They tell me I'm crazy. They say I see things. Things that aren't there at all. How do they know that they aren't the crazy ones? Those things are there. They are there, because I see them, talk to them, and interact with them. They do everything a normal creature or being would do, and act how another being would act.
Because of their egotistic attitudes, here I am, shoved inside a padded room. I've attempted suicide four times now. Why do they pad the rooms? Don't they understand I want to die? No one can force me into the horror that life is. I will find my way to die. Then I'll be used in political speeches as an example of what should be prevented. They want me in constant pain. They want to watch me suffer. You know those murderers who love to pick apart their victims before actually killing them? That's what they do to me. It hurts to just breathe, and that's only the physical pain.
The mental pain is ten fold that. Every day I wake and hope I'm back in my bed, with my husband at my side, and my baby in her crib. I never am, and I never will be. They won't say it to me, but I know I've been admitted for life. I spend 22 hours a day in this padded room, with a TV with only PBS and some channel with classical music and someone chanting "We are all good people. We only fell in with the wrong crowd." That's bull. If we are all good people, who were the bad ones we befriended? They think that channel will help us heal. It drives me more insane every time I hear those words. The other 2 hours and "happy time" and meals.
"Happy time" is the time they set aside for us to hug each other, and tell each other what we like about one another.
God, do those people have rainbows shooting out of their butts or what?
Someday I'd like to have an "anger time." It's far more logical.
I'm only 23. I married young, when I was 19. I'd met the man of every woman's dreams when I was 16. We got engaged at only 17. I trusted and loved him. When I was 20 I told him I saw things that no one else saw. He left my very young daughter and I.
He made sure the proper people knew about me. They took my baby, who was named Laura. I haven't seen her since. She's four now. I wonder where she is, I wonder if she's happy.
"Rachel, time for your medication!" cheerfully shouted Mike, my doctor, from across the room. "Would you like one from the green package, or the red one today?"
"I see things. I'm not a retard. I'm 23 years old. Guess what? I had a good job and
was making about half of what you make, and that's considered fantastic. So please, it's not like you'll get more money if you treat me like a three year old kid. Now please, my medicine?" I was pretty mad at him. I hate being treated like a kid.
"Alright. Red it is! We're feeling anger today! Anger is a bad emotion, maybe I can try to have happy time' extended? Red means mad. So is red ok?"
"No, I'll take the green one." I said in a sarcastic, yet demanding, voice. I refuse to take that bull.
"Ok then! Here!" he handed me five little pills. As if I'd take this stuff. Part of the reason I'm here is to get off drugs like this.
I popped the little things into my mouth and opened it to show I'd swallowed them. Not to be a valley girl, but As if! The second he was gone I spit the things out from under my tongue, walked over, and threw them away.
He was back a few seconds later, "I almost forgot! Have a sucker! Cherry because it's red and you're feeling angry today."
"Those things taste like plaster." I told him plainly.
He walked away. About time. Back to what I was telling you about. For my entire life, things have just happened. I was like an outsider. I watched my movie like a movie. I didn't get to interact or decided what happened in the plot. I guess that's why I've never really cared if I dyed. Like in a movie, when the main character dies, you're a little sad, right? But within a minute or so, you're over it. You'll never think about it again. I wrote a paper in school on that in high school, and my teacher got very angry. He could have used a red sucker that day!
That's how things were, then I met Ryan. He was my husband. Those few years I was with him were, well, great. So if I die right now I'll die happier than I would have in high school. And I didn't mind then, so why should I now?
I don't consider myself depressed. I believe whatever awaits me after I die is better than this. And I think that's a good thing. I don't like my life much anymore, but death must be so much better. Every day I have physical pain. They can't identify why, they think it's from depression. I already told you I'm not happy, but not sad either. Why? I look forward to something better.
They don't visit for long. The "unreal ones," that is. They say they are busy, in the other world. Another world.
I am not afraid.
I am afraid.
I am not afraid.
I am afraid.
I am not afraid.
We're being loaned Earth, you know that? Of course you don't. Some time we will all go back to the old world. Sounds like a cult, doesn't it? That's what I thought at first.
But they show up everywhere. Including the shower and your bed. You're not safe anywhere
Are they inside my head? No. Other people can see them. The same ones, at the same time, in the same place, and they hear the same words.
