Greeting Insanity

chapter one

Setting down the pen that previously rested in her hand, Reyna looked over her newest letter. It was by far the most difficult for her to express her feelings. Love had always been tricky for her, being alone most of her life, but she felt the need to write to Love all the same. Reyna was a peculiar girl. She wasn't quite sure if she approved of the adjective or not, but in all her vocabulary, no other word jumped to claim her. No, she wasn't sick, internally nor physically.

Instead, she was what she liked to call, insane. The word often struck fear in those around her, that preferred to call themselves, normal. A filthy word, in her opinion, an opinion that she took to heart. The word held no meaning to her, for every individual used the word differently.

No, she was a writer. Not well known nor famous. She wrote for only her eyes, being her occupation. You may be wondering how in the world she payed for daily items, such as food, shelter, bills, etc.

The government.

The city she lived in, New York, had a program for people like her, people who were, peculiar. The organization was named, Helping the Abandoned, more commonly known as the HTA. You see, the goal of the system was similar to that of Child Services, except the HTA worked with troubled individuals. Like her, the participants were affected so greatly by whatever their experience had been, that they react strangely to social norms. Reyna, wrote. She wrote to herself, her emotions, strangers, objects, but never to someone who was able to receive them. She owned a thick leather notebook, blacker than the darkest of nights, deeper in color than the ink that stained its stark pages. The sheets of paper were littered with small thoughts, ideas that popped into her head. Along the random notes, she had written her many letters, famous throughout the institute. Sketches, paintings, poems alike rested in the binding of the book, kept from peering eyes.

Rumors had spread amuck the HTA, about a girl with wide brown eyes, a notebook full of letters, signing her insanity. The HTA took place in a building, like a school. Reyna mused that the structure was a hybrid of Miss Peregrine's and X-Men. Kids from young to matured rested within its walls, shielded from the scrutinizing eyes of a judging society. Students were taught, not only academics, but how to hide their strange habits.

An acquaintance of Reyna's, Fred, had a nasty habit of shaking uncontrollably while talking to others. He was neither nervous or self-conscious, he just simply couldn't help it. It was situations like his that the HTA preferred to take on, they were fixable. Some may even say, simple, compared to Reyna's.

Stepping back from her desk, she looked around. Reyna did this a lot, examined her surroundings, it helped her get in tune with social norms. Seeing what others were doing and mirroring it. Unlike in public, she stood in her room, empty of bustling humans. Silence eating at the paint splattered walls. One thing that the "teachers" of the HTA could truly appreciate about Reyna's condition, was that she released her insanity in two ways. Her writing, and her painting.

Caretakers provided her gallons upon gallons of paint, in various colors. With the art supplies, she proceeded to scream at the top of her lungs, simultaneously flinging buckets of paint on her once, crisp white walls. After witnessing the habit a few dozen times, Reyna had been transferred to a soundproof room, where she was free to yell until her throat bled.

Looking around, Reyna continued stepping backward until she reached the center of the rectangular room. Her walls as previously revealed, were stained a rainbow of shades. Her ceiling was decorated with small designs, even Reyna not knowing their name. She had no windows to gaze at the sun and stars, so she wrote to them often, hoping to reach the blazing light through her concrete cell.

On the west wall, sat a desk, plastic, unbreakable, as was everything else in the room. Plastic. Unbreakable. Plastic, was the perfect solution for Reyna, forgiving enough so she couldn't severely injure herself, but sturdy, unbreakable. Trust, she had tried. The bed was again, plastic, adorned with white sheets, white pillows, white mattress; It disgusted her. The door, a dark wooden rectangle, paired with a white handle.