Asylum Writing
Dearest readers you are truly brave. You cannot even begin to contemplate the horrors that awaited me behind the large, heavily bolted iron gates that were presented to me upon my arrival here. The excruciating punishments we received, which the Guards along with Madam concocted for us. Everything made to the perfect standard to give us more pain than we should be able to bear. There was no point in joking or removing any delicious detail about my time in the Asylum. There are however a certain number of things, which were not important, not crucial and so, haven't been included within. The people I met, befriended . . . & lost will always be close to me, and locked tight in my heart, regardless of anything. I felt it was time that the world knew the true extent of the torture we suffered at the hands of one of the most respected women of our time and our area.
Let us give a round of applause, if you please, for her oh so desperate efforts to assassinate & exterminate us, the inmates of her own Asylum.
Ladies and Gentlemen my name is Emileea, or as everyone in the Asylum referred to me LittlEm- it was easier for all and none particularly favoured the names we were given, the nicknames gave us sanity when we had none. This is the tale of my time in Madam Carlotta Starthlite's Asylum. Beware what lies within my friend. The faint-hearted are not meant to read the words that follow…
February 1854- Entry One.
The silence completely overwhelmed me; I just cannot bare solitary confinement. Apparently, well so the Doctors and Nurses tell me, it's 'for my own good'. My mind seems to be screaming otherwise. How can it possibly be in anyway good for me being locked away in a dank room for hours upon end? It seems that they are trying to fix me, make me 'better'. It's as if I were simply a broken toy or object, a strange device that can be fixed simply by locking it away and leaving it to ROT! Bullshit! Locking me in a padded white room, well I say white but in all honesty it's getting grey, will NOT 'fix me'. The red smears that are still on the walls and floor bring all too inviting thoughts into my mind. I snap out of my thoughts slowly, my head twitching momentarily as I'm brought back to reality, my head turning slightly as I hear the door un-latch… un-bolt. But I don't look up to see the Guard at the door… or flinch when his hand falls on me. Facts being facts, I have no need to see them to know precisely what slimy, sickening thoughts are sweeping through their mind. I know all too well what they all think; I know all the disgusting thoughts that swarm around their heads. They do not appeal to me, and they never will no matter how long I'm here.
I should probably introduce you to the schematics or what I know of the Asylum from my perspective and that of the girls whom I share my Wing with. I tend to jump straight into things, and so I did. Even though this is my first entry where I should… well introduce everything.
Oh well, now you know what solitary confinement is like, so here we go with some background…as it were.
The walls that surround this Asylum were quite obviously erected to keep the inhabitants or if you prefer inmates, locked in. To prevent us from breaking out, to even attempt to clamber over the towering iron gates would not be plausible. Theoretically- hypothetically speaking it may be possible, but not now. If only we could tell the world the true nature of this Asylum. What really happened behind closed doors to these women. Behind these bolted gates. We were never meant to be thrown back to reality.
There are four wings within the boundaries of the Asylum. North, South, East and West Wings. The North is predominantly for the new arrivals, and the 'recovered inmates', the ones Madam takes from us to release back into the world. However we all have our doubts as to whether they're actually released, or just exterminated. The South is for the women who display a violent nature outwardly & are extremely dangerous to property, so the wing is bare with nothing to damage and the guards are strong, forceful and can deal with the violence. The East is for the women who are dangerous to them, in a seriously suicidal sense, and have Schizophrenic tendencies & claim to hear voices- with guards who can be sympathetic and work away from their tendencies, even if it's lies. The West Wing is dedicated to the most deadly & cunning. These devious women whom are dangerous not only to property and themselves, but to others human creatures like themselves. The mentally unstable who show a lack of control over their actions. They have usually committed some fiendish & gruesome crime. The monsters and the demons live within The West Wing. The West Wing is my home. Locked in my cell, every day and night. Oh what a luscious life I do lead.
There are only 100 cells in each of these Wings. A differing amount of inmates though… the Guards think there's a 'psycho season', which is when a few new girls are admitted to the Asylum. We're never 'in season' as it were though, they make us sound like fruit of vegetables that ripen over time only to be picked and thrown into the world. They seem to be under an illusion, and believe that anything we've done is wrong entirely. I laughed at them, as we all laugh at them. We are each intrigued by one another's story of why we're in here and what the guards think of the stories and which crazy level we are deemed.