I still have my Wedding Ring. I know it must have cost a lot. I never take it off. I still love Ryan, even if he left me. I hold nothing against him, he was only 20 years old. I know he was scared. To tell you the truth, I took the ring off one night. I felt very weak in the morning, so I put it back on. I like to think it brings good luck.
I walked up to the front desk of my little padded playpen. "I want to see my daughter."
"What?" The woman, who asks to be called "Dandy Mandy," asked. She's my playpen desk clerk.
"I have a little girl. She's four now. They took her away from me. I'd never hurt her I'd never hurt anyone why did they take her away?" I was hoping she wasn't thinking of me as an insane woman on 25 pills a day (not that I actually took any of them.) I knew she was. I wish someone would just think of me as a human being. "I want to see my little girl."
"They took her away because you are a danger to public welfare, and hers most of all." She raised one eyebrow. "Look, there are some blocks over there you can play with. We got Level 5 recently."
"Oh? Level 5? Really? So we're up to 7-year old kids toys? Yippie." I said sarcastically.
"Miss, if you weren't a danger, we wouldn't have you here. Please, go play with blocks or talk to someone. Ok?" She was getting annoyed, she was trying to read a novel.
"Can I read your book? The Trials of Truth? Sounds interesting. What truth would that be?" I asked with a straight face.
"No, you cannot read my book. It's classified. It's for doctors." She chuckled a little "If I told you, I'd have to kill you. Man, I love that line."
I walked away without saying another word. I wasn't wasting my precious 22 hours a day of sitting time.
A teenage girl started over to me. She looked about 15. Good, someone to talk to.
"You see them too?" She asked casually, sitting down next to me.
"I think so. If you mean the funky nymphs and elves, yeah." I muddered.
"I'm Tiara. You aren't crazy, you know? They put us away because we know too much. The government hides a lot of things. There are things we aren't allowed to know. And we know." Tiara whispered, so only I could hear her.
"This is America. They don't hide anything." I whispered back.
"You're wrong. Oh, how wrong you are!" She was almost mocking me. "You are an elder to me, and I know something you don't! We are all toys. Experiments. You know they dig up our graves only weeks after we die, don't you?" She let out a big sigh. "They want us to believe the science they put in our text books. Gravity? That's all a lie. Really, we stick down because that's they way it is on this planet. It has nothing to do with some stupid force. In a moment, it can be altered and toyed with. The government controls it." She was silent for a moment. "All the countries are really one. Russia, the USA, Japan. They are called Earth's Power and they are powered by one vicious man. He doesn't have a name. No one knows who he is, because they don't want us to. They control us more than you think. We both somehow got the power to see some of the secrets they want to keep secrets."
I had nothing to say. Was this true? I was very afraid of my power more than ever before. I don't want to die anymore. I want the truth. The whole stupid truth about everything.
"Secrets" The pale girl whispered to me as I sat up in my bed. She has woken me up. "Some secrets are better left kept. But others aren't. Rachel, do you know what messiah means?"
"Yeah, like church or something." Rachel answered.
"No, messiah is not a religious word. People just take it back to that because that's the only referance they have. It means savior. It's like, someone chosen to save someone... or everyone. Only it doesn't work like it does in TV. You aren't chosen for the role because we know you can handle it. You are chosen because we think you can handle it. My name is Karma, and it isn't just a name. I really am Karma! To put it more simply, I am the concept of cause and effect. Not really anything magickal . It's just cause and effect. Although magick is fun too!" Karma sort of bent her head down and stopped smiling. "But this isn't fun. I have to give you a specific magick so you can see something important. You need to see something."
Ryan and Laura are sitting at the dinner table eating Chinese take-out. I see them pretty clearly now. Laura's grown up so much!
"Laura, eat your food." Ryan mumbles to Laura.
"But Daddy, I'm not hungry," she tells him.
"Alright then, don't eat." He tells her. He looks like he's in a bad mood. Drunk, maybe?
"Daddy?" Laura asks. "Where's Mommy?"
"I told you not to mention Mommy." He answers, sounding upset.
"But I miss Mommy."
"You DON'T miss Mommy! Now SHUT UP!" He yells at her. He walks calmly to the other side of the room, and grabs a belt. He flings it at her and strikes her across the head. Once. Twice. Three times.
Laura's scream echo into my ears like a radio being played at max volume.
The vision closes up on Ryan's hand. He is still wearing his wedding Ring.
