This story was set in the past, but not like a really long time ago. I'm not entirely sure when yet. But yeah. Present tense will be 'I', but in flashbacks it will be 'you', and italics. Sorry if it gets confusing! Kinda sucks, but it'll get better soon. :3 Also the cover is pretty bad, but I wanted to test resizing stuff. •••• Pyromaniac The thing is, I'm not crazy. It's a shame my wristband says otherwise. To be honest, I'm not even sure what half the words are printed across the blue rubber. Still, it's better than jail, even if I do end up with a bunch of "loonies". I'm not crazy, or demented, or any of the other names. I'm not a psycho, a beast, a killer- Well, maybe a killer, but still. It was him that made me do it. But of course, he's back at home in his own little protected world, and I'm here -- in a grey cell, which may I add, stinks of piss. The blood was on his hands, but the authority and charismatic facade say other wise. However, maybe going away and leaving will be good. He'll find me though; he always does. Escape isn't as simple as it appears. •••• "You said I wouldn't have to come," You mumble, staring down at your battered trainers. You trail the scuffed edges across the concrete; an excuse to not have to look up at his sharp green eyes. He smiles down at you, at ease despite the matches in his charred hand, with their own unfortunate end beckoning. "Don't worry -- you wanted to come before anyway -- no one will notice." He stifles a laugh, the sadistic expression displaying far too comfortably across his features. "Not now, anyway," he adds with a wink, grin widening. You shake your head slightly, wondering how he managed to appear as such an ordinary doctor by day. You turn around, looking reluctantly behind you. All that remains is darkness, surrounding you with shadows, eerily dancing it's show as the rest of the city sleep. It's too late to go back, even if you wanted too. Instead you turn back, meeting his confident gaze. He offers you a smile which doesn't quite reach his eyes, before lifting up a pale hand and carefully brushing a loose strand of red hair behind your ear. "It's okay; don't be scared. You wanted revenge, I thought." You look up at him as your own green eyes widen slightly, but you relax at his smile, even if you didn't believe it or want too. "Okay," you mumble uncertainly. Your mind drifts to your past briefly, a shiver running up your spine. Glancing over at the matches, you briefly nod your head. Despite the shaking of your hands, you take out a match, striking it so that both of your faces are now illuminated in the dim glow of the flame. Cautiously, you lean over and light his. Your heart's beating fast. Breathe. It's fine, you think. That's what he said. Believe him. That would have been difficult if it weren't for his easy way with words. How he'd convinced you to doing this you didn't know. But... A scare could do them good. The idea of revenge did appeal. They deserve it. Anyway, it's just to shock them. You look back up again, standing next to the young man. Still. Silent. The only noise being the rustle of an occasional branch or bush, or owls' cries in the distance. You're both alone, except for the shadows. You shudder, using your free hand to run through your long hair. A leaf falls from it. "Do it," the man says in a low voice. His hood falls loosely over his eyes, though you can predict an excited gleam would linger in them. He loved the danger -- the thrill of the unknown. Growing uncomfortable, you nod. He casts you a wink before you walk together up to the house, throwing the matches quickly into the open windows. It doesn't take long until the sofa catches fire. Both foreheads pressed up against the glass, you watch with a slight smile. You watch entranced as time passes, panicking yet unable to move as you hear shrieks and screaming. He pulls at your wrists, but it's almost like you're glued to the floor. Soon, sirens are heard in the distance. He shoots you a cold glance, before shaking his head with a quiet curse and running, the shadows chasing him as he disappears into the darkness. You stand silently as the handcuffs arrive, letting the men in uniform lead you away. Your eyes are closed -- resigned to what will come next. •••• A week later. As they hauled me out of the van, I looked around in awe. The tall iron gate stood out, towering over my frail body with a menacing stance. I hadn't seen the van pass through, but then again, I hadn't been outside the cell properly for weeks. I inhaled the fresh air, treading barefoot across the path. The grass was like a soft carpet -- refreshing. Green eyes catching a glimpse of the fence, I raised an eyebrow. I knew it was a mental hospital for the "criminally insane", but the electric fence looked like it could kill you if you even went near. I raked a hand through my dark hair, cringing slightly at the greasy feel. My mind wandered as I thought of the people that could be inside too need such high security, whilst wondering if the showers were decent. Maybe I was just going crazy. As one of the guards called out, I began to walk, approaching the large building which lay ahead. The windows were barred and the colour a lifeless stone grey, spreading out for what seemed like miles though I knew it couldn't be. 