Mostly character development, once again. A little insight into a warped and twisted mind. For a character I haven't yet found a use for, I'm getting awfully attached to this one.
They always ask me that same question: why? Why did I do it? They look at me as though expecting an answer. They look at me as though they expect me to know. But I simply shrug to them, even this time to the man in front of me, and keep my head down so they can't meet my eyes. I pretend to them all that I don't know, as I have always done. For a while they don't seem to believe me, but they all give up after a while. The just say I'm crazy and leave it at that. But not this one – he doesn't give up so easily.
It almost makes me want to laugh, the idea that one of them could possibly beat me. But that's just the problem. They did beat me; they caught me and put me here. But I won't make the same mistakes again. I won't become so arrogant; blind myself to my own faults and mistakes. I see where I went wrong now, and it won't happen next time. I won't let it happen next time. But first, I have to make sure there is a next time. And that means getting out.
It's all well and good me thinking these things, mind, but I need to put them into action. I need to get out and start again from scratch. But I'm not sure if I can do that by myself. My head is fuzzy from the drugs they keep me on, the hospital is well guarded, and they seem to be wise to my tricks. Not only that, but I feel not quite myself. I have lost my wit... the wit that I was always so proud of... gone. I second guess myself now, when there can't be anything to second guess. I have never done that before. There was never any cause to.
But enough of that. Back to the problem at hand. He's asking me again, "Fox, why did you kill them?" I shrug, as always, and pretend I don't know. Like I wouldn't know what goes through my own mind. I risk a glance upwards, and see he is looking at me sternly. Not with disgust or fear, as most do, or pity, as few others. That was always the one thing I couldn't stand, the pity. Why should they pity me? They are the ones tied down by their pathetic rules and morals. They pity me that I did not follow the rules, and was happy as I was?
He asks me again, as though persistence will get him the answer. Well two can play at this game. I shrug, as before, and hope he'll drop it. He doesn't. He asks me again, "why?", and I ignore it, not even a shrug this time. I won't ever answer that question. They can't make me. They won't ever make me. I won't let them beat me at this; this is all I have left. They may have caught me, but they'll never brake me, they'll never make me obey their stupid rules. I may have lost all else, but I still have my pride.
Ha, pride! Look where that got me. Pride is too easily broken, and when the pride is broken so is the person. But I refuse to be broken.
The man is still looking at me, waiting for an answer. "I want to help you, Fox, I really do. But I need you to work with me." he tells me, as though it's truth. He doesn't want to help me; he just wants them to pay him. They're the ones who are keeping me here, and they most certainly don't want to help me. They just want to keep me down. But I won't let them do that. I'll find a way out, even if it kills me. That's what worries me; this damn pride will get me killed. But I would rather die proud than live broken, I suppose.
And that is why I ignore him again. I don't answer. And I won't answer. I'd like to see them try to make me. And by hell do they try.