"Wh-what was that?" I screamed at Karma.
"That's reality. That's going on right now. Like I said, I am only Karma. My job is only to use Karma in a real way. I cannot stop him, only punish him later. He doesn't normally act like that, does he? You know he doesn't." Karma asked me, she was still very calm.
"Well, he didn't use to but that doesn't mean it's been three years!" I was still in shock. Utter shock.
"No. And you don't normally see us, do you?" Karma asked.
"Yes I do!" I yelled back.
"I've got some stuff to do. I've got to leave. Just think about the question. I don't have the answer, do don't expect my to give it to you. Those are only the clues I have gathered."
She faded away.
Was it a figment of my imagination? Maybe.
But I could still hear her screams, here in L.A. Last I'd heard my husband was living in Georgia.
It was 3am. I had to listen to the radio. Had to. There is no way for the workers to decide what radio stations we get, so I switched on Kiss104.9. It's like my only it of sanity left. Eminem was playing. Stan. I could just picture what "Dandy Mandy" would say if she thought of Eminem as more than M+M candies, and had a ctually heard his rap. "Oh, that lyrical content! That's dreadful to the minds! THAT is the reason you're all in here!" Actually, it's a really sad in a kind of pathetic way. The first time I heard it I had to turn off the radio and just sit on my bed and think for hours.
I'm pathetic. I'm thinking about Eminem when my daughter is out there being beaten or worse. I guess I thought getting my mind off that subject would somehow make it all better. Well, it didn't. It just made me feel worse. In the morning I'd think about it more. Right now I had to sleep.
"I hope Laura is still alive." I mumbled to myself as I picked up a flakey egg off the shelf.
The man next to me had overheard. "Who's Laura?" He asked.
You have to be careful who you talk to in a mental home. Some of them really are insane.
"My friend. She had cancer when I came here." I lied.
"You're lying." He spoke. "I can tell a lier when I see one." He told me.
"I'm not lying. You're just paranoid. And with those pep pills they have you on, of course you're peppy and paranoid." I told him. "Here, want an extra pancake?" I asked him as I yanked the little blab-thing off my plate and set it on his.
That seemed to brighten his day. Wow, I really am a Messiah. I thought to myself sarcastically.
I walked around and hugged some total stranger. Yup, that's right, "Happy Time!"
"What I like about Rachel, is that she gives me pancakes!" The man, named Jack, I'd met earier said happily.
"What I like about Rachel, is that way that even when she's down, she puts a fake smile on her face." One girl, called Michela, pointed out.
"What I like about Rachel, is the way she sees what I do. When I do. And she hears what I do. And together was can prove we aren't crazy, and we don't belong here." Tiara, the girl I'd met just the day before, mentioned.
"What I like about Jack, is the way that something as simple as a breakfast food can put a smile on his face for hours. What I like about Michela, is the way she always cries when nothing is sad. It reminds me that this world isn't all rainbows and cherries. What I like about Tiara, is the way she can always leave you lost in thought after every word she says. What I hate about Jack" I was cut off.
"Positive vives only, man." Jack scolded.
"What I like about my life," I started "Is the way I really don't like it at all. The way I know that I'm not insane. The way I know that somewhere something really bad is going on. Not just to my daughter, not just to the girls who followed the wrong man home last night, not just to the teenage hazing target. But to all of us. Every single one of us is effected. Something really bad is going on, right beneath our feet, only we're too blind too see it." I realized no one had stopped me, and they were all gazing at me, so I went on. "It's happening inside the walls, under the floorboards, in our hearts, and everywhere else." I stopped there.
"That's right." Tiara kept the idea going. "Even in happy time,' as we say the good things. We're thinking the bad things and they become stronger because we keep them only to ourselves. That power and streagth is what keeps this evil to continue happening. Of course, nothing is purely evil. With the evil comes good things too."
I sat in my bed gazing out the skylight and counted the stars. I counted 18 stars in my view. Flip over your left hand right now. Look at your palm. Do you see the three curved lines? The top curves up, the middle is pretty straight, and the bottom curves down? That is the Arabic writing for "18." Your right palm displays "81." I help my left hand up and covered up my view of the skylight with it. I have no idea why I remembered that then. I learned that from someone in the 6th grade.
I guess being hear three years sparks the craziest ideas in your head. The stupidest things come back and you remember them.
