The column ahead of me was worn. The concrete was rough, and there were even signs of a gunshot, due to the poorly done spot-fill. I after enough effort and determination, the concrete sawed through the leather straps. I stretched, my arms reaching towards the long-unseen sky. I felt a warm breeze against my neck. I must be by the heating vent, because the vents often spewed moist, thick heat that could almost drown you.
"Now now... Where to?" The corridor split into a 4 way intersection. I could choose any direction, as long as I found a way out. I decided I'd head the way I was wheeled in, the left corridor. I walked casually, no... Empowered, down the halls. I was no one's prisoner. Nobody's patient. The prey has become the predator. I walked the familiar hall, D Block, west wing of the patient's cells. There were lifeless bodies with expressions that proved quite the contrary. They were all stuck in the expression of horror and agony. Too bad I missed the party. Among the bodies, one in particular caught my eye. He had a pocketknife clipped in his pocket. A folding utility knife, nothing special, but nothing to walk away from. I picked it up from the pocket, but stopped mid-action by the sound of a faint gurgling. Upon further inspection, it was the officer. The patients must have hit-and-ran, because he was still, barely, alive. How deliciously easy. This guard would prove to be useful as a tool and food. I like it when they're alive... I want them to see who feeds upon their mortal flesh. I could hear the laughter again... It comes every time I feed... That damned laughter! It's enough to send me into a rage! ...And it does. Before I realize what I'm doing, I had already cut his throat and fished the heart out of the cut. The laughter subsided... For now anyways... My hands were bathed in blood, forearm deep. Should I feel sympathy? Should I feel remorse? Maybe, but I don't. No one showed me any sympathy as a child. They didn't feel guilt for beating me senseless, so what difference is it that I feel nothing? The meal was over, and it was time to move on. As I inched along the hallway, I could hear an patient's maniacal cackling. It wasn't that of sadness, but pleasure in having done what they desired. There was red writing along the walls as I walked. The dim light provided just enough to get a glimpse and read it. 'I killed her, I did it, kill, kill, kill! I want them all dead!Murder now, kill kill kill!!!' That's when I saw it. An old man, stooped over a corpse, unidentifiable, dipping his old fingers into the chest cavity and using the blood to paint. He payed no attention to me. He simply cackled on and kept writing. I had that nameless feeling. I could kill him too, just for the sheer pleasure of spilling more blood, but oddly enough, I couldn't. I kept walking, my legs carrying me further into the depths of the Asylum without conscious thought. The entire facility looked like it was post-apocalyptic. It was almost like a zombie apocalypse, but the zombies were alive and unpredictable. There was that warm and moist heat again.
"I've been watching you... Hehehehehe," a sickly whisper said. I turned to see a horribly disfigured man, burn wounds, cut wounds, scars everywhere. "You want to know the way out do ya...? Hehehehehehehehe...."
"Of course I do."
"How about we pair up to get out. I know the way, but I'm not capable of manipulating doors and mechanisms that well," he said holding out his arthritic hands. "What do you say, Ashlyn...?" The way he said my name was very concerning, but so was every patient in the asylum. The fact he could speak intelligible English was amazing as it is. Maybe I can kill him when it's over.
"Sure. I'll do the heavy lifting, as long as I'm free."
Poll