He stared at her image from the deep, dank corners of his cell. Was she really there? Not at all. But to him she was everything.

She was the one that put him in here.

She was the one who haunted his nightmares.

And the one who drove him insane.

He laughed at the idea that he was insane and rocked back and forth, running his spoon along the bars of his cell. He knew that if he kept at it, he would be savagely beaten, yet that was what he wanted. When the blows struck his body, they seemed to dislodge the ache in his heart, even if only for a little while.

Laughter, screams, and cries were all that erupted form the boy that was soon to become a man. He had a tangled mop of curly black hair and silvery grey eyes. He had a longish nose and pink bow lips. Even though he definitely wasn’t the cleanest, many of the jail whores tried to bed him, yet he allowed no human contact.

I must get out.

Really now? You? Escape? A voice that belonged to him and yet was not his own began to laugh then and bang against a table that existed in the world inside his mind.

If only to die and see my beloved again. And make her feel the pain that grows stronger with each day.

Getting a bit poetic are we?

Will you two just SHUTUP!?

For once the pair inside his head actually listened. They were the strong voices. There were others, but there echoing calls had long since faded away.

Once again the mental image clouded all thoughts and blocked out the world around him.

She was so beautiful, and yet so…

Deadly. That night, she was to be mine. Mine forever.

Forever in Death. Or did you already forget that “wonderful” plan of yours?

First you kill her than yourself, die together, live happily ever after in the Otherworld…So on and so forth.

But you didn’t think about the fact that she didn’t really want to die did you?

Selfish, Murdering, Evil…

But it was PERFECT!!! How could she not want such a thing? I loved her so much…

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps coming down the hallway. His hand, which had been so absentmindedly trailing the spoon along the bars, came to a stop. The spoon fell to the floor in a clatter.

A smile broke out on the boy’s face. The startling face of one who has yet to be a man, the face of one who has gone insane.

They come, Oh how they come! Clubs at the ready to mend my broken heart.

No one answered and he was grateful. They always shied away at the footfalls. Where they went he had no idea. Nor did he want to for he would be tempted to follow. His place was here, now, and drenched with pain.

The cell door opened and opened easily. The only cell door that did in fact. When in the mood to deliver pain, one does not want to deal with a stubborn door.

When the men entered, there were four of them. They smiled cheerfully, as though they knew what they were about to do, but were choosing to enjoy it. And enjoy it they did.

Four men armed with clubs. Fatso over there looks like he knows how to use that thing. Good.

The smile on the prisoner’s face grew wider and even more disturbing. “Fatso” began to grow afraid. He had heard of this one. The one they called the Beaten. For that was what he loved the most. To be Beaten.

“Wait a minute.” Said the guard on the right with blonde hair and heavy eyebrows. “Will should take on The Beaten.”

“Fatso”/ Will nodded and waited as the other three men left the cell.

“We’ll be back.” Who said it wasn’t important, what was important was the fact that they left Will alone with a boy that wanted to die.

“So there…The Beaten is it? I don’t really want to hurt you, but you were making an awful amount of noise…”

He tuned out the sound of Will’s nasal voice and once more crawled back into the depths of his mind, preparing for what was to come. He always brought forth her image, held it, and savored the way it wavered when the blows struck his head.

Golden brown hair, ruby red lips that were full and enticing. Deep amber eyes and a nose that slightly crinkled when she smiled. Her hair was half up, with deep red beads woven through the plaits. She was wearing black, his favorite color on her. A black dress with gold embroidery.

He sighed in spite of himself. How he wanted to kiss her once that time, how he wanted to see the look on her face when he ripped her heart out. In the Otherworld, they would be united.

“…so…erm…would you like to assume the position?” Will finished, never realizing that he had lost the attention of his captive.

The Beaten snapped back to the world of the sane, or so he liked to call it, and looked at his punisher quizzically.

“You know, protect yourself?” Will made gestures to his own stomach and the back of his neck.

His grey eyes still started blankly at the man, almost hidden beneath his jet black hair.

“Fine.” He said aloud, finding resolve in him he didn’t know he had.

He swung back the club and prepared to strike when his conscious stopped him. The boy wasn’t doing any harm to anyone was he?

Aww…so Fatso has a soft spot. DAMN HIM!

A croak emitted from the mouth of the kneeling boy.

Will never once thought that it might be speech.

“ComeonFatsoAreyouscared?” The Beaten muttered.

Will slowly began to lower his club. Wasn’t the boy supposed to be mute? “What?”

“I said ‘Come on Fatso. Are you scared?’ Have you never beaten anyone before? Should I help you? Should I show you how?” He then collapsed on the floor in maniacal laughter.

Rage welled up inside of Will. The words stung, oh yes they did, but the laughter, the LAUGHTER!...

It was the laugh of the dead, the laugh of the living, the laugh of one who has seen both and only keeps on giving…

Will used all his strength to beat down on the boy, yet he would not be silenced. The laughter turned into crazed yells, then ear-splitting screams, then all was silent.

Will set down the club and wiped what he thought was sweat from his face. It was blood.

Will backed out of the cell. “Oh God…what have I done?” The man began to bolt down the hallway, with The Beaten’s crazed laughter ringing in his ears.

The boy had wanted to die and now his goal was almost accomplished. He lay there and began to chuckle softly to himself as he once again contemplated the idea of him being crazy.

The weak laughter was interrupted by a cough and a mouthful of blood. He began to laugh harder. How his blood matched the beads in his beloved’s hair the day he killed her.

Funny coincidence.

The darkness then began to settle around him, and his strange laughter was heard in the land of the sane no more.