Karma visited me again She again gave me the magick to see something I did not want to see!
Ryan and Laura are sitting at the dinner table again, only this time another woman is sitting at the table with them. She has a scar across her face, and she stays silent and still.
The woman leans over the table in Ryan's direction to get a dinner role, when Ryan takes his knife and neatly cuts her hand in. She takes the roll, still silent, and sets it on her plate. She takes her napkin and wraps it about her wrist with it for a few moments, but soon goes back to eating.
It's like it hadn't even happened, like it didn't matter!
Laura reaches for a roll now. Ryan takes a fork and jabs the tongs deep into her hand.
She stays silent also. She does the same as the woman, reaching back, and almost ignoring her pain. Laura is surely hurt very badly.
Until now, I have only seen the profile of her face. She turns in my direction, and I see the large scar that goes from above her eye and down her neck. It ends just before her shirt. It's almost a foot long!
Karma stared at me. The image was over. No one had said a single word.
"Something is very wrong. No one is that violent! And no one would take a roll when someone WAS that violent! I knew Ryan for a long time, and he never laid a hand on anyone! Especially not our baby!" I started to cry uncontrobally. It was again 3am.
Karma left without a word.
After crying for an hour or so, I had made up my mind: I was getting out of this hell.
Now all I had to do was plan. I pulled a notebook from under my bed. I ripped out a page and set it atop my notebook. I got out my pen, and sketched out the room I was currently in, and around that, the entire building.
Then I drew the beds, the desks, the doors, and everything else. I had a perfect map of the building by 4:45 or so. I looked for where I could escape from, and how I could do it. All the exits were gaurded 24/7 with a computer password system. The password was well over 25 letters, I've watched people type it from a distance, but never close up. I had no idea what the password was.
But I don't need to know. This is an insane asylum. It's set aside for people with brains that don't function right. People who think reality and fantasy are the same things.
Stupid fools. I am perfectly able to hack into computer systems. There are sites all over the net that can explain in detail how to hack. I had 6 hours in the middle of each night to do it. For 8 hours, we were alone there without doctors or gaurds, but the security computer sits there. If I told myself I had 6 hours, I would never be caught even if my time went over.
By hacking, I can get the password. However, whenever a door is opened by password, a ding echoes across the building. Problem. This'll take a lot of practice and stuff, but I figure I'll be out in a few months.
I took a roll of duck tape from under my bed (it's intended for arts and crafts) and pulled it down the floor from the tip of the front of my bed, to the first door I would need to get out. Then I pulled a hair clip out my long blonde hair, and measured to see how many inches long it was. It was about 1.416 inches. Good, nothing even!
It would be almost humanly impossible for someone trying to understand my system of measuring, to crack it. I would write no unit of measure, and always just clip the clip back up in my hair. I took the clip and marked on the tape for every clip that covered it. I counted 310. It was a pretty large room, and thank the gods everyone else sleeps very soundly.
I wrote in my journal on the first page:
6:04am Feb. 20, 2056 -- 310 -- 1
And here is what it meant: the time, the day, the year, the number of hair clips the length of the room was, and what number piece of tape it was. I erased each line I had drawn on the tape. I ripped the tape off the floor, and folded it, so nothing sticky was left as a surface. I wrote "1" on it, and placed it in a box, under my bed.
I took the roll of tape, and pulled it across the floor in the other direction. I cut the end with my teeth, and laid it to the very other side. I took the clip from my hair again, and marked each clip. It totaled 283. I erased each line again, and wrote in my journal, on the same page:
6:39am Feb. 20, 2056 -- 283 – 2
I ripped the tape up from the floor, and folded it as I had the previous one, only this time, I wrote "2" on it.
I decided to get some rest. I'd be eating breakfast in less than 3 hours.
We are all afraid of things we don't understand. Only things that we have reason to fear, still scare us once we understand. Over that next week, I began to truly understand what the Government really is. And I was still afraid, more afraid then than I ever had been.
The government runs everything. They know what we're thinking, unless we hide is far back in our thoughts. A person can think about a lot of different things at once. You can hide your thoughts in the back. It's how people lie to Lie-detector tests and their lies go undetected. I like the concept of the brick wall. I saw it in some old black and white movie. It must have been over 100 years old. From the 1940s, or 50s. It was about these demon children who could read minds. There was this man who was their teacher. He was planning to kill them, because they wanted to take over Earth, or something like that. There was a bomb hidden in the building, and all he thought about was a brick wall. The demons or whatever had no idea they were going to die. It takes a lot of practice, learn it, live it. Brick Wall.
