Mark -
White. That's all there is to see. White walls, white floors, white EVERYTHING. The only colour in my room is my hair. Raven black with crimson red down the middle.
Red. Oh how I loved red. With every person I've killed, their crimson red blood fell onto my hands. Just the feeling of blood against my fingertips made me feel alive - unlike them. They didn't know why. When I told the asylum staff, they thought I was even more crazier than I originally was.
I told them it was the voice. That it was telling me to do the things I do, twisting my mind into seeing through the eyes of insanity. It was amazing though, how people cowered in fear when I walked past. I felt in control - until it was all taken from me.
Until some asylum gits brought me here. This nuthouse. I'm not crazy! I refused, kicked, fought them off. I think I might have killed a few, but I didn't care. To be truly honest, I would love to see everyone who has ever harmed me in a frickin' box.
Everything changed that day. Now I'm sat in a poxy white room, sat on a poxy white bed, staring at a crystal white wall. I HATE IT HERE!!! Ten years down the line and I'm still stuck here. Infuriated, I hit the padded wall in hope to do some sort of damage. But of course it didn't work - FOR GOD SAKE!!!
Why did I have to spend day in day out in this hell hole? It's been ten years since I've seen a starry sky on a winter's night, or watched the sunlight seep through the curtains, or felt the delicate touch of grass in between my fingers. For ten years all I've seen is white.
YOU ARE READING
The Dark Mark
FanfictionMark's been in an asylum for ten years, all because of a 'voice'. His murders have ranked up to the hundreds outside and about fifteen inside, mostly to the guards. But will his chain of thought change when a certain green tuft of hair enters the wh...