'Still, it could be worse,' I thought to myself, chewing uncertainly on my lower lip as I followed the guard up to the main entrance. My feet trailed across the stony floor, a few bloody footprints following me. I winced, trying to flick a stone out of my foot. As they knocked on the door, I looked into a blacked out window, blinking at my reflection staring back. My eyes were now lifeless and framed by large bags, my hair greasy, and a baggy orange overall hanging loosely of my skinny figure. I thought I'd have to try and look 'crazy', but it seemed I'd already perfected it. I spun around as the door opened, brushing against the stone wall; it's coldness momentarily a pleasure. The lady in the door frame looked to be in her sixties, her grey hair in a tight bun and a pair of small glasses perched on the edge of her crooked nose. She was bent over slightly and had a medicine bottle in one wrinkled hand. "Ah, you must be Ms Mayer." Her gaze met the guards, not even casting me a glance despite addressing me, and sent them a swift nod. Surprisingly they left, swinging shut the large wooden door behind their large bodies. "Follow me then," she snapped, causing me to quickly look away from the door. "Hurry," she added with a scowl, disappearing down one of the many passages.
Sorry if it sucks. I hate writing in 1st person. :3 It's 3rd now. Tbh I'm probably going to leave this and start a new story. I don't really like how it's turned out. This is just a small part whilst I work on something else. :3 ••• The hallway was long and winding, with high white walls which seemed too stretch onwards for miles; a few plastic white chairs leaning against them. The floor, of course, was white and tiled as well. Looking up, the ceiling was decorated with a few bright lights which lit up the corridor, causing the adolescent to abruptly look away as the light slightly blinded her round green orbs. The old lady stared, a ghost of a smile drifting across her ageing features. As she noticed the woman looking, it quickly faded to be replaced by a stern frown. "This is your room," she said, pointing a thin finger at a tall metal door to her left. "You're in group B. I think they're inside, but some are likely to be at one on one therapy. They'll explain what you need to know." The young woman nodded, feeling self conscious suddenly and nervous of what lay beyond the door. She ran a pale hand through her auburn hair—smoothing the frizz—as the sound of keys unlocked the door. She stepped inside the doorway, the older lady handing her a slip of paper before closing the door and locking it, saying something about a schedule. Shrugging, the young woman folded the creased paper before slipping it into the pocket of her orange overalls. Chewing nervously on her lower lip, she raised her head. The room that she was in was relatively small. The walls were grey and the paint was peeling... It was better than the bright white corridors however. The floor was wooden, with a few moth eaten armchairs perched upon it. In the centre of the room was a small round table, home to a few out of date newspapers. The room appeared empty at first, until she heard somebody clear their throat from behind. Jumping slightly, the young woman span around, eyes widening in alarm. Before her stood a man. His appearance made him look young, yet the bags under his eyes and slightly sunken skin added a few years to his age. She wondered how old she appeared. Twenty, going on thirty five perhaps. He cleared his throat again, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Um, hello," she began in a quiet voice. She looked down to avoid his gaze. He was tall, and appeared quite intimidating. "Who are you?" Was his response, offering her a curt nod. At that moment, another man appeared from a doorway that the woman hadn't even noticed. He walked over with a casual smile across his features. He looked to be in his late thirties. "Nate, don't scare off the newcomer," he said. He looked at ease, but the woman could hear the slight edge to his voice. The boy supposedly called 'Nate' shot him back a strange look, before walking out of the doorway the other man had appeared from. "Sorry about him," said a voice, making her jump slightly as she turned back to look at the man speaking who'd ordered the younger man away. "I'm Harry, by the way." She felt more comfortable around him, although she knew not to trust the people here entirely. He had an older look about him, as if he could have been someone's father before arriving. "It's okay," she replied. "I'm Esther." •••
I know. xD I really don't like this one though. ;-; I'm just going to make a collection of partly written stories. x3