Karma had not visited over that week. But she did that night a week later. I have no reason to see that girl. Her pale face, her light silver hair, her dead white eyes. All of it gave me the creeps. It dug into my mind like the pounding of my own heart. My heart skips so much faster when I look at that face. Of course, she seemed to need to bless' me with magick again.
Ryan and that other woman are watching TV. Laura is asleep, I see her in her bed. At least she's still alive. The scene goes back to the TV.
"I have a question, Ryan, did you ever get a divorce to the other woman who went insane?" The other woman asks.
"I told you, Terra, we didn't have a chance to make it offical. But in my heart, I will never think about that woman again." Ryan answers, as he flicks off the TV.
"I was watching that." The woman, apparently named Terra, scolds him.
"Too bad." Ryan answers. "You're not in change. You aren't the one who puts food on the table. When you do, you can decide when we watch the TV."
"I think you forget I can get up and walk away right now, Ryan." Terra sounds kind of pathetic. She's apparently one of those woman who like dangerous men.
"You can't get up unless I say you can." Ryan crosses the room, and goes into the kitchen. He comes out with a knife.
The woman doesn't look scared. She looks excited, almost.
"The scar on your face seems to have cleared up." Ryan said, sounding sort of happy at first. "That's too bad. I think it brought out the best in you." Ryan smerks. He looks so evil. "I miss it. It was cute." He then took the knife, and put from her left eye down to the right side of her chin. It slashed through her lip and nose, and across most of her face.
Terra grabbed her face, and tried to keep it from bleeding too much.
Ryan carefully washed the knife off, and left it in the sink. "It's too bad that you feel and cute your face on the railing, isn't it, dear?"
"Yeah, it hurts. Darn railing!"
"Good." Ryan got this evil smile that came across his face. He's still wearing his ring, and it's the same one for sure.
The scariest thing of everything is that even though I have seen this three times now, I do not hate Ryan. I'm not sure it's just a woman's intuition, but I can't see him hurting anyone. We used to spend a half an hour trying to catch the spider and set it outside so we didn't have to kill it.
And now I was seeing images given to me by a little pale teenage girl in a black robe that no one else could see. Maybe I really am crazy. This place, this land, this world, it's all somehow not real. I mean, it's real. It's here, and I live in it. It's just that there is a hole in it. Something is missing from the lives of everyone here, and I'm sure some people outside of these walls knows it, because it's happening there too. It's what we talked about during "Happy Time." The government put some powerful laws into action in the 30s. It was only about 20 years ago, but things have already fallen so far. The mainstream stuff started in the 20s. They were the laws everyone was waiting for. They took away guns, the right to burn the flag, and the right to a peaceful protest. Those laws were basically expected, and nothing really too bad happened. People lost a lot of basic human rights, but the streets were "safe and respectful." After only about five years of these laws, far stronger laws were laid down. Things started to get weird. The religious Christians made Christianity the only religion a person could practice in public. You can be Jewish or Muslim if you keep it to yourself. This didn't even anger many people! If a person had anything to do with anarchism, you were sent to jail. Now we aren't allowed to print the news. The government does that. Now things are free off in Korea or somewhere. The last place you're expect, huh?
I am a proud gun-owning, flag-burning, Pagan, anarchist.
I still am. I want to revolutionize the world.
I know where my gun is, and I know it hasn't moved since I came here. I hid it so well it won't be found for hundreds of years. Once flag-burning became illeagle, I bought flags and light them in my backyard with matches just for kicks. I used to be Christian, but I converted to Paganism once I wasn't allowed. I used to be an Independent, changing my mind all the time. But when they told me I couldn't be an anarchist, I became one. You probably think lowly of me.
You probably think it's so sad that I think this way. Well, guess what? I think the way you think is sickening. It makes me hurl at night. I used to play sick by simply thinking of things that went on it some people's minds. The same people who sicken me want me dead. As you hear my story, you might want me dead too. You're reading this, cheering for a knife to be stabbed down my back.
I had finally finished measurements, and I was now working hacking that stupid computer. I need that password. But this night, my mind isn't working right. My mind is filled with anger, and I just want to go to sleep, before I think more about this.