They've told me I was sick for feeling no remorse over what I've done. It was the cold, brutal and unforgiving murder of my own darling parents. Police found my parents as I had left them. Soaked, all their clothes drenched in their own thick crimson blood. Throats slit- an attempt to pierce the jugular… tongues carefully removed, eyelids stuck down and their lips sown together. For me I thought they looked a great deal better dead. I paced myself, took my time & carried it all out slowly. Taking pleasure with every slash of my knife, every gash & cut. Come to think of it I barely noticed their screams of terror and pain, which were described by one of the kitchen maid's as 'piercing' and 'deathly'. Not that I really care what she, the guards, Madam, the police or anyone else thinks or believes. None of these imbeciles truly cared about it, cared about me or looked after me. Not one. Which is precisely why I killed my parents. It wasn't much of a loss now was it? Eighteen years of neglect had to be re-paid somehow.
However take this into account, I was not raised without funds, which you obviously need to raise a child 'properly'. Ever. We always had money, funds, everything. I was spoilt to the core, and whatever I demanded from my parents I received. Simply because I knew I was never denied anything. Which even by the age of ten had come to make life a little tedious. Eventually I stopped demanding things & began to just take anything & everything that caught my eye or took my fancy. A criminal cunning came to my possession by age twelve. My parents knew nothing of my antics; well they had an idea of course but still did not believe it, they couldn't believe their angel would do something like that. For they were too consumed in their world of dinner parties, drinks, outings & sex during the late evening, to notice their ONLY child. Oh yes, I knew far too much about sexual acts, drinking and parental pleasures amongst other things because of my parents' frivolity in the bedroom and in life. I knew it for a fact that my mother and father had, on occasion, brought other people home to join with them in intercourse. Their perfect social appearance smeared by their disgusting home life, habits and desires.
From the mere age of five I studied the piano and violin and at thirteen I had excelled in both beyond that of a normal child my age. However I was forced to continue my lessons with my music Master. Despite my obvious distaste and repulsion of and for him, no matter how much I pleaded, screamed or begged to end lessons. Another thing that my parents had to pay for, taking & consuming years of my life in toil, for their enjoyment.
My music Master was a tall, lean towering figure. Some may have considered him good-looking, a handsome, refined gentleman, but to me he was utterly repulsive. He was in possession of deep-set green eyes that flared and burnt me inside whenever I missed a note or had not memorized a song for him. The long spindly fingers that thwacked me as and when they deemed appropriate. As the years with him drew on his face too became more drawn, the furrows and wrinkles appeared, but my mother always described him as 'dashing'. Not that I really paid much attention to my mothers opinion on him. She never knew the horrors encased within those lessons. I was severely punished over the years that I was forced to spend with him. He even used the cane on me at five years old. The canings and punishments got progressively worse, that was until he violated me. It was his very final and most vile punishment. I have erased the details from my conscious mind, but he did it and I know he did. I came home in floods of tears but my mother, father, nanny & maid didn't believe me. They called me a 'foolish child' with a wild and twisted imagination. Trying to frame a man with such a renowned reputation for producing musical wonders. He was a sick twisted old man to me. Always was.
So he died too. Naturally. He wasn't going to live now was he? After I was finished with the mutilation of my parents I made my way to his house. I was happily welcomed & ushered in by him. My clothes were wet from the rain that had been falling as I'd paced over to his house, thankfully washing the blood from my gown and my hands. So he undressed me & I let him. This time it was his last view of the human anatomy. I was down to my undergarments, a black trim corset that hugged around my figure and black panties, stockings, and a little piece of ribbon around my waist. As he came to touch me I pulled a small, slim dagger, which was sheathed in the ribbon around my waist. I plunged that dagger as deep as it would go into his stomach then twisted the blade. He assumed that his yelps and pleading would prevent me, but they simply drove me on. My last words to him were 'Now you know what it feels like to have something inside you making you bleed'. Leaving him cowering, bleeding to death and screeching for help like the helpless child I had once been. I dressed calmly and left him. A beautiful memory I am never likely to forget.
My skills with a knife came from my home lessons that happened to be taught by a friend of my parents, a Doctor. He had taken care of my mother during her pregnancy and my father during his mental breakdown when he found out my mother was pregnant. He showed me how to slice and dice different creatures of varying sizes, from frogs and toads to birds of prey, and taught me the proper function of just about everything in every anatomy. I asked more questions than he cared answer. A short, old fat man who was useful at first to me but after he'd expelled enough knowledge for my liking he regrettably perished in a fire that was unexplained. My parents thought he was simply teaching me about biological things that I would have been taught at school, but they had no idea of the scope of knowledge I had acquired from him.
