I was listening to the song 'Clarity' by Zedd feat Foxes during a mega long power cut and was unexpectedly hit with this idea (around about the chorus bit), so, I had to write it down and it turned out pretty well. At least I think it did. I don't know. I guess you guys are the judge's haha :) Enjoy and sorry if it's a tad creepy...

"Get down now!" shouted a gruff voice making Roy collapse from his chair onto the wooden floor in fright. It was dark inside and the voice full of authority had come from outside his house, making him tremble with fear. He winced when he heard the smash of a plate inches from the table - he'd knocked it over in panic.

The moment he touched the floor he felt something wet and sticky on his face and arms. He touched the peculiar substance with his fingers, making a face at the substance. It was all over his arms, legs and feet. He couldn't remember dropping any drinks on the floor and was therefore confused. His hands trembled as he crawled over to the nearest wall. He jumped when the front door flew open and five men armed with guns crowded in.

"Hands on your head!" shouted one of them, Roy wasn't sure, they all had masks on. He could, however, read the words 'Police' on one of them who was standing near the door. "I said: hands on your head!"

Roy brought his hands straight up to his head and whimpered in fear. He was confused. What was happening? One minute he was having dinner and the next, some strange people were yelling at him. One of the 'strange people' headed over to Roy with his gun poised to shoot if Roy made one wrong move.

"Get up!" he ordered and Roy obliged quickly this time. He was grabbed and turned around, pressed against the wall before he felt something cold click around his wrists. Why were they cuffing him? He hadn't done anything wrong.

"Turn the lights on," he heard one of them say.

There was a quiet fidget before the lamp on the ceiling lit up the room.

"Oh god..." One of them said.

Roy was roughly yanked away from the wall and he froze when he saw what was lying on the floor. A dead body. There was a dead body - a woman - lying on his favourite carpet, covered in blood and staining the white carpet red. There was blood. Too much of it. Roy looked down to his feet - they were splashed with blood and there were red finger prints leading to the wall he was leaning on. He realised with a jolt that the sticky thing he landed in was blood. But whose blood did it belong to?

What's going on? was his last thought before he collapsed. . .

"Roy? Can you hear me?"

Roy blinked and shook with surprise. He had done it again. He had gone back to that blasted memory and relived it once more knowing perfectly well that he had to stop. He just had to stop.

"You spaced out on me again," the voice said gently again. He could hear some faint scratching noise in front of him. He blinked a few times before regaining full recover of his vision. "Where did you go this time?"

The lady sitting in front of him perched gracefully on the chair across him peered at him with a soft expression. Her light brown hair was tied in a plait behind her back but a few loose strands were hanging near her face.

"Did you go somewhere nice?" she asked. Zelda, yes, that was her name, Roy remembered. He shook his head.

"I went home," he answered finally, his voice coming out dry due to the screaming he had been doing earlier that morning, he recalled.

Zelda moved slightly forward on her chair, almost so that their knees were touching. Roy stared around the room mindlessly. He had been here so many times but he never understood the real reason he was here. He didn't belong here. They were wrong. Zelda was wrong. Everyone was wrong.

"Can I go home?" he asked knowing that this was an overused question during their therapy sessions - his therapy sessions - he corrected himself. He was the one they called a madman, not Zelda.

She watched him with her light blue eyes that Roy always admired. "Why not you try tell me what happened that night?" she said, not answering his question but Roy expected it. She always did that because the answer was crystal clear : he was never going home. Ever.

Roy shifted in his uncomfortable plastic chair, fumbling with his fingers in his lap. "You already know what happened. Why do you keep asking me that question?"

"You're right, I do know," she said, writing something quick in her notebook before looking back at Roy, "Why don't you tell me about the girl then? Who was she?"

Roy opened his mouth to answer then stopped halfway. He wasn't sure. Who was she? he thought to himself. "I don't remember."

"She was your girlfriend," Zelda answered for him. "Do you remember her?"

When he thought about the girl, all he could rack up in his mind was her dead body sprawled like an eagle across his carpet. Then. . . Then he remembered being angry, and then scared, worry came next, then. . . Nothing.

"I'm not crazy."

Zelda leaned forward. "Why do you say that, Roy?"

Roy shrugged. "'cause I'm not and I know it's true. Though you think I'm insane, don't you? That's why I'm here." I don't belong here.

"Why would I think you're insane?"

"Because she said it too!" he snapped suddenly. A large hand pushed him back into his chair. He didn't remember getting up.

"Calm down kid," said a deep voice behind him. It was one of the guards. One of the many who laughed at him and called him a nutter.

Zelda hushed the guard and turned her attention back to Roy.

"I didn't kill anyone!" he suddenly yelled, frightening himself as well as Zelda.

"Roy, Listen to me-"

"No! Listen to me! Please!" Roy started to scream again, getting up and dashing for the door. It was happening all over again. He counted the events off in his head. First, Zelda would get up from her chair and disappear into the other room. Then, a guard would grab him. After that he'd be dragged away from the therapy room and into the corridor, still screaming and thrashing about, blabbering about not being insane.

"Hey! Roy!" piped up one of his fellow inmates, Marth, as they passed his cell to his own. Roy managed to get one of his arms free from the guards grip and grabbed Marth's door. Marth peered at him through the tiny rectangular hole.

"I didn't kill anyone!" he yelled and the guard yanked him from the door, muttering something about 'mad crackpots' and 'not getting paid enough'.

"Sure you did!" Marth called after him with a sharp laugh.