The Asylum

by yello13

She wasn't crazy! No one believed her. No one understood her and the more she realized that the more she lost control. She could the deal with the scream and pleas that raged on in the Asylum. She could deal with being alone. But the thing is she wasn't crazy, she wasn't but one day she was, and that was the day she saved her. A lady with brown hair and a British accent.

1. Easy To Remember Hard to Forget

She wasn't crazy, no matter what everyone else said. At least she wasn't always crazy. The thing was no one seemed to like her. It wasn't her fault either. She knew that it was never her fault but, somehow people managed to always blame things on her. People always managed to get her in trouble, to get their way, to make her leave. But it wasn't her fault. It wasn't her fault that she didn't understand some things and the things she did understand were very straight forward, very simple and easy to solve. She could figure out things, things like death for example. She could know the meaning of death, she could experience death, she could even cause her little brain to cause death but, sadly she couldn't understand why death occurred. Then again who can exactly figure out why death occurs or even why Mr. or Mrs. Someone up there would want death to be such a consistent and sorrowful thing. But to certainly state the fact, Elizabeth Parker wasn't crazy. She wasn't, but that was before her world shattered into a million pieces, that was before the Asylum.

Lost was some kind of connection to where she was then. She was always lost. Her young soul even doubted that anyone was looking for her. It was because she was who she was that made her believe she was nothing more than well, nothing. No one cared enough. There were barely any memories to hold on to and the memories that she had sustained were fading. Some days when Elizabeth was hiding in the small white cobwebbed vent that was by the under sheet of her bed she would think. She would think and try to remember how she got here and why she was here. The memories were so vague and unpleasant. They were no more efficient then her nightmares because she knew what had happened. She knew of the truth, about truth and, everything surrounding the truth yet, she refused to acknowledge the truth. All the puzzle pieces fit together when it came to this one memory. It was the memory she willed to fade away but, like all things, the more you think about it the more you remember it. So when it came to this memory she could hear beyond the screams and pleas of the Asylum and beyond the tension her body felt whenever hands were placed on her. She looked beyond into her memories, even though she tried to forget.