But when I was young I had a small music box that was on the mantelpiece above the fireplace in my bedroom. I loved and cherished it from an extremely young age, as it placed noise into my eerily quiet house. It was my most prized possession aside my violin and I adored it, treasured it and protected it with my life. It is the only thing I see in my mind and love about my past. I can see it still simply sat above the now dead fireplace. Over time becoming increasingly covered in the dust of years…
I was promised in marriage to the son of a Lord. Lord Whendlemead & Lady Jezebel Whendlemead. Their son Troilus was my betrothed. His parents were madly in love with the writings of Shakespeare, hence his name. My mother wanted me to 'better' myself & their family was even more excruciatingly rich than my own, and thus we were to be married.
Troilus was nicknamed Oli by me, and I Em by him. For a couple destined to be married we did in fact get on rather well with one anther. However when I turned six he was already nine years old. And age gap indeed of thee years, but both sets of parents thought it would benefit us somehow with the slight age gap. He was much consumed in study and writing from eleven, whenever he had a spare moment though he saddled his horse and rode to me. He rode to me and talked to me and ate apples under a tree with me. Many beautiful days were spent together.
I digress a little too much into my past…I'll return to the Asylum and what it's like
Once a day, every day we are subjected to inspection. All the guards take a great deal of pleasure in inspection. It is supposedly just a simple room inspection, however in the Asylum nothing is ever that simple. They check everywhere in the room for razors, blades or any sharp object we could use to harm ourselves. After that they move onto a personal, intimate inspection. They force you to strip off, and if you deny their request they beat you. Once they have you in front of them naked they move closer & tend to prowl around you, surveying your body like a vulture would the carcass of a dead animal. Take into consideration that two guards normally perform this act. So they overpower you, touch you where so ever they please. They have full control over you & do as they wish, more or less. But they do only have ten minutes to complete their twisted pleasures. Before they move onto the next room… so the ordeal never lasts long…
There are, of course, other trials & tribulations that we are put through whilst locked up in here. Some girls have more punishments than others nonetheless. Myself being one of the lucky few, which are chosen ones. The guards here prefer the pretty, truly insane or mentally unsound ones of us because some girls who aren't crazy enough don't put up a fight or enough of a fight so are boring. In fact there out of ten reside within the West Wing. We do feel somewhat privileged, but it's a privilege we wish that we could decline. It is worse for us during inspection, they linger longer in our rooms and we would not just get a slap across the face or a thwack in the ribs if we answered back, we'd be killed. We knew it was because they only want to hear certain things, from us and only us that we were picked as favourites. Even guards from the other Wings come to visit us.
We have twenty guards in the West Wing who patrol our cells. Each one of them over six foot tall. All the inmates of the West Wing have decided it most be something required. Some of them are ugly brutes that are butch & noticeably muscled with faces like that of a bulldog. Others are lean muscle, then there are the far too good looking ones who aside from being tall are fairly handsome, nevertheless they are just as psychotic as we are. Just as undeniably insane with dirty quirks and attributes. Quite a few have those kind of petrifying eyes that you dare not look at for too long .A joke around a congregation of us is that Madam found them in a Male Asylum. Their psychotic natures at all times give us something interesting to discuss…
One of the guards was 'let go' recently. Apparently he was being too gentle with us, not enforcing Madams' rules in an 'acceptable' manner. He was in no way harsh or vicious with us. That's how we knew right from the start he wouldn't last here.
I will tell you now that I do have a favourite guard, I'm not sure why I could class him as that, but that is how he is classed to me. He stands at six feet five inches tall head and shoulders, and he's far more than merely built. Sometimes I can scarcely comprehend how he has so much muscle. But he truly does. Each of his muscles ripples and tenses whenever he commands it. He has profoundly intense dark brown eyes that have the ability to make you feel so weak, intimidated. On more than one occasion I have felt like that, weak. He knows what he does to me, and the extent of it. Cruel but beautiful…
I was allowed writing implements purely as Madam seemed to take a fancy to me. It could have been for my background and how I killed or some sick twisted fetish that she has. All I know is that she dealt my cards and I was allowed to write. I declined up until recently when all the talking got too much and realised that I needed this release.
I will tell you this; this release is better than any climax.
