Misunderstood Marionette

I don't think my parents realized what they were doing the second that they checked me into Seiyo Hospital for the Mentally Insane. I had told them over and over again that I wasn't crazy, that he was real and he was always watching me. If only they looked hard enough, they would see him. He had tried to kidnap me, and I since he failed, he was set on watching me.

Watching and waiting until his chance to strike, and get me like he had failed to do in the past.

"IM NOT CRAZY! LET ME GO! LET ME OUT!" I had screamed and screamed until my fists were bruised and my voice was gone. They just left me in the dark, cold room with nothing but the sound of moans and screams.

I was scared.

I was hungry.

But as I look back, I realize that I would take being there for the rest of my life without screaming, or complaining, or anything. I would be a good little girl and take my pills and do their test.

It wasn't as bad as the circus. Nothing was as bad as the circus.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

This place… something that seemed so innocent was full of beasts that weren't the sideshows. The ringleaders and the staff where the monsters. We were just the victims. Taken away, or in my case, bought, and taken to the red room.

The very last place,

Where you would have a pretty face.

They would take your body in all its glory, and cut, tug, and rip it. Adding and subtracting from your figure like you where their Algebra homework.

And you know what the best part about it is?

You can't do anything but scream.

I watched children come in and never come out. Lots of them. Some younger then me, some older. In fact, only 9 have come out. And that's if im remembering correctly. They had kidnapped hundreds of children from there families and slaughtered them in ways that there young minds couldn't even comprehend.

And all I could ever do is watch.

But the ones that did come out, well, im sure they did wish they were dead. They were deformed either in the body, or the mind. There were things that they had messed with that were never meant to be tampered with.

But they didn't care.

They didn't care what they did. They were demons. Monsters. They were what your parents dismissed as scratching branches or figments of the imagination, that you knew were beasts that lurked in your closets and under your bed.

No one believed me. I told them, but they didn't listen. They cast me away like an unwanted piece of garbage, claiming they 'wanted me to get better' and 'would be waiting until I could finally come home' then sold me. But not before replacing me with my little sister.

Ami.

Coincidence that its only one letter different, I think not. They had to make sure they had a new, unbroken child before they trashed the other one.

But trashing me wasn't enough. They wanted money for me. Instead of selling me to the Mental Hospital, they sold me to a suspicious man. He said he was a special needs teacher, and he would raise me like his own. That he only wanted to make sure I was as healthy and happy as my condition would allow.

He was a dirty, filthy, rotten liar.

Did my parents know that?

No.

Did they honestly care?

Hell no.

In the end, you can trust anyone. They will leave you. They will hurt you. They will make sure that every ounce of fight left in you is dead.

And eventually, no matter how hard you fight and how hard you try to keep that dim flame alive, it dies like a rose in the withering sun.

Dies like your will.

Your sanity.

Your mind.

And you eventually become what they label you as. You become your deformity in a way that would drive a regular person mad. Because where all mad here anyway.

The breeze turns the pages of the worn diary that sat on the cold, rusted metal of my cage. My knotted pink hair fell on the dirty ground as I sat, hunched over the crappy book. I had decided a long time ago that I would at least do the one thing that might get me remembered. I would write of Dark Woods and hope that it would be at least one child's salvation.

Maybe in my miserable existence I could save one person.

Just one.

I would pass like a ghost and be gone when the moon rose in the sky, but just one person was all I asked. One person to remember me.

To remember that I did try to fight.

That I didn't just give up so easily.

And that I was sorry, that I couldn't do more.

I tried, vainly, but I tried.

Doesn't that count for something?

NEW STORY! YAA! I KNOW I SHOULDN'T START THIS BUT I DON'T CARE! IT'S BASED OFF OF DARK WOOD CIRCUS! I HOPE YOU LIKE IT! DON'T OWN ANYTHING! TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK OR I WILL DELETE IT!