Name: Mary Alice Brandon

Y.O.B: 1901

Height: 4'10

Weight: 103 lbs

Hair Colour: Deep brown

Eyes: Brown

Reason Of Incarceration: Claims to have 'Premonitions'

I could read no more. My father's slinky handwriting littered the paperwork. I slid the notes back into the envelope. This was the day I will replay for the rest of my life. They day I was put into an asylum for no reason.

Black walls surrounded me. Black walls for the insane. Black walls not meant for me. I ran my hands through my short, pointy, convict crop. My solitary state bothered me. It's been four months since I was incarcerated, and insanity loomed in the blackness. I looked under my bed for the suitcase. I pilfered through it, finding a small black box it still had the note on it, the note read:

Alice,
I hope Mother's music box helps you though the tough times
Love, Cynthia

I smiled. Cynthia was the only one who called me what I preferred. I opened it and a tinkling waltz filled the room. I hummed and danced along. I missed my sister, my home, my only friend, and the life I once knew. A sharp knock startled me. I immediately silenced the music box and stuffed it under my bed. The guard stormed into the room. I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Mary, hand me over that possession, you know you can't have them." The guard boomed. I shuddered.
"No." I whispered. I wasn't going to give it up that easily.
"Please, Miss Brandon." He said, anger welling in his voice. I shook my head.
"Hand over the music box this instant, Miss Brandon!" he shouted. I winced and dug up the box. Handing over the box with, tears were streaming from my eyes. The guard snatched it up and slammed his hand over my head. I let out a scream of agony. The guard left. I gathered myself and pressed my ear to the door.
"...Found it in cell 79... the crazy one... asked for it nicely... gave it up willingly..."
What a lie, I thought. I suddenly felt someone new was coming. Then, shrill screeches filled the hallway. I gathered myself up off the floor and peered through the tiny square window and saw a kicking, flailing, adolescent girl being forced into her cell by five guards. I marveled over the lanky teenager's strength.Her head turned and, for a moment, our eyes locked in a moment of understanding and hope. But then she was gone, the key turning in the lock of the girls cell. Her shrill cries filled the building about 20 minutes. The screaming and wailing soon ended, and sobs took over the girl. I crept up to the nearest wall and peeked through a large crack in the wall.

"I'm not insane!" The girl shrieked. I gasped.
"Hey, you. What's your name?" I whispered through the crack. She cried even harder.
"Stop, dear, I'm not here to judge you." I soothed. She sniffed. The girl calmed herself enough to tell me her name.
"Joy, Joy Alexandra Gordon." She said in a shaky voice.
"I'm Mary Alice Brandon, but you can call me Alice." I said.
"Why are you here, Alice?"
"I get premonitions constantly. I predicted the death of my grandmother, and they admitted me here. What about yourself?"
"When I get angry, I sometimes bite people, and I end up killing them. I bit my baby sister and killed her."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Joy..."
"Not it's fine, I was never the favorite anyways."
"Neither was I." I smiled. She grinned a small, crooked grin. At least someone else understands me here.