Asylum

Chapter 3

I sat on my new bed and placed my bag next to me. May as well start unpacking since I doubt they will be coming back anytime soon.

Groaning I open up the bag and start extracting a variety of my belongings and scattering them around the space. It's a pretty small space so I'm limited to where I place things.

I pull out the last item, which to my surprise is something I didn't remember packing. It must've been in there when I threw all my other shit in.

I feel the wooden frame underneath my finger tips and run them over the edges. Then I placed it on my lap with pulsing hands.

My parents faces glared back at me as I glared at them. They're faces were pulled into a tight scowl and their two little children stood in front of them, one with a grin while the other one wore an expressionless look. The expressionless one was me.

Why the fuck would that be in there? Who kept it? I sure as hell know I didn't do that sort of thing, no way. I trashed, smashed, or in some cases burned, all of the photos and belongings that were my parents.

My sister must of put it in there, she did it to piss me off. She knows the memories that haunt me and how much I loathe our parents, even though they are long gone. I curse them and pray to god that they burn in hell and that Satan is showing no mercy on their pitiful souls.

As my eyes burn with hatred at the "family" photo, I peer closer into the photograph. I can almost pinpoint exactly when that picture was taken.

--Flashback--

I don't want to take the picture, we never take them anyway. The only reason we are taking one is because we need to keep up a facade.

The teacher saw my bruises yesterday and she made me go to the nurse and then home, which wasn't pleasant for me or my parents. All they did was yell at me again and then did mean things.

My friend Sally tells me that her parents don't do mean things to her. I thought all parents do, but hers don't. Maybe because I'm the middle child, they hurt me. Sally doesn't have any brothers or sisters, so maybe that's why her parents don't be mean.

Sally saw the bruises too, but we both use them as battle scars when we play pirates on the playground. It adds more fun.

But today I wasn't sent to school, so I didn't get to see Sally. Instead we all went to get a picture.

"Stand over here" my mom gestured to in front of me.

I did as she said, but obviously it wasn't enough.

"Not there u shithead! Over here!" she roared and shoved me to the exact spot she wanted me to stay.

I stood firmly in place as my dad gestured for my sister to stand in front of him, he smiled down at her and so did my mom. They always smiled at her, but it was different with me. They only looked ashamed.

"Smile for the picture girls" my mom said sternly, though I could tell she was only stern because I was there.

--End of flashback--

It had been a few minutes until I realized that my eyes were raining, as they usually do when I think of my childhood. But I am vowing not to cry anymore, no more sobby autumn. Autumn is supposed to be a nice time, not dreary and rainy.

I wiped my tears furiously with the back of my hand and took a deep breath. I glanced at the picture once more and anger quickly swelled inside of me, the sadness no more. I stood up slowly and laid picture on the bed. I took a couple steps back and glanced my head out the tiny window, with my back pressed against it. No one was in sight except for my neighbor, but he wasn't paying any attention to me.

I turn my attention back to the picture and began to creep over to it steadily, as if it were a bomb about to go boom.

How dare my parents do those things, and get away with it. They never once got caught. And stupid me for not realizing what was going on. Granted I was only a child, but still, any other child in their right state of mind would realize what was being done was abuse. Maybe everyone is right, maybe I have lost it.

Stop it! my mind began to screech at me, scold me, for thinking like that. I was completely sane. And no way was some foolish sister of mine and a no-good nurse going to convince me otherwise. It is the people who wronged me who are insane, they deserve to be locked up for life, not me.

With my thoughts swarming my head, I closed the space between the bed and I. My knees pressed against the bed and I glowered down on the photo.

I brought my arm up into the air, clenching my fist tightly. Remotely fast, my fist sliced through the air and came down on the picture.

The glass shattered on impact, and as I pulled my fist away I winced. Shards had imbedded into my hand and even a couple in my wrist somehow! I was amazed at how forcefully I hit the glass and perplexed by the lack of pain I felt. Most normal people would have cried to the ground in agony. Then again they say I'm not normal.

Smirking and chuckling to myself, I turned away from the picture and stepped away from the bits of glass that now littered the floor. I would hate to step on one of these things.

I picked my head up from the mess and glanced out the door window and do a double take.

Book boy is peering through his window and over at mine. He stares at me in awe, his mouth slightly agape. I stare at him, trying tone intimidating but fail. My hands are still in front of my chest, at perfect eye level for him.

His eyes flicker to me and gaze at me intensely. It's as if he was talking to me through his eyes, almost as if he was telling me "it's okay". But not sympathetically. I hate sympathy, maybe he does too.

Blood started trickling out of my lacerated skin at a more rapid rate. So much that a pool of it rested near my feet. I shifted on my feet, to avoid the blood as much as possible but it didn't help. All it did was bring nausea and dizziness to me.

I heard keys jingling and he hurried up and scurried away from the door, and back to his book.

I stood there in awe. Now it was my time to have my mouth open like an idiot. Ironic.

A guard stood outside my door with Clara and Lexi (my sister). The keys jingled and I knew they were coming in one way or another.

I felt my head begin to pound as I continued to shift on my feet anxiously. My knees felt weak and I let them slip out from underneath me with the thought of book boy in my mind.

Book boy has green eyes, the most beautiful ones I have ever seen. The ones that only look good on him and the ones that look hideous on Clara.