If you behave immaculately or are a true favourite of the Guards of Madam you can obtain certain privileges. They can range from something as simple and normal as a decent cup of tea and/or biscuits to more extravagant items. However most of the time you in reality have to work sincerely hard to gain these. The guards can recommend you for a treat and perk, though Madam then believes the guards are somewhat weaker if they do recommend.
Murder, Monster, Kill, Kill Her, Find The Knife. The voices residing in my head, they talk to me all day & all night, talking, singing, and screaming at me. Begging me to listen to them. At first I thought I'd become overwhelmed with them. But now, I'm used to them.
Entry Two
We have just heard from Madam we are no longer allowed to call mention cuts, grazes, slices of skin or mention blood, it is banned and is an offence which may end up being punishable by delivering us to the Doctor for experimentation. This has been put into affect through the entire Asylum, with no exceptions, not even to the new arrivals. So we are now referring to them as Strawberry Gashes, which only we in the West Wing understand, we will never know if the other wings have secured their own way to refer to them.
What perfection & what gorgeous precision. You fine-tune the instruments of death, pain & torture, as you would tune a musical instrument. With care and loving devotion, and enjoyment in what you're doing. Insanity does mad things to you and you can find anything that could be used as weapon. I know it isn't just me, I know that some of the girls here with cuts and nicks of their skin missing, which they got whilst here… I cannot be the only one who sees things this way.
Hmm, moving on…
My dreams are now the only place where the faces of the past lurk, where some of them haunt. I remember how I was taken to a river aged thirteen and showed how to drown someone, and how to enjoy doing it.
Is there really any sound reason behind my insanity? I mean it wasn't genetic.
Is it due to the people and where I come from?
Why the FUCK am I so un-stable?
My instability makes me think about the real world…I don't quite contemplate what the weather is like anymore; it's too hard to keep of track of, much like the time and date. It seems to always be raining in my mind. A dark cloud is always lingering over me. I cannot seem to find the light anymore. I'm too used to the false light created inside here. We only have some conscious knowledge of the weather when we're forced to march, parade ourselves around outside. Usually Madam & the Guards only make us perform this act of moral degradation in the cold winds and heavy rain.
For their delectation and enjoyment obviously...
We cannot hear nor see the weather; the walls have no windows so we shall never know the weather I think.
Come to think of it I am not quite sure how long I've been locked up!
Forgive me father for my sins. For the ones I have committed. And the ones I have yet to commit. Whether I think this is true or not that I'd be forgiven, what is the harm in asking? I find no safety or comfort in the confines of the church walls. Everyone's eyes will always judge. Even they themselves are judged for judging.
Entry 3
Fairytales and foolish fancy mean totally nothing here, not one bit. You could never think about anything vaguely like the stories you're told when you are an innocent child, not when you're trapped in here. If you ever do, even come close to, no sooner have you thought the though than you're snapped back into reality. The stories are beautiful, wild and untamed with such high hopes and perfect endings that are bound to come.
Alas reality is nowhere near as perfect or beautiful.
Don't think I'm peculiar now… Ha that's a bit of a funny thought- bear with me
…But there is a noticeable taste of copper in the air, like a copper coin had been placed in your mouth. The metallic taste in the air is very confusing, I'm going to guess it's due to a thunderstorm, it always is.
Unless someone has actually placed a copper coin in my mouth…
I can hear that some of the more 'nervous' and jumpy girls are screaming over the thunder. Filling the West Wing with a sound all to familiar to our ears that are probably as innocent as that of a prostitute now. They quiet down after a while, the ones who don't will no doubt have a visit from Madam, the Doctor, and a Guard or two.
They silence the girls as swiftly as they always do.
One day I intend to find out precisely HOW they silence these girls!
I mean what else could the North Wing be for. The Doctor I admit does reside within the West Wing because he is 'most needed' here. Yet he does disappear and has a laboratory within the North Wing. He has got to be performing some weird experiments on them and figuring out all the sick twisted things he wants. Using leeches to drain the blood. Obscure metal items to torture. I know how vile leeches are- mother tried to use them on me once… I can only dread to think what else lies within the Doctor's laboratory.
When you sleep, when you dream, when there's no one there. I'm there.
Entry Four
Madam gave me a cup of tea today, an odd occurrence in itself when she shows kindness to anyone who isn't knew and to make the matter far more beautiful it was laced with Brandy… Being summoned to her office was not a joy that I wished to obtain. My mind immediately thought she must be out to get something out of me… but it was just for a nice chat
Weird situation though if, I'm being honest because I found it far too awkward to just sit there listening to her. I was fidgeting, stirring my tea with an obvious irritation and nervousness. I just couldn't help it! Her eyes kept scanning me over as if she were noting down everything about me into her mind. Obviously she knows my reputation around the Asylum, and West Wing, and how often I'm thrown into Solitary confinement.
