First of all, I loved the book and have fallen in love with the sadistic character of Roger. Second of all, this is told from the view of another; not one of the boys. No real warnings. I only hope that you read, enjoy, and review
I looked at the clipboard handed to me by one of the nurses. Papers upon papers stacked and tucked just below the shiny metal clip. Health statistics plagued the top page; informing me of the newly arrived patient's basic information. Roger D. Smith: a schoolboy, no older than age 11. Was a member of the local all-boy choir; was second best based on the papers, could sing an octave just below a C-sharp. This boy seemed like a pretty successful lad; so what was he doing here, of all places?
I sighed and looked at the nurse that still stood by my side. Hazel eyes peered up at me, concern shining just beneath her blonde locks. Her bright red lips were thinned into a straight line. Her hands were gripping the hem of her white skirt, wrinkling the crisply ironed fabric. I peered back and nodded, allowing the nurse to leave and continue her rounds. I turned my back on her and walked down the long hallway. Another hallway branched off and I turned swiftly, making my way to the boy's room.
I opened the door and peered inside. There, sitting on the paper covered cot, was Roger D. Smith. A mop of dark locks were draped delicately a third down his face. A pair of dark emerald eyes stared intently at the floor, sadistic thoughts boiling beneath the angry eyes. His chapped lips moved quietly, mumbling something incoherently and inaudibly. Clammy hands gripped the edge of the cot, almost murderously as he squeezed the cushion tightly; white knuckles screaming at the straining pressure. His fingernails were chewed off bitterly; dirt scrunched up in the remainders of the nail. The door squeaked as I pushed it open a bit more; the sound failed to bring the young boy out of his reverie. Only when I cleared my throat rather loudly, did the dark eyes glance up at me. His eyebrows knit together as he met my gaze; the start of a demented smile spreading across his dark features. I blinked a few times before I finally spoke to the lad.
"Ahem; hullo, I trust that you have made yourself comfortable?"
Roger looked at me, demented smile and all.
"I believe that you will be staying with us for a while, Roger." I said, looking down at the clipboard. My eyes flickered up to look at the boy as I awaited a reply. Though the comment I was waiting for melted away as I watched Roger's morphing face. The small smile soon spread rigidly. His cracked lips unveiled a row of yellowing teeth.
I listened intently to the repeated chant of sadistic bloodlust. I quietly turned back down the hall to the concerned lot of nurses, instructing them to find the jacket and unlock the requested I walked, I left the young Roger to repeat his chant of murder.
Kill the beast. Cut his throat. Spill his blood.
Kill the beast. Cut his throat. Spill his blood.
Roger D. Smith: a schoolboy, no older than age 11. Was a member of the local all-boy choir; was second best based on the papers, could sing an octave just below a C-sharp. This boy seemed like a pretty successful lad; so what was he doing here, at St. Mary's Asylum for the Troubled?
The answer: simple.
Roger D. Smith was a psychopathic sadist who was bent on killing the sane.