The next morning everyone who "saw things" was called downstairs early. They were taking us away. Away from all the hard work I've put into getting out. They said we'd become too much of a danger to stay around the rest of the patients! Some of those patients have murdered, and they think we're too dangerous! By dangerous, I think they mean that we know too much. We're dangerous to them, not to the patients!
We were going to a top-notch security metal-wall prison. Prison! We're going to jail! I have spent hours every night for a week learning how to escape this place. It's hopeless at a jail.
The walls are nice and metal and thick. We're talking two feet thick. It turns out we're not going to jail, but we're to boot camp. Not just any boot camp, but a special one. Well, you've all seen the sci-fi movies. You all know what a cybrog is. Well, guess what?
They're real. Well, not really cybrogs, but something along the lines of that. They
start off as normal people, but we going though "tuning." I soon will no longer be me, I will be one of them. I will fall within a group where individuals cease to exist. We get to be
the first batch of government-serving warriors called the regulated.' We'll have the power of 1000 men each.
Brick wall. I have thought but I cannot think it yet, Brick wall.
What remained of my spirit has been broken. My long blonde hair has been cut to my shoulders, and dyed jet black. Then they like shinned this laser light in my eyes. It caused incomparable pain, almost like hell fire. We all wear the same thing, men and women. The same armor. Fight? Fight for what, The universe?' This is starting to sound weird, like a sci-fi movie. The problem with that, is that you cannot call reality science fiction. This is very real.
I can fight with the power of 1000 men. I remember them telling us "You all know our secrets. So now you will serve us or die. We have literally only 100s of men. That's why we need you. Each of you will fight beside each of these men, with 1000fold their power."
I agreed to fight. Fight for what I really hate. But I have learned to use the Brick Wall concept.
I sat alone in my cell, on call for whenever they needed me. I sat and read a book, it was the Trials of Truth. They wanted us to know everything now that we had "joined them." The book is just as I thought, it's all about the truth. It's packed from cover to back cover with the truth about everything.
A tall young man entered the room at the moment. He startled me. I looked up from my book in a fright.
"You look scared." He whispered from his side of the room. I could barely hear him because he was so far away. He was wearing old clothes, really, and they were quite tattered.
"What happened to you?" I asked, my heart still pounding from fright. He looked so innocent, so sweet. I've learned looking sweet doesn't mean anything. I'm afraid of everyone now. As sad as it is it's true.
He looked down at himself. He looked almost embarrassed. "It's nothing. I just kinda got in a fight" He walked over and sat down on the dirty floor, next to me, against the wall. "Are you alright? You still look scared." He gently touched my face with his left hand.
"No, I'm fine." I lied.
He smiled and looked me in the eyes. "You're lying. You're afraid of me." He was laughing.
It was that smile that I knew I could trust. I smiled a little too. I knew then that he wasn't one of them. He wasn't one of those spirits either. Those were figments of imagination, in a sense. They are gone now. They were my mind knocking at me, trying to teach me that there was more to government than government. People that had those visions, in reality, were smart people. Messiahs, as one of them once told me.
The man pulled his hand back and sat there looking up at the ceiling. "What are you thinking about?" He asked.
That question wasn't expected. "You." I simply answered.
He turned at me and smiled, "Good things, or bad things?"
"Good, I guess." Then I looked up as his face, "Why are you here?"
"I guess it's cause I have no where else to go." He shrugged "Besides, you're cute." He stays silent for a moment, and then he spoke again. "And I can tell you're different than the rest of them. They already well, accepted that they're working for the bad guys. They value their lives that much. You, on the other hand, are different. They haven't found you yet. They will, you know, if you even think it."
"I know." I answered. "It's the whole brick wall thing. I used to like old black and white movies. I think there was a re-make of it too in the 90s. A movie about blowing up demon children or something."
"Village of the Damned?" He asked.
"You know that movie?" I responded, kind of shocked. "I thought I was the only one who still watched those movies."
"It's one of my favorites," He laughed.
"No way!" I said, I didn't know if he was making it up, but I didn't care.
"No, seriously, it is. I have a copy sitting on my nightstand. I watch it all the time." He answered. He looked just in as much shock as I was.
"So what's your name, anyway?" I asked.
"Derrick." He answered. "How about you?"
