Once more, I see the sly glimpse of the silver-eyed stranger. The peering silver contained by nighttimes’ darkness. The familiar gleam that wakes me from my endless daze. The cracks on my lone prison window changes nothing from my view of the steep hill the asylum overlooks.
I shake in terror at the sight. His eyes, the silver eyes, they penetrate my dreams, my nightmares, my daily life in this hellhole. And to think, that before this glimpse, I’d seen them only once before. The one thing I needed to complete my desire to escape.
I hold my shriek and pace around my immaculate prison, the emptiness that has already driven me mad, and the whiteness that has blinded me. My inch-thick mattress is thrown across the room in an unthinking fit of unease. Waiting. Waiting for those in white to unlock the steel doors.
No one comes. My chest pounds maddeningly, and I do my best not to crumple down the ground and seize the roots of my hair. I cannot scream, despite the terrible longing to. They had already taken me away from my brother, my young brother who now roams the city alone, possibly starving, and cold; I had been warned to comport myself, otherwise even the rare visits he is permitted would be denied.
Fingers clutch the steel handles of the door; it hardly gives a shake. Over and over the image of the stranger’s silver eyes rushes before my own. Heavily breathing, collapsing on my knees and leaning against the cold steel, I take a moment to summon up the reason for my fright.
An unconscious whimper escapes me before I even try to recall that night. The night that had brought me here. The memory is somewhat unclear at the moment, repeatedly muddling with the streaks of silver. But what I do see give me chills nonetheless; the raging orange flames, my brother’s tears, the ravens’ cackles. . .
I yell for it to stop to no one in particular, as the ravens’ teasing hoots pierce my hearing. Footsteps.
My yell seems to have finally drawn their attention. I bolt up, eyes scanning the near pitch-dark room, in search of anything I may be able to use against them. Their footsteps and irritable mutterings get louder and louder with each second that passes. Frantic, I scamper toward my hospital bed. I smile, for a first, as the bed wobbles with my slightest touch; I yank off the iron railings with no trouble.
@ ? that's coming from a jerk who can't even spell retarded.
I shake in terror at the sight. His eyes, the silver eyes, they penetrate my dreams, my nightmares, my daily life in this hellhole. And to think, that before this glimpse, I’d seen them only once before. The one thing I needed to complete my desire to escape.
I hold my shriek and pace around my immaculate prison, the emptiness that has already driven me mad, and the whiteness that has blinded me. My inch-thick mattress is thrown across the room in an unthinking fit of unease. Waiting. Waiting for those in white to unlock the steel doors.
No one comes. My chest pounds maddeningly, and I do my best not to crumple down the ground and seize the roots of my hair. I cannot scream, despite the terrible longing to. They had already taken me away from my brother, my young brother who now roams the city alone, possibly starving, and cold; I had been warned to comport myself, otherwise even the rare visits he is permitted would be denied.
Fingers clutch the steel handles of the door; it hardly gives a shake. Over and over the image of the stranger’s silver eyes rushes before my own. Heavily breathing, collapsing on my knees and leaning against the cold steel, I take a moment to summon up the reason for my fright.
An unconscious whimper escapes me before I even try to recall that night. The night that had brought me here. The memory is somewhat unclear at the moment, repeatedly muddling with the streaks of silver. But what I do see give me chills nonetheless; the raging orange flames, my brother’s tears, the ravens’ cackles. . .
I yell for it to stop to no one in particular, as the ravens’ teasing hoots pierce my hearing. Footsteps.
My yell seems to have finally drawn their attention. I bolt up, eyes scanning the near pitch-dark room, in search of anything I may be able to use against them. Their footsteps and irritable mutterings get louder and louder with each second that passes. Frantic, I scamper toward my hospital bed. I smile, for a first, as the bed wobbles with my slightest touch; I yank off the iron railings with no trouble.
@ ? that's coming from a jerk who can't even spell retarded.