Ok, so I wrote this for my creative writing class and everyone really liked it, and my sister told me to post it on here, so I did. Please enjoy.
You Can't Spell Slaughter Without Laughter
On the outskirts of a criminalistic city, an insane asylum sat. It was built upon a hill, and a giant iron rod fence surrounded the concrete prison. The purpose of this fence wasn't to keep people in, but to keep people out. Once in a great while some poor unfortunate soul will find their way into the courtyard of the asylum, and are never seen again. The most probable reason of their disappearance is that an inmate got a hold of them.
Beyond the doors and down a maze of hallways were where the high security criminals were kept. Two guards sat in front of each door, guns at the ready just incase someone escaped and things went bad. Four guards were stationed in front of cell number 136. The asylum's most insane criminal "lived" here. The metal door was at least five inches thick and twelve different locks could be counted. The meal slot was welded shut, and the only way to see into the cell was through a five by five inch wired glass window.
Through the small window, you could see that there wasn't anything in the room. It was designed as a solitary confinement cell. The padding that covered the walls, ceiling and floor had yellowed with age. Various stains were everywhere you looked. Sitting across from the door was a man. He sat Indian style, and wore a straight jacket, his official orange jump suit pants could be seen. He wore no shoes or socks.
The man was well built, able to hold his own in a fight and evade capture for many years. Scars ran from his lips to high on his cheeks, making him forever smile. His curly blonde hair was slicked back from the grease in his hair and it fell just past the bottom of his ears, green stained the ends of his hair. Dark brown eyes glared at the metal door.
Anyone could tell that this man was angry. His straight jacket felt like it was smothering him, but that wasn't the reason he was mad. It was the sound of a leaky faucet that was driving him up a wall. The steady dripping noise was slowly pushing him closer and closer to falling off his rocker.
Every time the small drop of water would hit the metal sink, the man flinched and glared harder at the door. This had been going on for days, the man wasn't even able to sleep. If he felt the need he could say 'drip' with the steady sound.
He licked his lips and started sucking on the insides of his cheeks, a familiar thinking habit of his. He wanted to make the noise stop, no, he needed the noise to stop, he needed to get away. That's when the idea hit him. The simple plan made him smile, the scars running up his face making it seem like he was grinning from ear to ear.
The man started snickering and soon started full out laughing. It wasn't like a normal laugh, it was cold and full of hatred. He hadn't laughed like this in a while. It sent chills down his spine. He laughed louder just to make sure the guards heard him, and they did.
All four guards rushed into the small cell, guns at the ready. They looked at the man in front of them, laughing for no reason that they could tell. Two of the guards grabbed his shoulders. The guards started to drag the man out of the cell, down the hallway and towards the hospital wing. The man's laugh could be heard all over the asylum, echoing off the walls, covering up any sound of a leaky faucet.