I realise upon looking over my scrawl that I have not described to you darling Madam. She is an odd creature to say the least. A tall woman, maybe 5'10 at a guess with no meat on her bones to speak of. Always dressed in dark crimson, dark purple, grey or black. Tall and spindly like a spider. She is always found with a cup of tea, if she is seen without tea it is usual an emergency, because she loves her tea too much to go anywhere without it. Oh! She always wears a ghastly rosary, which should be around her neck yet she wears it around her wrist as though she were constantly praying. Praying for our souls, forgiveness. Praying for her soul? We shall never truly know.
I realised that up until now I had not divulged how things work around here in regards to personal hygiene etcetera…
Well everything is communal, and apparently it is so within in each Wing. Communal showers that are used once a month and never more, unless Madam allows you to do so. There is a group of washbasins, but not one in every cell. Can you imagine the cost of that? Not a chance. So everything and everyone is bundled in together and exposed. You know what everyone else looks like and you can tell who's new and not, the new girls are always trying to cover themselves during the showers but the rest of us don't care anymore. We've grown accustomed to it. Accustomed to one another's skin and the way we are treated. The bruises are always a sight, and something we discuss. I mean what isn't to love about a new bruise and it's origins?
That is it for personal hygiene. I refuse to talk about lavatory facilities. For it is far too grotesque and you may gag or vomit from one tiny ounce of knowledge it is that foul…
Oh my good lord…we've done it! Without even realising it. I know how we can get Madam, thwart her attempts to destroy us! After who knows how long of being trapped in here, I've concocted the perfect scheme. We're going to poison her tea! Spike it with something… something that will cause ailment, but not death. We, as a Wing, would quite like to savour having the power & ability to wield her own power over her.
Entry 5
Dakota Pheonix Graaye is a new girl; she quite literally just arrived, as I was about to write this down this morning, so I postponed my writing. Placed in Cell 86, right next to mine, I heard no protest from her about any of the goings that seems to be occurring. An induction has usually more fuss than this and I am intrigued to know more about her. There is something that's just very alluring about her kind of person, new. The only struggle, well full blown argument was when the Guards tried to remove her Top Hat from her, Madam allowed her to keep it in her possession. A quirky girl that Madam obviously admires and likes, and the thing about her hat, Madam will obviously be in Dakota's company as much as she can. A soon to be new favourite of our Madam I can tell.
She is in love with her Top Hat and doesn't take it off, not even when the Guards were doing inspection. She didn't take it off; they fucked her whilst she wore her hat. Obviously shocked at first of what was going on, but slowly coming to understand the way things work around here. Poor girl doesn't know the half of it. I though that I might write to her just to ask and inquire more about her and her life, so I did and within no time at all on the back of my letter was my response.
Dearest Em,
Thank you for your lovely welcoming letter to the Asylum. It shows there is life still behind these bars. You wish to know my story? It honestly isn't as exciting really as people may perceive but it is not entirely boring. Of course I shall let you know more love. In due course you must understand. No point in rushing things is there? And I can see myself being in here for a substantial time.
MissD
I feel a slight hint of, I'm well not quite sure, but it's almost respect for this girl, for knowing even now that she's not getting out of here this easy, and almost what she's got to go through. But what a shame that is, we all have to put up with it. Hmm I think I shall write back to her and tell her about everything that occurs in the Asylum, like a real inspection for one. She'll find out about how it really goes, obviously, but she needs to know she might be lucky and not be too 'hurt' as she's new.
Now, a little parchment of gossip! I did discover, and gaze upon a rather flustered and extremely tired looking guard emerging from the quarters and office of our dearest Madam! One can only assume the goings on that have made the poor man so tired! It has given us all great pleasure to see something like this occurring, as it shows that Madam has a great fault! Just like the rest of us, the infestation that stains her hallowed halls. It was such a beautiful sight, and because he was making such a fuss as he left the door everyone along my way saw and heard. With a very vicious looking Madam glaring at all of us. We all loved every moment!
