Loose Appearances, Stuck Personalities

Chapter 4: Being Alone Leads to Late nights

It had been a week since I had heard the news about never getting out of this insane asylum. It was also a full week that I had been holed up in my new room, only opening the door for food. I painted, I drew, I wrote, and I talked. Mostly to myself, but also to the skull. My only company for the first two days. But only the first two days. With each meal, came a bright smile attached to them. I made a point not to open my door more than a foot, wide enough to grab the metal food tray, but small enough so that neither of my new flatmates could see inside.

The first few days didn't amount to much, just refusing to get out of bed until they brought me food or in the dead of night when I got tired of the room. I spent the time I didn't sleep thinking and looking up at the ceiling. The perfect, taken-care-of ceiling. I had a lot to get used to, so I figured the ceiling was the first place to start my journey. Next, I knew I had to get used to my surroundings, meaning the room. So I'd sit up in my bed for the evening and look around. I found several things those days. Here were the main few: the bottom of my wardrobe on the inside was higher than the bottom of the piece itself, a small square opening just beside said furniture, the window had a latch, and there was a trapdoor on the floor just before the window. However, I didn't investigate any of these findings when nightfall came. Instead, I went on a quest for food.

These quests were very short-lived, however. Lockwood always came down, about 2 PM, but left back to his room soon after. Least, that's what I thought he did. I didn't pay much attention to where he was going more than I was staying hidden from his view. Turns out that George is a very heavy sleeper with snoring issues while Lockwood was a rather light sleeper. How they got along together boggled my mind. They were complete opposites of each other. One a rather dull creampuff while the other was a bright snowflake. I doubted I would ever see a pair like them walking through London, but it wasn't impossible. Just rare that two polar forces could work well as a unit. Then again, if the skull and I could get along, then maybe it wasn't that rare...

Anyways, back to my nights. Aside from not getting caught, I had an easy time finding snacks in the cupboards above the countertops. I didn't stay out of my room long though. Only a few hours or so. Avoiding Lockwood was a piece of cake, but too much night wandering could let me get attached to this place. I needed to stay detached, find a way to get out. I wasn't going to be a prisoner here for long, I just had to find a way to get out of the 'school grounds' long enough to find a road. But I needed a map or an atlas, some navigational system. I could tell we weren't out of the UK, that much was a given to due to murky weather and terrain, I just needed to know which way to go. And I knew exactly where I was going. London.

Cliche, yes, but it was my only known option. It was the only place my family would never look for me. They hated the city, with all its lights and street configurations. I, on the other hand, found it no different than a passing period in lower secondary school. Loud, noisy, and, if you kept to yourself, not such a bad place to be. I had actually dreamed of living in a place like London or maybe cross the Atlantic and study abroad for a long, long while. Maybe even stay there. As far away as I could get from home, where the only bright light was my elder sister.

That Friday was different. After I was brought my morning tray by Lockwood, thanked him, and closed the door, I heard the footsteps leave my door. I waited a moment or two, just until the footsteps were halfway before beginning to eat. What I failed to notice was how the footsteps stopped and turned back to the door, before stopping again at the door. What I did hear was the small rattle of the door almost like someone was leaning against it. It hadn't been long since the tray was brought, a few seconds maybe, so I thought it was just wind hitting the door. That's right, wind.

Oh, how wrong I was to think that.

"New leader in Zimbabwe, quite a controversial subject. They've labeled him a tyrant, but I don't know all the facts, so what's the point of believing one source, am I right?" I had almost choked on the muffin and jam I was brought. I didn't say anything, (even though I agreed) stunned by the fact he was just outside my door. I heard him turning a delicate, recycled page, and again, he started talking. His voice flowed, reciting the information with vigor and finesse. I don't know why or when, but as he talked I got out my paints and a canvas, setting it down on the windowsill and painted. His effortless reading driving my brush across the blank white canvas. I didn't know when he left, nor did I know why I picked up the brush in the first place. But when I stopped, I had created a dabbed a scene I had never seen before. Well, I had yet I hadn't. It didn't surprise me in the least, but what did surprise me was the accurateness of the colors, even though I had only seen the outside of it once.