Shatter

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Chapter One

     Rule number one: Don’t go insane.  That’s the most important rule in here.  Keep your sanity and you keep your life, or what’s left of it.  Rule number two: Do what he tells you.  That’s the next most important rule.  If you don’t he’ll make your pathetic life even more of a hell than it already is.  Keep your trap shut and maybe you'll survive.  Rule number three: Use your gift only when permitted and never against the other gifted children.  That’s the easiest rule for me to follow.   I don’t want to use my gift when he tells me to, let alone by my own free will.  Rule number four: Take your punishments with grace.  Don’t beg for your life because it only makes him want to hurt you more.  He craves your screams, your heart breaking cries, that's his drug and we're his only suppliers.  Rule number five: When they come for you, don’t resist.  It will just make him wait longer.  That will make him angry, which in turn, will just mean more pain for you.  Basically do as you're told.  Be his puppet, let him control you and maybe you'll survive.

            There are people who differ from what others may call normal.  Society thinks that these people need to be locked away; of course this is for the greater good of all people.  Unfortunately, for the people who own this Hell we couldn’t be locked away in an insane asylum, because we’re not crazy, no, we're “gifted”.  Well, they’re gifted, I'm cursed.

            I sit on my small bed and wrap my arms around my legs.  I think for the seemingly millionth time about my so called gift.  This "gift" is more of a burden than something fantastic.  I unwrap my hands from around me and look down at my fingers.  I use my right hand to trail the length of my left hand fingers lightly.  I look at my palm and then the back of my hand.  They seem so innocent.  The skin is still somehow soft after years of neglect.  My nails have been chewed down to the nub, a bad habit of mine that I've never bothered to break.  Small freckles dot the back of my hand despite the fact that I don't ever remember seeing the sun.  Long, slender, pale white fingers so seemingly innocent.  So deceptive.  I ball my hands into fists quickly and bury my face in my knees.  These hands have killed people, innocent people that didn't deserve it.  I am a murderer, not some gifted miracle.  I'm a monster.

            I can hear footsteps echoing off the walls in the hallway.  I don’t know what day it is, I haven’t for years.  They come when they want one of us.  Those who can, walk to the front of their cells where we stand waiting for one of us to be taken.

            “Number Two,” one of the nameless guards yell out.

            My heart sinks into my stomach.  That was me.  The second one to join hell so that’s what they called me.  I have a name, Melinda.  I only know that because of him.  The owner.  He used it to gain my trust.  I grew up here.  This cell is my home.  I have just two memories of my life before, one of my mother and one of the day I was taken here.

            “Number Two!”   The guard yelled louder.  I jumped slightly.

            “Here,” I answered, not bothering to raise my voice above a raspy whisper.  I won’t trouble myself for them.

            The two, large men took their spots in front of my cage door.  I try not to jump as the slide open the small cover on the rectangular opening in the door.  They push clothing through the small window and between the narrow bars.  I watch as the fabric falls to the ground silently.  I stand frozen for a moment, wondering what will happen this time.  What punishment will he make me face?

            "Put it on!"  One of the guards yells at me.

            I can feel the anger building up inside me.  I didn't ask for this.  I don't want this.  What right does he have to yell at me?  What right do they have to keep me locked up?  I didn’t ask to be different- to be gifted.