Each character has a mental disorder. Guess which one each case is. Answers are at the bottom of the page.


The Twelve Abandoned Cases

There were twelve of them that day.

Twelve were left anyway…

The fire had surrounded them and burned away their lifelines.

They made it out alive.

Being lost was not new to any of the twelve.

Is this a new beginning?

No.

This is nothing but a bloodbath for the senseless;

A terror for the troubled ones;

A chance for the foolish to fail.

The first one was stone.

She hid from her peers,

Who had set up camp near the crash.

She watched Number twelve break his own thumb.

Number Eight screamed profanities without warning.

Living in fear had taken a new turn for Number one.

She ate when others weren't looking.

They tried to scold her for not doing her part.

She could not afford to help.

They all terrified her to no end.

Number Two kicked her out in a fit of rage.

She starved for days

And died under the canopy of leaves

Being beaten by the sun.

Number Two was a broken frame.

He could not be comforted by Number Six.

He loved her,

But could not keep her.

He soon became hostile towards others;

Especially Six.

They didn't know how to support his swings in emotion.

At times they would love him.

Other times, Number Two was one who could not be reached.

He abandoned them after provoking a fight.

When he was over it

He tried to return to Six.

But he got lost in the green abyss,

Got sick,

And passed away in vain.

Number three was doomed.

She wasted their small supply of food,

By purging soon after consumption.

She tried to stop.

At first she was hungry.

They did what they could,

But they were sicker than her.

She puked out her insides little by little.

Blood dripped from her lips and ran down her protruding rib cage.

She suffered for hours before she finally went cold.

Number Four was a false pearl.

She took control of the group

And cheered them all on.

She did no labor,

Selfishly thriving on others.

Each night she would speak of none other,

Than herself.

They challenged her and were shot down by her guilt trips.

Number twelve said she was the devil.

They believed him.

She was murdered in a trial fit for a queen.

A revolution she had always dreamed of.

Number Five was fire.

He lit the flames every night.

He would have difficulty controlling his own sizzling tongues.

One night he was alone by the fire.

He thought about his family;

His sweet wife;

His two young boys.

He let out his pain through the flames.

The fire grew and grew.

By the time he realized it needed to be tamed,

it was too late.

He had destroyed their food and shelter.

Number twelve cried as he slit

Five's charred throat.

He was thrown into the flames and served for dinner.

Number Six was an old photograph.

Without Two, she was lost.

She needed him in her life.

She suffered as she awaited his return.

Eventually she went after him.

After three days in the jungle

She lost consciousness.

She died only a few yards away from Two's corpse.

Number seven was a hot iron.

His aches and invisible lacerations plagued him.

His complaints were consoled for a while.

But they soon realized he was the healthiest man there.

But what he felt piercing his skin from the inside-out was undeniable.

He screamed through the night

And wept in the morning.

There was no one to help him.

Unable to handle it any longer,

He jumped from the cliff

Onto the shards of stone in the rough ocean.

He was not mourned by any of the cases.

Number Eight was a broken record.

He was not insane.

He was afraid of what was around him.

He tried to stop the murders and the riots.

All they heard was his outbursts.

They didn't bother to learn his name,

Hear his story,

Or understand his disorder.

He could not control his own words.

He tried to stop twelve from hurting Number Nine once.

Twelve thought she wanted him dead.

As Eight spoke to Twelve, he held it in.

It burned through his throat,

But he kept it in.

Twelve was calmed.

Until he heard what Eight said about him behind his back a second later.

Cunt.

Twelve whined as he beat Eight to pieces.

The string of profanities escaping his lips were finally intentional.

Number Nine was a placebo.

The efforts harmed her;

She knew she had to quit.

She wept and complained

Of a headache so severe.

She walked as if dizzy,

Ate as if disgusted,

And spoke as if it pained her.

Some attempted to help her.

Most ignored her cries out of their own selfishness.

But she was pleased.

Until she received a cold bite from a dark arachnid.

It caused such pain and fever,

She could hardly bare it.

By then they knew her tricks.

They disregarded her pleads.

She died in a pool of sweat,

Trapped in her own swollen flesh.

Number ten was a blank slate.

As soon as the shock of the accident left him

He removed his garments slowly;

Feeling the cool fabric brush his skin

And fall into the sand.

They all watched as he undressed completely

And walked off towards the ocean.

His wet skin glistened under the moonlight

As his bare feet waded in the shore.

He glided into the water.

He swam on and on

Until he could no longer be seen by the naked eye.

He never returned.

Maybe he drowned.

Maybe he was the only one to escape.

Number eleven was a pack of crayons.

Sometimes she was he.

Mostly he was she.

She was often elderly,

But quite young at times.

She added three more to the twelve just by speaking.

The others played along.

She could not be convinced otherwise.

Twelve was the only one to see her as more than one.

He spoke to each of her as if they were liberated.

He understood.

But he was troubled all the time.

She got in his way once.

One of her tried to stop the other,

But failed.

The third simply watched with a sadistic pleasure.

He shoved her into the dirt

And struck her neck with his pole.

She died quickly.

Twelve, realizing he had taken out three at once,

Considered himself invincible.

Number twelve was a crumbling sculpture.

He was the last to stand on the land.

Most had been killed by his own hands.

He felt no guilt,

For he was not alone.

There were those among his imagination

Who supported and worshiped him.

If he struck them,

They would get back up.

If he slit their throats,

They would apologize and continue to serve him.

He was king.

He stood on a throne of bone and dried gore.

They found him rotting next to a pile of dung,

Which he had been sitting upon for days

Without movement.


Answers:

1. Social Anxiety Disorder

2 Bipolar Disorder

3 Bulimia

4 Histrionic Personality Disorder

5 Pyromania

6 Adjustment Disorder

7 Pain Disorder

8 Tourette's Syndrome

9 Munchausen Syndrome

10 Exhibitionism

11 Multiple Personality Disorder

12 Schizophrenia