Entry 6
It has been some days since I have written on my lovely little bundle of parchment but I have to admit, that since I spotted that Guard appearing from Madam's quarters I haven't quite been able to avoid checking through my cell to see if it's occurring again, for I have the perfect view to the door of her quarters, her office…
Alas it has not occurred. Which may mean she is doing it when we are away and will therefore never know…
I can hear quarrelling between Madam and the Doctor at ungodly hours of the day and night, in which I should really be sleeping, but Insomnia creeps up on me sometimes and I overhear conversations that perhaps I shouldn't. Arguments over experiments that he wishes to conduct, about how he shouldn't view us as 'lice'. I only pay attention to parts with which I am involved or concerned because those are the only conversations that I am truly intrigued about.
I mean who in all honesty cares about things that do not concern them?
Entry 7
I haven't written in about a month because Madam removed my privileges from me, because I was thrown into solitary confinement for 15 days as punishment for harassing the guard that had emerged from her room, questioning him and jeering among other things. I was not the only person that was doing it, but because I'm the 'rebel' I get the punishment.
The miserable bitch can go choke on her rouge lipstick right now! How dare she think she can do that, all I did was say one thing, and not JUST me, and she locked me a way for two weeks! And then removed my writing equipment from me, whore.
I write these only moments after the beginning of this entry as I was taken out of my cell. She takes my writing implements from me and then orders me to her office in order to regain my affection with another cup of Brandy Tea.
Does she think I'm a lapdog or something?
I know other girls are prone to come crawling back to her because she runs this place and she is admittedly quite an intimidating force, but I'm not about to scamper back to her like this. Not a hope in all of this Hell Hole.
I dreamt of him, My Music Master. I can see his tall body, towering over me, making shadows in the room, causing every hair on my body to stand on end as I play for him. Music that is unfamiliar to my ears, but more accustomed to his. So many students have played it for his whim, but I can't seem to play it right. The cane appears once more and thwacks across my rump. I can already feel it beginning to bruise as I continue to play on my violin. The notes become shorter and crisper than they should be as I try to hold back my cries of pain. The lashing gets harder as my playing diminishes, but still I keep on. My ears begin to fill with blood as the whole world comes crashing down around me, his cane hard on my skin, the violin in my hand. I wake up screaming in the Asylum, and nobody comes to check…How un-surprising.
Entry 8
I did not actually know where the Asylum I, and until recently I did not know what it looked like from the outside or what the area looked like. However I saw a drawing on the wall in Madam's office, which I didn't see beforehand and it has now clicked that it was this place, it is in fact shrouded in a thick mist or less constantly because it is encased in a valley. The Asylum itself, our entrapment, is itself entrapped. The procession up to the gates show and prove to anyone who views it how any plans of escape would be in vain for there are far too many things against you. For miles around you to the East, West, North and South there is thick woodland & dense forest which anyone could easily be lost in for years without another soul knowing. There is so little civilisation around the Asylum, so what would be the point of trying to escape when you have nowhere to run?
The means to escape this ghastly place may occur but what happens after the escape?
What seems an endless walk with no civilisation?
Our plan has a serious flaw. Fuck!
Entry 9
A fight broke out in the Asylums great eating area today between one of the louder, masculine and brutish girls and a woman who has been here since before any of us. This woman is shrouded in a thick veil of mystery for no one really knows anything about her, no background or anything like that, truly fascinating. It is true she un-deniably intrigues us all. The girl who was the victim in the fight, the one who intrigues us all is named Saraya, and her attacker is named Karmina. She is a young Spanish girl with a fiery temper and long thick hair, which always creates a more ferocious face. The attack started all over the fact that Karmina was prying and asking about Saraya's life and Saraya refused to talk about it, like she refuses to talk to anyone about anything. So Karmina attacked her…
This girl has serious anger issues and problems…
They were separated after the attack, which lasted a good five minutes with scratching, clawing, fist throwing and everything, the guards obviously a bit too intrigued by the right at first to intervene. After being placed on leashes they were lead away to their separate cells to await punishment.
Both received an extreme talking too from Madam which could be heard echoing throughout the entirety of the West Wing, the only thing that differed between the two talking's was that you could only hear Karmina yell back, Saraya stayed as quiet as a dead mouse.
Saying nothing about the reasons of the fight, if she fought back, nothing. I am not envious of her, nor the fact nobody knows anything of her. I'd rather have people know whom I am, where I came from, instead of people just assuming I'm a deaf, dumb, mute. The only quiet one in this establishment for the mentally disturbed.
I'm not sure if it is a title that I would have… Then again I'm the 'rebel'. Pah!
