A pale figure stood, looking out the foggy, bared window. The air inside was moist and cold with a faint sent of artificial strawberries, probably the sent of the cleaner used on the small, confined space. The sounds of buzzing bells and murderous voices murmuring and yelling flooded the halls. It was a small place, like a closet. To one corner there was a bunk-bed, gray and rusty. The fairly small window had a thick white certain and bars restrained from the inside. The walls and floor were a cold concrete that had a slight tint of moss green; also the floor slightly sloped to the center, where a drain was. There was also a metal, sink/toilet combo, which was rather small and had a cracked mirror above. Lastly there was a door, well more like a gate at one end of the confined space, it was barred with clear white bars and the door was definitely locked, by now you should know that this was a jail cell.
Eiríkur Steilsson, but around here he was only known as 473110.A single boy who occupied this room and had been there for a decent amount of time, the sentence he served was older then he was at the age, for he was only 15 when he came. Why did he serve a sentence for 21 years then? Well, he murdered his brother by stabbing him in the chest 17 times and now has been seen as insane. For now he most certainly was, being confide most of his life in solitude drove his mind off a cliff. But now he was 18 and had 18 years to go, but he never thought about leaving, it would seem he didn't think what he would do when he was 36. His appearance was not of a normal teenager for he had light, almost white, hair, was fairly thin, a little too much so to be healthy. Also he had large lavender eyes, ghostly pale skin that was riddled with acne on his face and back, had slightly long arms and was short for his age. He was a peculiar boy to say the least.
He stood by the chilled window and drew with his finger an eye. It was large, taking up a great deal of the window, but beautiful. He gave a faint smile, enjoying when the window would fog up and he could play with it. It was dark out and he could feel his lazy eyes and mind wonder, he did not sleep for two days, and when he did his mind was riddled with nightmares and only slept for an hour or so. This problem just arose, well two days ago. No one is sure what triggered such a thing all he did that day was wander around the grounds for an hour and spoke to his councillor. Despite all of these things though he walked over to the rock-hard bed, that seemed normal now, and laid on his stomach. He attempted to sleep though his frantic thoughts and the aggrieved voices, and after some time his mind went to sleep.
His sleep was fine for a wile, but somewhere along the way he started thrashing and sweating in his sleep, not soon after his eyes shot open. He had dreamed the same dream again; he never told anyone what these dreadful dreams were due to being afraid for what seemed, to most, like no reason. He would stand there, living though the event that has haunted him, the event that broke a fuse in his mind and caused him to murder his elder brother, who loved him. He shivered in what felt like coldness, but he was sweating. His breathing was irregular, but soon became calm. He snorted "Fudge you dream, fudge you memories. Go and die..." He whispered to himself, wishing he could just get some sleep, but no matter how long he told himself that it was okay he couldn't fall back to sleep. He just started dozing off when the sky turned a mystical blue, foreshadowing of the sun's rise.
He only slept for an hour after that, but then was waken by the light that poured in the gray, double-paned window. The morning bird was playing their song and could be herd from his room. He groaned and slowly sat up. "Crap to you sun." He whispered slowly. Then his mind seemed to wonder into boredom, not that there was overly much to do, but Eiríkur was a resourceful person. He would play with his clothing and the sheet, making a fort and playing within himself. He grabbed hold of his orange uniform that was left on the floor and moved his long, slender arm down the suit until it came to a pocket, one of two on his uniform. He opened the square pocket and took out a pencil, he took it form his councillor. He would always steal one or two while he could, he loved drawing on walls, but every time the cell was cleaned the drawings would disappear. His councillor kept track of what he drew, seeing that it might give some clues and answer many unknown questions.
He placed his pencil on the plain white wall and started to draw, birds, bugs, slices of poetry anything that came to his mind, like a collage of random ideas and dreams. This occupied his time for several hours, he would occasionally giggle at an inside joke or brood over old friends. Then a loud buzzard sounded, but Eiríkur ignored it. That sound hadn't changed in three years, and now he had become desensitised. He would sometimes wallow in thought and think what it would be like to lead a normal life? He would be done high school now and on his way to collage to find a job and live like a normal person. Something about living like a normal person tipped him off though; he disliked the idea of living for other people who disrespected him. He wondered how most people do it. Why would they get up day in and day out to go to a job they disliked? Or to try to impress friends that couldn't care less about them. How could someone be so happy with a life that is plastered over with lies and pretence?
Then one of the police officers stopped at the gate and peered into the small cage. Eiríkur felt his gaze and hoisted his head to see the tall man, tall compared to him any ways. The small man felt a shiver run down his spine and he curled up to his knees. "Some one's here to see you." The man said. Eiríkur just nodded. The bared gate then opened and Eiríkur slowly stood up, put his orange uniform on and staggered over to the police officer. The man's large hands took his small, white wrists and cuffed them behind his back. He stood there, letting the officer close the gate, "Come with me." He instructed as he led the boy down the cold gray halls, an officer was also behind him, making sure he wouldn't try anything. After walking up two flights of stairs and going around several corners they came to the meeting room. The officer stopped and pointed Eiríkur to the seat he was to sit on. The boy walked over to the worn chair with his head low. The air was always tense here, the buzzing sound of the florescent lights and the quiet people speaking to one another.
