The Asylum for the Mentally Unstable

January 13. Friday

The scientist gave me this, its a little journal. He told me it would help me get better. But no matter what, they still believe I'm crazy. I've been here for two years.... if I was sick.. wouldn't I be better? Why would I have to go through Hell... to fix a problem?

My parents dumped me here when I was thirteen. I would speak to things... things they couldn't see... One night they drove me here, and left me at the entrance. The scientists came out, promising to help me.... I never realized that meant torturing me. But I was the one that never cried.... I never cry.

The doctor said that my birthday was coming up. He said I was gonna be sixteen... that I would get a new nightgown and a haircut.  And possibly if I were lucky, strawberries.

I told him I didn't care for those childish things, that I didn't care about myself anymore. He chuckled as he put the sparky things on my temples. They had some crazy scientific name, but I don't bother with those. I leaned back on the filthy pillow, waiting for pain. He took a scalpel and sliced down my arm, opening the same wound he did every week. The nerves there went crazy and my arm involuntarily clenched as he slid in a wire. " Just relax," he said... like he did every week. Then his cold fingers left me and I heard the shocky machine start up, whirring and clicking into place.

One zap....

Two zap.....

Three zap.....

Each one sent electricity down my body. Most kids cry at this part, scream, beg for mercy. I groaned as I felt warm liquid coming down my face. Six zaps later, my scalp was thoughouly wet, and a pulsing headache was coming on. As I write this, my arm shakes from the effort from the blood loss. He unhooked me and wrapped a clean bandage around my gash. I simply watched him do this, my face a blank slate. He kissed my fingers and led me to the guard. The guard led me roughly to my cell block. Me and my friends were in the teenager section. The cell itself is concrete, except for the door, that's metal bars. My friend's curious faces peeked out watching me, chuckling when the guard threw me in, slamming the door shut behind me. My friends snickered as the guard tripped over an empty food bowl.

Amber, the girl next door, asked me if they gave me strawberry gashes. That's what we call the cuts, because we didn't like saying blood.  Its called strawberry, because its a rare delicacy here. We like to pretend that that's what they cut out of us.... we know the truth, but its funner to pretend.

I told her they did... like they always did... like they forever will do. She sighed sadly... no doubt envying how stoic I could be. My other friend, Matty was in the next cell. I heard him scuffle over to the bars.

" Do you think it hurts," he said against the bars. I looked over in his direction..

"What do you mean," I said leaning against my own bars to be able to look at him.

" Death..." he whispered. I could feel his pain.

"Yes," I answered honestly... I felt bad for him. Last week he was declared incurable... and sentenced to die in a month or so. He has similar abilitys to me... all of the teenagers do.... We aren't crazy.

I have to go... the guards are putting the lamps out..