I wake up once again.
I still have the taste of blood in mouth, I don't know how long I was asleep.
Asleep may be the wrong word anyway.
My whole body hurts, I'm covered with cuts, my bones feel weak, like I couldn't stand up.
But the worst is my hand.
It feels like it would burn, but I'm too afraid to even look at it.
I'm feeling sick when I think about what I did.
But still, I know, if I would get to hungry I would do it again.
After a while I can stand up.
I try not to look at all the stuff on the floor, the things I laid in.
I can slowly walk away, even every step is torture.
I can't see anyone, not living or dead, but I know I'm not safe.
If I can find the other person down here, if there even is someone, I'm not sure at all, probably I'll get help.
Hopefully it won't get worse, even I can't imagine how it should, it's already a horrible nightmare.
I know, I should go upstairs and look for an exit, but there are all the dead people.
They aren't real!
But what if they are?
And even if not, maybe they can still do horrible things...
It doesn't make sense, but the fact that I'm here doesn't make sense too.
I keep walking.
I have to rest nearly every minute, but I won't give up.
I'll survive this.
I don't want to die here.
Not like this.
How long am I even here?
In this mental hospital?
Some days I guess...
Can my parents know that I'm not where I'm supposed to be?
How can you know they didn't want you to be here?
Sometimes I really hate this voice in my head.
It's annoying sometimes. And mean. Sometimes it tries to help me.
But it never lies.
I can't know if my parents already know that I'm here and don't care.
Or maybe even arranged this.
But why?
I could understand if they would have killed me, nobody would like to have a son like me, I'm insane, and I'm honestly sorry for my parents, that they had to raise me and all.
But do things like this?
Why should they lock me here?
Why not? Could be funny.
'Shut up!'
The sound of my voice surprises me, I didn't ment to talk loud.
So I'm starting to talk to myself now
'Fine, fine, fine'
I haven't said a word for a long time, the last time I even made a noise was when I was running around screaming and crying so my voice sounds horrible, empty like a whisper out of a grave.
I see a door again and try if it's closed, like I did with every door I walked past so far.
I can push it open.
The room is full of shelves and big tables, books and binders are laying around every where.
Most things are covered with dust and dirt, but at some places of the floor are footsteps, and some other things in the room look like someone would have used them too.
Someone was here.
'Fine, fine, fine'
Should I stop talking to myself?
Or should I be thankful for not getting an answer?
Probably both.
'Whatever...'
I walk into the room, looking through some stuff.
Most of the books are medical things, the binders are about formal patients here, they go back til the 20s.
Most of them are just normal stuff, but some things are
Horrible
Experiments they made with the people here.
Horrible, terrifying things.
With detailed drawings and descriptions.
Of everything.
I'm getting sick again, but I can't put the binders away.
The things they made with the people here...
The drawings are so detailed, I can clearly see the the pain in the faces of the people.
How they got tortured.
Suddenly I hear steps behind me.
Maybe it's not real.
Maybe there's no one.
The steps get closer.
Please no, please
I can feel the warmth of another body right behind me.
No, no, no
I can feel the warm breathe of who ever stands behind me.
I can't turn around.
I feel a cold needle on my neck, a liquid gets into my blood.
Then everything turns black.
