Warnings: blood, death, insanity, killingness, mentions of canibalism, and a lot of other really twisted things. Read at your own risk.

Sometimes I wonder where I get my ideas.

My entry for the local 2007 Teen Writters Contest. I hope I win.

XxX

Never again would they dare to call me insane. I giggle as I look down at what was once their bodies; now they lay mutilated on the cold tile floor of the asylum. My toes crackle as I wiggle them in the pool of blood oozing from their wounds.

I inhale deeply, admiring the coppery smell of the crimson liquid splattered all around. Nope, I think cheerfully, they can’t call me crazy again! Padding away from the mounds of broken flesh, towards my cell, I recall the first day I came here. It was almost nine months ago. Everyone who was there then is gone now, whether by free choice or my choice. It was such a beautiful day.

The sun was shining, the trees were full of green leaves, there were flowers everywhere and birds sung overhead. I was welcomed with smiles from the doctors and nurses and hesitant glances from the residents. I couldn’t figure out why I was here. I seemed as sane as everyone else. I figured it had something to do with the boy I stabbed in my biology class. We were talking about human organs, and I wanted to see them in action, so I started to dissect my lab partner. It wasn’t like anyone would miss him.

I had a cell mate, a boy about my age with sandy blond hair that fell over his shockingly green eyes and abnormally pale skin. That didn’t last long. He always screamed when I tried to eat him. I was put into the padded room when they found me gnawing on his jugular. I wonder what happened to him. He was nice.

Of course, after they decided that he would go away, I had to go away too. I wasn’t allowed to be around the other residents. Most of them came and went faster than I could remember their faces anyway, so it didn’t really bother me. However, when I was allowed out, everyone would stay as far away from me as possible. I could see the fear in their eyes.

After almost three solid months of solitary confinement after trying to put an air bubble into one of the nurse’s main arteries with the syringe my meds came in, the doctors all thought I was getting better. From what I’m not sure I’ll ever know, ‘cause I was never sick in the first place. When I was let out again, I was the only patient I knew. Everyone else had changed. I couldn’t find one familiar face within the group, but even if I didn’t know them, they sure knew me.

Look, they’d say, that’s the boy who tried to eat somebody’s liver while they were still alive. Or sometimes they’d say, don’t go near him, he’ll gouge your eyes out with his tongue. Once I even heard someone whisper that I’d suck their blood like a vampire. As if they’ve never thought about making a stew out of a loved one’s heart.

I could deal with all that, though. It’s all true, but when they started calling me the king of crazy, psycho-boy, ruler of the asylum, I got mad. It wasn’t true. I wasn’t crazy. I’m not crazy now, either, regardless of what anyone would say.

I was put back into solitary confinement after I stuck a stick of celery into some guy’s eye. He called me crazy. They all said I was crazy. But I’m not. They’re the ones who are crazy.

I sat in the padded room, wearing the ‘I love me’ coat for another four months, before being let out again for socialization purposes. Yet again, all the faces were new. They still called me crazy. I played nice though. I smiled in that crooked way I do and said thank you. The action of reverse didn’t help.

The latest nurse recruitment, my latest med-giver, made the mistake of turning her back and allowing me to reach inside her little bag. I pulled out a scalpel. I’m not sure why she had a scalpel, but she did. I was happy she did. I saved it, hid it among the little things I was allowed for my progress. It found its way into the stuffing of a teddy bear someone gave me, waiting until I called upon it again.

I wanted to see if I could get anymore of the blades. I failed. On the other hand, I managed to win the rights of eating utensils. I got plastic sporks. It made me happy.

My mom was allowed to visit me last week. She said she wanted me to come home, but she knew that I couldn’t until I was all better. She was lying. She was glad I got forced here. She was glad that I was deemed insane. They’re all lying though; I’m not insane. That’s them. They’re insane, all of them.

Tonight seemed like a good night. I saw the full moon through the sliver of window in my cell. It was really quiet, so I pulled my scalpel out of my teddy and slipped out into the hallway. I could see the light coming from the nurses’ station down the hall. I could hear the faint whispers coming from the TV there. They were my first target. They’re the ones who give me my unfeelings everyday. They make me a zombie, hyped up on drugs, just like everyone else.

The first one never saw it coming. His blood gushed forth with the first slice and he was dead before he hit the ground. The other one, a girl, heard him fall and turned. I got to her before she screamed. When I slit her throat, the blood bubbled with her unvoiced shock and I could see the life slipping from her eyes. They were a pretty brown. I imagine they’re a bit fogged now with rigor mortis.

The next group was a trio of my doctors. I couldn’t stop them from crying out fast enough, so along came some guards. I got shot at by one before I manage to get him. The others lay on the floor, bleeding.

The sound of the gun firing roused the other residents. It didn’t take long for them to join the doctors on the floor all along the halls. There weren’t that many in the first place. Now there are none.

I feel the blood squishing between my toes and underfoot start to coagulate into one big sticky mess and smile.