This part of my entry is a little later than what I've just written but I was too tired to write an entire entry purely for this, but the girl who brutally injured Saraya, Karmina, has been removed from the West Wing. More interestingly when she was removed it was overheard that Madam was taking her up into the North Wing, as it was the perfect place for her. It can't possibly be the place for her, how can someone who savagely attacked a mute girl be cured and ready to leave?
It proves to me that my thoughts about what really goes on within the North Wind are true. The Doctor was also in hot pursuit of the removal party so I think he has a big part to play in the North Wing. I loathe all this deceit and deception. They think they are more cunning than they truly are. We know everything.
Singing me to sleep in the night, yet as I lie awake I cannot help but think of the poor mice that must inhabit this place with us. Alone. Singing in the night.
Entry 10
I was scheduled for a meeting with The Doctor toady so he could evaluate me and decide if my mind and mental state had changed at all since my entry into this institution.
Every girl is evaluated over and over again and we all do so love comparing stories so much…
Apparently I have become worse- fan fucking tastic!
It's as if my mind was deteriorating slowly over time, the Insanity seeping into me more and more every day. Savouring its consumption of my mind. The Doctor loathes me completely and every time I have to see him it is almost emitting from him just how much he loathes me. He goes through my evaluation at lighting speed so he does not have to stay with me too long. It is true however that he is not a fan of the female anatomy for he does not take long lingering around any one of us particularly, which confuses us no end as he works within an Asylum solely for females. We all enjoy tormenting his mind when he checks up on us; it is one of our only forms of amusement!
How enjoyable to have some form of amusement in a place such as this. We do not have many things to enjoy. The dank cells we reside in, share, cause great pain sometimes. The criminally insane having fun comparing stories. This is how we amuse ourselves- how beautiful.
Entry 11
Saraya came to visit me during one of the mealtimes this week though for the life of me I cannot remember which one it was or precisely which day, all I can tell you is it was not today. She told me why she was in here. A murder she committed, and it was a homicide infact that she was sadly caught after committing. Her killing started with an unfaithful lover who she decided was not allowed to be with anyone else again, and then moved to targets that she shouldn't be connected too. After killing a vast array of different people she decided she would never speak another word again, for by speaking she could lose her heart. She thought I seemed trustworthy with her story, and that at least someone should know it. Though it has to be said I can see why she would chose me, as I seem to hold my mental state a great deal more successfully than the other inmates of the West Wing.
Madam came to find me quite soon after as she had observed our conference from the walking platform above our dining area. She enquired about the conversation I'd just had but I refused to speak to her or divulge any of the conversation.
I mean why should I? What could Madam really do for Saraya or me except pretend?
Listen to the story, pretend she cared, and pretend the Doctor could help. Nobody could really help anyone here. So I let her try and persuade me to tell her. Though she was going to get nowhere with me. That was the short and long of it. For about an hour we stood in the canteen with her talking away to me. Much to her dismay she realised everyone else had left and been taken back to their cells. I'd been kept behind. A smirk spread across my face as she said.
"I seem to have kept you past cell time, right..."
Ha, I'd left the great Madam speechless. How fantastically beautiful it was to watch her squirm with awkwardness. Even better was that she had got nothing from me.
Insanity is a strange word, especially in a place like this. Nobody really knows what it means anymore, because to us we are all insane to a certain degree, so it almost doesn't seem like a problem, it's normal. But the normality the Doctor and Madam 'possess' is obviously slowly taking its toll on them. How can anyone keep a degree of sanity when surrounded by insanity day after day?
Entry 11
I have lacked entries, as I have been too engrossed in studying the behaviour of our fanatical Doctor. Three girls were removed from the West Wing this week, all at a mealtime, and the Doctor was always in pursuit of the leaving party. He reminds me somewhat of a little curious rodent as he follows them around and scurries about like mice do once they've caught a whiff of food.
He is quite extraordinary; as he is shaped like an animal I've only seen drawings and pictures of. They stand on their hind legs but seem to have a little hunch. He makes me think of many creatures through his little habits and tendencies that I have observed through the bars of my cell. I did not need to make notes of my subject, as he is very self-explanatory.
Though I have noticed that he always carries upon his person a small knife. Though what he plans to do with it is beyond my knowledge. He likes to play with it in his pocket when he talks to Madam.
Could it possibly be that he is contemplating slicing it across her throat and watching her bleed out?
Jabbing it right into the jugular and taking her keys- leaving her to die.
