Behind Bars

Discoveries

(A/N: TIME SKIP!)

It is only my first week  here in the Institute, as I have heard my fellow inmates call it, and the mongrels have already decided that a simple cell is not enough to contain me. My, don't I feel special... As I rightfully should; after all, the hounds are treating me like royalty. I have my own room with separate necessary utilities and the dogs come in every other hour or so to talk to me.

Me.

No one else.

Just me.

That's an interesting thought, me, the 'insane' puppeteer being royalty. What would I be if I were part of a highly respected monarchy? A duke, a prince, a king? Heh, why do I even doubt myself...I would be a king no matter what because a king has all of the power. Come to think of it, if I put it like that, I'm already a king. King of the No Man's Land, King of the Marionettes, King of the Flea Bags!

 . . .

I believe this horrid complex is beginning to grate on my nerves. Slowly, ever so agonizingly slowly, I feel my stability returning, my control over my brain is returning from wherever it had ran off to six days ago. Ever since those damned mutts dropped me off in this rotting hell, there has been absolutely nothing for me to do.

I have tried singing, talking to the dogs, drawing on the walls, and entertaining myself with the Bulldog when he calls me into his "office". Can he even really call it that, though? An office? It is a room full of cold steel and unforgiving glass; glass that lets others look in, but keeps me in the dark. I do not like being in the dark. Dark means lack of knowledge and knowledge is power. Without knowing what is going on outside of that stale "office", I have no power. And I hate that. I hate being out of control. I hate not being able to manipulate the ones around me. Maybe that is why I am who I am today. Who knows?

You sure do not, my little darlings, you do not know anything. You are weak. You are helpless. You are vulernable. Pathetic. Disgusting. Worthless. Trash. Don't believe for one second that you are ever safe, that you could ever surmount to anything. Do you hear me, you pieces of crap? DO YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU CAN NEVER ESCAPE THE CONFINEMENT OF YOUR OWN MIND! YOU CAN NEVER GET AWAY FROM WHAT HAUNTS YOU, WHAT YOU FEAR. IT IS ALWAYS WITH YOU AND NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO YOU CAN'T LEAVE! YOU ARE NOT SAFE! YOU ARE NOT ANYTHING!

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A bare light bulb snaps on in a barren room; sharp metal digs into the condemned man's wrists and ankles. He is strapped to the table with metal chains, bound not only by handcuffs, but by the inner workings of his own brain. Across the interrogation room, Chief  Abner studies his most difficult convict carefully. Not but twenty minutes ago had his men, sorry, dogs, found the inmate raging in his cell, screaming nonsense towards a little black book. Personally, the Chief had tranquilized the criminal and led him to his home away from home, the interrogation room, or the "Torture Chamber" as some of the younger detectives and guards have taken to calling it.

Still waiting for the man to wake from his drug-induced slumber Abner slid the black notebook from the convict's hands. Cautiously, not wanting to taint the pages with his fingerprints, he began to read. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I don't usually have one of these, like, ever, but I decided to this time. I am DETERMINED to continue as regularly as possible with this story.( AND EDIT WHEN I GET THE CAHNCE! XD) The chapters will be short, but, hopefully, many. Sort of like how actual journal entries are. Have you guys ever read James Patterson? If you have, then you know how his chapters can vary from one paragraph in length to ten or eleven pages, especially in the Maximum Ride Series. Well, it'll be like that... :D Hope anyone who's reading this enjoyed this entry! ^_^ Comments/Feedback/CRITICISM is always appreciated! :3