The thing inside me, the one I've tried to hide for years, bounds when I see the light. It's a scary yellow beam that brings new air and assorted fragrances. I fight the urge to run. If I run now, they'll lock me up for another five years, at least. I stand my ground with my fists balled, ready to attack any intruders.

Nothing happens. I slowly move towards the opening, ensuring not to alarm the men who watch me. I look out and see nothing. I poke my head trough the opening and see two broad, beefy men in white coats down the hall, both with three inch needles.

I know I could escape if I used the thing, but I swore to myself a long time I ago that I'd never let it take over. Not again. With that in mind, I sulk back into my prison.

I hear footsteps come closer to the door; though I can tell they're reluctant. They know my secrets. I wasn't able to hide them when I was a little girl, but I try to hide them now. They haven't forgotten. They know I'm dangerous.

Crossing the padded room, I continue to hear the cautious footsteps come my way. I fight the urge to run. No! I tell myself. A failed escape attempt means a lifetime of monthly showers and meals through a box. Stand down. I warily lie down in the corner of the room pulling my tattered blanket over my legs.

The men come into the room, looking for me. The corner I'm in is hidden by torn padding, like a cave. "Where is she?" One man barks. Looking through one of the many holes in the wall of padding, I see he's not talking to his partner. He's facing the mirror and appears to be speaking to it. That's how they watch me. I tell myself. There are men in the mirror.

He nods, like he'd gotten a response, but I didn't hear anything. Then I notice a little black object in his ear that looks vaguely like a seashell. The mirror men must have those too. I think.

The men walk towards my location. I sense their fear. They spot me through a large gash in the padding and come over; their needles appear longer and sharper than ever. Frightened, I pull my blanket over my face. My wall and ceiling are ripped away leaving me cornered. The man with the seashell snatches the blanket from my body; the other forces me up and holds my arms behind my body.

I struggle against the large man and my greasy bangs fall over my face. The seashell man pulls out his needle. As the pressure starts in my leg, I feel my pupils compress into vertical slits. My lips form the scream, but nothing comes out. I haven't made a spoke with my mouth in so long; they barley even make noise outside of breathing.

The thick needle is in my thigh. I try to control the beast within me, but the pain is too much. I can feel my nails growing, through the tips of my fingers, sharpening to a deadly point. I have to let it out, or I'll burn myself out fighting. A strangled wail escapes my lips, and I black out.