He sat down most uncomfortably, it was like a small cubical with only three walls, there was an empty chair before him, behind the thick clear plastic that was there for protection. In the plastic there were several holes below eye level and beyond that was a plain building with a clear white door. Eiríkur's eye looked up as the door was opened and a woman ushered someone in. Then his eyes grew a bit, it was Mikkel Bertram. There was a spark of hope, a glimmer of a far off dream. Maybe, he thought, Mikkel was getting him out of this place, like a beckon of light in his nightmare, he may have gotten used to this place, but that didn't mean he didn't want out. He taller man sat down in the chair and starred though the clear shield that was there to protect him. Mikkel was Eiríkur's brother's closest friend and had also played a large role in trying to prove that Eiríkur was innocent, but despite his effort he was labelled guilty and was scurried off to prison. Mikkel stiffened, but pulled a grin. "Hey Eiríkur, how are you?" He asked gently. Eiríkur felt something drop in his heart, that's what everyone asked him, and he never lied, that's why it always took a wile to answer that question. He pondered it, how did he feel at this vary moment? Tired? Wishful? Sad? Empty? Worthless? There were too many. "Eiríkur..?" Mikkel asked again. Then there eyes met before Eiríkur looked down and said "I-I'm not sure… Empty?" he almost whispered the last word, not wanting to be so weak or insane in front of the man. "What was that?" Mikkel asked for clarification. Eiríkur paused and sighed "Empty." That answer induced a silence for a while until Mikkel spoke.
"I see… Are they treating you well? You aren't hurt right?" He said, his tone got slightly protective. Eiríkur shook his head to indicate they have not. "No, my physical body hasn't been damaged." He said, clarifying that there was a difference between his physical and mental self. "That's good." Mikkel said happily. Then more awkwardness came between them. Eiríkur found himself listening to the buzzing lights when Mikkel spoke up again. "We all miss you." He said. At this Eiríkur perked up, he wasn't sure if he was lying, or that everyone genuinely was lonely without him. "After what I did?" Eiríkur murmured, not convinced that his brother's friends would forgive the person who murdered him in cold blood. "Of course… we forgive you, you weren't yourself." Mikkel said pointing to the fact that Eiríkur had gone insane. A stinging pain surged through Eiríkur's chest when those last words were spoken; he hadn't gone insane, he was perfectly normal! Besides it wasn't any of his business! Eiríkur stood up, pushing his chair slightly "I was myself! It was my fault! Whose fault is it then?! The tooth fairy?!" He exclaimed irritably and soon a guard held his shoulders firmly and said in a loud voice "I think visiting time is over." Eiríkur made the mistake in struggling in his grasp. "I killed him! I killed him! I murdered my own brother!" Eiríkur yelled as he was painfully pulled away from Mikkel and soon shut into his cell.
By the time he reached his cell he had stopped yelling and started to cry uncontrollably. He was carelessly thrown onto his thin bed that was more like a shelf. He didn't register the pain from the movement, but just curled up in a ball and wept. He would mumble harsh words over his breath and sniffle loudly. The voices form the adjacent cells were ones of cruel words and mockery, such words I'd not like to repeat. Despite the agony of his shivering body and clouded mind, he could grasp how pitiful he appeared. He hated being weak, but the way Mikkel said it, the way everyone thinks he's insane… he loathed it. He felt so alone, and that no one cared, but he didn't blame them. He was insane, he was unreachable. It wasn't always this way though, in fact he did have a friend a while back, before he came here. Her name was Xenia Vilhjalmsson. She was a small Norwegian girl with pale skin and she has blue ribbons in her light brown hair. Eiríkur and Xenia were like siblings, not lovers, but close friends. Eiríkur often thought of her, but he had no idea what she was doing with her life, he hoped that she would find peace and joy and that she would forget him. Because he wasn't good enough for her, that's what he thought anyways. She also played a role in his insanity, if it weren't for her, he would have never killed his brother.
After ten minuets or so Eiríkur had calmed his emotions, like a futile band-aid over a deep abrasion, it was only a brief fix of a much larger crisis. He sniffled and wiped the remaining tears from his face. The yelling and clatter of the adjacent cells still could be herd, but that was normal. His mind wandered and he though that the buzzard would ring soon, signalling his short amount of freedom, but it was really only transfer to another cage. In the mean time Eiríkur did nothing, his mind was rather blank as he attempted to forget, or at least not think of his brother and the incident surrounding him. At the end of a short jumble his mind seemed to rest on old fairytales and myths, the ones his brother told him. He was always enchanted by dragons, fairies... princes in shining armour and young princesses with nobility. In those stories good always prevailed over evil and in the end every one was happy and life was peaceful. But in reality Eiríkur knew that the nature of man was anything but good. But he lived to dream, that's all one dose here, lose there mind to fantasy and dream the world away, the voices of logic would soon be subdued in the ocean of madness.