unOrdinary...Jane?

I

Months

How long has it been? When will it stop? The constant images blurred my vision, the voices growing ever so louder and louder. No, one particular voice I wanted to be silenced.

The thoughts keep on coming back to me, those who should be forsaken as troublesome and painful. I shouldn't feel bad as to what I done. There shouldn't be any remorse towards... And yet. I am constantly reminded, the blood, the voices. No, the particular voice that no matter how much I try to silence, her voice just grows louder and louder. Please.

Please shut up. Please...

I couldn't silence her voice in my head.

Blood of others everywhere or was just mine? My hands were aching. Was it from beating, or the struggles of my chains? My cheek painted with red. The red from the splatter of blood or from the beating I was given.

I sat in the cold dimly lit room, or rather what I considered to be a cell. At least they gave me a decent black bed on the corner, which I lay silent and still for the passing days.

However, in the mist of voices, one of the voices felt more distinct than the rest.

When was the last time I actually saw them?

"John," I heard a muffled voice past the door as it slowly opens to reveal Keon with a stern and scowling face, his red hair brushed to the side.

To be brought out that door? How long has it been? How many weeks or months has past since I haven't just see the bloody turf. No, no matter where I go, they will just appear...

I got up and sat up from the bed with my wrists still red from struggling out of the chains of cuffs.

I break into a sweat in his presence, not saying a word, not being able to look at him. For these past... whatever time I been here, he would only enter my room to give me food or... To use his ability....

I shut my eyes my instinct, preparing myself for the worst.

Just do it already, get it over with...

I heard Keon signed, like the other times as he usual shows disgust with me. However, instead in a slap in the face, or the presence of his ability growing, he just stood silent.

...

Then, he finally said, "John, it seems you have properly adjusted. Have you?"

Normally, I would talk back to him. But this time, I couldn't bring myself to heighten what agony I already suffered.

I open my eyes to see him with a glare from lack of response. He stood tall with his brown long coat, white collar, and tie.

"Nothing to say?" he stated almost as if he expected it, "Very well. Today, this is your last week being here."

...

"Hm," he hovered over my head with my response of silence, "aren't you glad?"

Again, I remained silent.