown.

"Don't call me that."

"Alrighty Mr. Pastel." He seems amused and I frown, but mask it.

"You think you're funny?" I question, smiling at him.

"As funny as i can be in this hell hole" He once again, smirks.

"You'll be a lot less funny after I cut your throat and use your blood to draw on the wall. It is so boring here without a pencil." He looks shocked, and slightly scared.

He forces a fake smirk back onto his pale face. "So if ya dont wanna nick name, then what is it ya wanna be called?"

"Dan. But I would much rather hear you screaming in pain as I rip every intestine from your body than hear you say my name, so you can just call me Tick. Everyone does here." I smile.

He shifts and I feel like I recognize him. "Tick? I'm assuming because of the clock. I'm phil. The comedian and badass." He does a little bow.

"You're a comedian? Really? Nothing you've said since you've entered this room has been even slightly funny. The titles they hand out these days." I frown.

He sits in the corner and looks around. "Yeah well just hear more of my hilarious jokes and you'll find me funny enough soon." He spots the mirror and gives it a death glare. I hear him mutter something under his breath.

Sounded like "bitches". I think he was talking to the mirror.

"Whatever. dinner is soon. Maybe I'll ask for a pen and paper then." It's my turn to glare at the window.

I hear him sigh and then the scribbling of pencil on paper coming from the corner. I turn and look. He is writing in a journal. Where the hell did he get that? My expression steels. I don't care, I would kill for a pen, but not a pencil. No good disgusting things. I look in the mirror and fix my hair, it had begun to become more of a quiff than my signature fringe.

"Not a pencil fan, eh?" He keeps writing.

"No, I'm not. A good weapon though, if you sharpen it correctly." I smile. I turn back around and something hits the back of my head. Hard.

He doesn't know. He doesn't know how easy it is to tick me off. I look down and see  a pen on the ground, its wrapped in paper. "Happy birth day petals." He says.

"You're a day off idiot." I grab the pen and throw the paper back at him.

"No paper, petals?"

"Nah. not anymore." I smirk at him.

"What are you drawing on then, your skin?" A small frown is formed on his face.

"Yours. But you don't know that yet." I keep smirking.

"Ha! As if you pastel pansy." The door to the room opens and we are off to dinner.