Deja Vu (Joshler AU) {Inspired by "Heathens"} (#Wattys2016)

Chapter 1

Handcuffs hurt.

Anyone with common sense would know that, however, these imbeciles don't care. They never have. They probably never will. They are just brute robots of the government programmed to hate and inflict pain.

I tugged forward slightly. I wish I could just reach out and cold-cock one, or both, of them in the face.

That means punch.

The unpleasant metal restraints were digging into my wrists for the past eight or more hours, sure to leave a nasty mark.

I was held with my arms behind my back, being led to my new room, or cell. I started to slow down due to fatigue.

Last night, I was chained to the wall, standing through the whole night. I yelled for hours on end begging for them to unchain me and let me rest. They remained standing and guarding my door, ignoring me as if I wasn't even there. My body had ached for the relief of my hard, springy, mattress to lie on.

Anything was better than standing.

According to the guards, my attitude that night was unacceptable which led to the outrageous punishment on my part.

As I walked, I felt like my knees were going to buckle and my legs were going to give way any second.

We aren't treated very well here at Regional Forest. They will do everything in their power to be in control,...even if that means watching a patient die at their hands. I've seen it happen before.

-

The guards roughly yanked me back into attention.

We turned a corner to encounter yet another bland hall of cells.

I heard men yelling for help in another part of the asylum. Those who have just the slightest grasp of sanity, well whatever is left of it, hold on tight and scream their lungs out hoping for help out of this hell hole.

I look side to side as I saw fellow heathens at their worst and most crazy. One person was screaming at the ceiling. Another was punching a wall, with fists well past bruising.

-

Once we got to my new cell, I was barbarously shoved in, and the door was violently slammed shut. I had lost my balance and fell to the ground.

I felt the impact tremor through my knees and face, later spreading throughout my whole body. I used my arms for support me as I pushed my body up onto my knees.

Finally, up on both feet, I walked up to my cell wall and grabbed the bars.

I saw my surrounding flash before my eyes. The first image was displayed as empty halls with an eerie reddish-orange light emitting false heat, the next it was bustling with guards and inmates.

I let go of the bars, backed away and chose to believe the latter.

I sat on the bed feeling the sting of the cut on the bridge of my nose come to life. I winced and ran a trembling hand through my hair.

The constant blaring of the sirens just seemed to have gotten louder and louder for me. My ears remained unprotected as I pondered, haven't I heard that before?

*

I covered my ears trying to drown out the annoying screaming of the school bell. It sounds like a fucking asylum in here.

I quickly gathered my things and slung my backpack onto my shoulder rushing off to my locker.

As I walked, I observed all of my fellow colleagues.

There were so many groups to keep up with.

There was the buff and cocky jocks or jerks as I liked to call 'em, the emos or goths {they all look the same to me} who always wore black, the hipsters who were low-key stoners complete with red tired eyes, the bullies of the school who got what they want when they want, the smart-ass nerds, the sluts-I mean cheerleaders, and then the normal kids who are just trying to survive this hell hole like the rest of us.

You are probably wondering what group I belong to. Oh wait, I did forget a group.

You see, I belong to a special group called the outcasts.

-

I continued to push my way through the halls and finally made it to my locker.

I opened it and stuffed my belongings in without as much as a second glance. I just wanted to hurry up before-

"Look who we have here, little Tyler Joseph."

Ugh, fuck my life.

He smirked and shoved me against my locker. I jerked back and hit my head against the metal slate door.

He laughed watching me try to rub the pain out of the back of my head.

His former comical look transitioned to a sinister one. He grabbed me by the neck of my shirt and held me against my locker.

He looked me dead into my eyes and asked, no demanded, "Where's my lunch money punk?"

I swallowed trying to coat my now dry and closing esophagus with the remaining saliva left in my mouth.

"I don't have any money on me today."

I tried my best to suppress my flaming anxiety and reply as fearlessly as humanly possible. The rage in his eyes grew as he slammed me against my locker again, but this time, with more force and better grip.

I felt my head begin to throb as my temples pulsed. My head hung as I felt his putrid breath against my face.

When I thought he was done, I looked up to come face to face with his fist.

The pain shot through my face as I saw stars.

"That's for lying to me, now where's the money?"

I weakly shook my head, unable to think or speak. My head was spinning and practically useless.

I fell in and out of consciousness before finally being thrown to the floor.

I was spat on kicked to the side.

Grateful for release from his death grip, I curled up on the hard floor and closed my eyes.