The results of a warped imagination and lack of sleep, this is a one-shot that I feel I should type out. This is my personal project. I had no intention of publishing this online, but due to the pressure I am receiving from my sister I am publishing it. It is still in rough draft form, but I am throwing it out now and going back to revise it later.

This is where my imagination has gone.

How he got these scars

He sat in a room, looking at the floor. Maybe he was aware of his surroundings, maybe he wasn't. You would never know looking at him. The boy sat in a chair that was too big for him. His feet hung several inches off the floor, swinging back and forth as he twiddled his thumbs and rocked back and forth, humming to himself.

"He seems to have been getting better over the last few years. In fact, I would say that he should be perfectly fine in a few more months. We will be sending a doctor every day for the next three weeks, and will slowly reduce the at-home visits." The nurse looked at the boy. He seemed to be minding himself as most boys impatiently do. He seemed relaxed. "He is one of our better patients. Soon enough he will be acting like any normal child. Anyways, you are free to leave, and I wish the best of luck to you and your son."

"Thank you, miss." The other woman said as she stood up. "Alright, Terrence, stand up." She grabbed his hand, but he jerked it away. His gaze locked onto her, as if peering into her soul. Shuddering, she stepped back. The fear had nearly paralyzed her. "Honey, it's alright. E-e-everything is going to be alright. Now stand up." He didn't move. His eyes were locked on hers.

"Um," the nurse said, looking confused, "he probably hasn't warmed up to you yet. Would you like for me to help him out to your car?"

The mother nodded and said, "That would be appreciated." The nurse proceeded to grab the boy's hand, and led him out to the mother's car.

"Well, this is your home… I know you haven't been here since you were two, but… your room is at the top of the stairs, you just turn to the left and there it is… Now, look, I now that you have grown up a good bit since we brought you to the hospital… but… look, would you quit staring off into space? I'm trying to give you instructions… Now, I know you are not used to being in a place like this yet, but this is your typical suburban house. You might as well get used to it, it's the norm' after all… Well, you can bring your bag upstairs and unpack while I get supper ready… you're not moving… do you want me to bring your bag up for you? Is something wrong? *sigh* I guess there was something about this in that book the nurse gave me. Well, when you're ready, you can go on up. I'm going to go on ahead and make supper."

The doorbell rang, and she ran to answer it. It was the lady and her son from across the street, and she had called earlier to say she was coming over.

"Oh, hi, glad you could come over! Terrence is upstairs, let me get him." She walked to the foot of the stairs and faced up. "Terrence! Come downstairs, someone wants to meet you!" She faced her guests. "He has been drawing or writing something all day. He asked for a pencil and paper and went up there a few hours ago. He hasn't come downstairs since then." After about a minute, he didn't come down. "Terrence, I said come down!" She was getting in nervous in front of her guests; she didn't want her son to look bad. "Please excuse me. He may not be able to hear me from his room."

She rushed up the stairs and entered his room. He just sat there, continuing to draw, oblivious to the world around him.

"Alright, Terrence, time for you to take a break. There are some people I want you to meet. Would you come downstairs, please?" He continued to draw, almost as if he was ignoring her on purpose. She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder, to which he turned around and stared at her. It was the same cold stare that he gave her when she picked him up from the hospital. She stepped back and looked at what he was drawing. They were the most horrific things she had ever seen, each one had various people who were being killed in various ways. From simple things like people bleeding out on the floor from having their throat slit, to plans for elaborate death traps.

Her child was an animal, and if these were the kinds of things going on in his head shortly after being released from the hospital, then their treatment of him for the last several years hadn't worked, no matter how desperately she wanted it to.

But wait… what if this is normal? This isn't a sign of what's to come, is it? He will be fine; he is just working on the darkness inside him. He will be fine in a few months, they had assured her.

But what if they were wrong?

She refused to think that way. She would get her son back. She would not lose her son to the darkness. She would introduce her son to the other kids and they would teach him how to be a normal kid.

"OK, son, I need you to come down now. Would you mind taking a break from… um… drawing things and come meet them?" He sat there for a few seconds, their eyes locked, and then he got up and went downstairs with his mother.

"I don't know what happened to your son, but my son did nothing to him! I will do whatever I can to help find your son, but don't go around accusing my son because you are scared! Use your head!" She slammed down the phone and walked to her back yard. She felt it was her duty to warn her son about the crazy things people were saying. She looked around, and couldn't find him anywhere. But there was one place she hadn't checked, and that was the shed. He had been going out there for several days in a row, but she hadn't thought to check on him. She probably should have, but she wasn't too worried. It had been two months, and the psychiatrist said he was coping well.

As she walked to the shed, a strong scent reached her nose, and it made her sick. She held her nose as she opened the shed door. As she looked into the shed, time stopped. Blood covered the walls, floors, and all over her son. Various body parts had been cut open and spread around the shed, and there, on the main tool bench, a head had been stuck on the stopper organizer. It was the neighborhood boy that had gone missing. Tears streamed down her face as she realized the heinous crime her son had committed.

She ran inside, ran to the bathroom, and threw up. The sweat, tears and puke mixed in the toilet as her long black hair touched the water below her head. A few seconds later, her son stood beside her. The scalpel was in his hand, and once she saw it, she shut the door and then locked it, as she was scared for her life. Her breathing began to get heavy as the whole situation flooded back to her. It was her fault that the boy died a horrible death. If she had never pressed the doctors to let him out of the juvenile ward at Arkham, then her son would be getting better care, and that boy would be alive. She cried more and more.

Not only was he dead, but now she had no doubt that the dark insanity had completely ruined his mind. He would never be normal. He would always be this sick psychotic excuse for a human. He was only a shell of a real person.

"You're sad, aren't you?" Terrence said through the door. It had been the first real time he had spoken to her in days.

"Sad? Yes, I am! It's not fair that you should have to go through this. This shouldn't be possible! I… I just want to see you smile… I just want you to smile and tell me it will be alright!" There was a long pause, then…

"You want me to smile? I'll smile for you, mommy." She wasn't sure what to make of that statement. She suddenly heard the sound of slicing coming from the other side of the door. She looked under the door of the bathroom, and saw blood trickling down to the ground. She threw open the door, and looked at her son.

He had put a scalpel in the corners of his mouth and sliced upwards, cutting his mouth wide open. Blood trickled down his face, where it gathered and dropped to the floor.

"There, mommy, now I will always smile. Are you happy?"