Well you never know…
Entry 12
I will tell you now that one of the girls has actually managed to commit suicide. Maybe we all shouldn't be so excited about it but we are! I mean she's totally thwarted the system that Madam attempted to create- where we would either be too content or too scared too commit suicide. Taking away all the things that we could kill ourselves with!
Though of course she realised that didn't mean the guards didn't have something that she could use. She stole a switchblade from the boot of the guard that did her morning inspection- then stood on the canteen table and slit her wrists, then throat. With all of us watching- entranced and enchanted possibly by her outright disregard for Madam.
It was a beautiful sight- on that we are all thoroughly agreed. Even if we have lost one of our own! The blood on her body and the stains, the screaming and panic that ensue- all so beautiful.
A whisper in the dark on the wings of a note from a song that was lost years ago. The unimportant little things we forget- they drift away on the evening breeze. Whisked into a whirlwind of all the other forgotten artefacts, words, thoughts, from people's lives. Yes, as they say, it is the little things that make the biggest difference. Although this knowledge is supposed to be worldwide and known, it seems to escape most men and women's conscious thought. All these little thoughts, notes, pages, wishes, forgotten artefacts have started to pile up. They wish to be noticed and cherished- like they once were. It is an ordeal of sorts fort these poor things. Bless their 'insignificant' nature. Battered, tattered and ageing away as they swirl in oblivion in time and space. Curious though- for if these objects ever come back to us, we seem elated to have it back in our lives. We make these little things big again. Yet still so many are lost.
Entry 13
Now the last bit of my previous entry I cannot actually remember writing- that is extremely unnerving. As are most things that occur within these dirty walls.
I had a sublime vision last night as the mice, rats and spiders crept about the cell. They spoke and told me of the world that surrounded me. The trees, the hills, the forest and the streams. They planned, schemed and spoke with me of all the things they had seen. The views that no human could look upon. The views only an animal or insect would see. The girls as they scream in the night-the terror on their faces. Madam as she writes in a leather bound book- though as this was only a dream I cannot take the words of a spider as fact. I do however intend to investigate the possibility that Madam does indeed write in a journal. Perhaps I have seen this journal and only registered it subconsciously- and my dream spiders are telling me that it is there and maybe that I should pry!
Bad little spidersss….
Oh and the mice and rats take great enjoyment in tickling and teasing the Guards whom are placed on night watch. They use their tails and swipe them across the Guard's sleeping faces-or if they are awake they simply rush about their feet in order to confuse them and cause mischief.
I am quite torn as to whether I believe my little creatures of the night and my dreams. Or not-as the words are only a creation of my damaged mind. Though maybe the creatures speaking to me in my dreams are my subconscious thoughts trying to get out? Perhaps it could be so-or maybe I have truly just gone round the bend?
Anything could be possible.
Entry 14
Oh my dreams do make me smile! I dreamt of the spiders again! Two days in a row I have dreamt of the same thing, which has not happened since I was a little child dreaming of a time where my parents might actually love me. But in this dream my little spiders had used their fine silk and weaved me a dress. Not a long elegant one that my mother had adorned upon on me, the ones that all princesses wore in fairytales. No, not one of them but a short and simple, very beautiful dress with a high neckline and frayed at the edges. I tried it on in the dream and it fit me like a glove, though I awoke thoroughly disappointed without it. Perhaps I am becoming too accustomed to the Asylum- as my nightmares have ceased. Or maybe the spiders are a nightmare?
Madam was a fool to think that she could keep big secrets from the more intrepid and curious of us. We shall indeed know everything about her. Her control and power over us is slipping…the little glitches in her person as she passes us, as she observes us- not knowing we too are observing her. She will no longer rule us… We will find her weakness.
Entry 15
I am really not quite sure how we are going to find her weakness- but really it is not my full concern is it? I am only one girl of many who is subject to her cruelty and malice that she does so enjoy inflicting.
Come to think of it I have been here less time than some of the other girls but I can see their glances, relying on me. Even through malice and deceit and contemplating what it would be like to see my head on a spike. I can see them. The truth of these poor girls. Like they see the truth in me.
Madam could only see truth in lies. In false words of some complicated book…
Hm, actually come to think of it I miss reading- I mean I only quickly skim back over my own writing after I've written it. Though I haven't read any of my past entries. Yet I miss reading. Reading beautiful books bound in leather full of words that so many have read over the years, words that can touch the soul and cause people to chance, wonder, dream and strive to achieve.
Oh I miss books so desperately.