I thought for just a second. I look just like all the other girls now. A name doesn't really mean anything. Besides, they call us by serial numbers now. 136345 is mine. "I'm Raven."
In the search for a name, I remembered Laura and Ryan. A few moments after just sitting there, I started to cry and I buried my face into my knees. Derrick put his arm around my shoulder and lightly kissed the top of my head. He didn't bother to ask what was wrong. It didn't really matter to him. He comforted me anyway.
After an hour of simply sitting there, crying, I finally said something. "My daughter is dying if not dead."
Derrick took his arm from my shoulder and looked at me in the eyes. "How?"
"My ex-husband." I told him. "I was given magick by some pale girl, a few weeks ago, and he was beating her real bad. She had bruises and everywhere. H-he never lifted a finger to me or our baby, Laura, while I was with him."
I laid down my head on Derrick's shoulder, just as I had down as I cried over something to Ryan.
Derrick's reaction was totally different than the way Ryan had responded to things like this. Ryan would ask me what was wrong, try to comfort me with meaningless words of how everything would turn out. Derrick simply took my hand and said "I'm here if you want to talk. If not, I'm here too."
At that moment, we were called by one of the officers to come for dinner. I stood up, so did Derrick, and we walked out of that cell. The officer looked at Derrick. "What kind of clothing is that?" He asked. He handed Derrick an outfit just like the one I was wearing. Derrick changed into it, and we walked to eat.
"Why is it that you have no where else to go but here?" I asked, finally getting the question out.
"Huh?" He looked up from eating. "Oh, that. I mean—I can go home. But all that's there is a little hussy who cheated on me, and thinks we're still going out. Yeah, that's were I want to go."
I started thinking about Derrick and me. I had met him like 2 hours before. I felt like I'd known him so much longer than that.
We headed back to our cells. Rooms, they called them.
I sat in the other corner of the room than Derrick. I was reading a little more of that book, The Trials of Truth.
Suddenly, Derrick said something, "Do you feel better, baby?" He asked.
Baby? I really didn't believe that. "Yeah. I feel a lot better." I smiled. I wished I could comfort him over something. I felt so helpless. I hate feeling helpless. It reminds me of all the times I could have done something and didn't. When I was seven, this girl with a knife attacked one of my friends. I was such a little wuss back then. I just sat and watched her bleed, nearly to death. I didn't want to get involved. That was back when I still had hopes about the future. Once you don't fear death, there is nothing left at all to fear.
"You sure?" He asked.
"Yeah, but I have a question. Why do you just show up and start treating me like you love me? You don't even know me." I was sort of starting to fear he was somehow lying to me.
"Good things happen without a reason." He answered. "The best things in life are free. You can't even begin to understand that, can you?"
I felt kind of bad. I really liked Derrick, but he showed up so suddenly. He just popped up, and basically said he loved me without knowing anything about me. I didn't say anything.
"Do you believe in love at first sight?" He asked.
"Well, yeah, I guess I do."
"Well, I didn't. Raven, I care about you more than I do about anything else, and I've known you three freakin' hours. It bugs me just as much as if does you, trust me." He sounded a little mad, but more sad than mad.
I set down my book and walked over to where Derrick was standing. I grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the floor. We both sat against the steel wall. I laid my head on his shoulder. "Sorry, but I'm scared"
"I'm scared of what's going to happen to everyone. The world is literally falling apart." I answered, shaking.
The next day I was just as scared, but I couldn't show it. I had to be strong. America is made up of strong people. Anybody who wants to be anybody has to be strong.
"What do we do? Just sit by and watch the world fall apart?" I asked, sort of to myself, by Derrick overheard.
"Well, no, actually. You are as powerful as 1000 men. It would be so easy for you to pick off their lead. All's well, and you're in charge of everything." Derrick said, I think he was half-joking.
"1000 men is a lot. But I'm one of 30. I hate to say it, but 1000 men don't stand a chance against 29,000 men." I said, pretty depressed.
"That's 1001 men. I'm here too, you know."
"It appears we'd still be at a disadvantage of 27,999 men." I answered.
"Then we need to escape." He told me.
You might be thinking about the whole brick wall thing. No one was around right then. No one to carry the thoughts.
"Escape." I said, sort of lost in the concept of it. "I had been working on escaping from my old residence before they brought us here. I have a few ideas, but this place have walls that are two feet thick. It's almost unthinkable."