Fireflies
Oliver was crazy, there was no doubt about it. He had never told anyone how he went crazy though. They didn't know he could see daemons, either, let alone talk to them. But he could and that was part of his daily life at the asylum.
No one knew he was actually insane until the day he killed that person. The day that said person refused to give him what he needed most, his drugs. Normally the substances made people crazy, but they hade the opposite effect on ycalmed him, somehow. That's why he freaked when his dealer refused him. He pulled out a knife and stabbed him, so many times that he really couldn't remember. The adrenaline pmping through his blood prevented him from realizing what he was actually doing. He pushed the young man to the ground and ran, still holding the bloody knife. People turned, staring at him with stunned eyes but he kept running. He soon saw his apartment and started sprinting faster than ever before. Taking off up the stairs he skidded to a halt in front of his apartment, the plaque stating that he lived in apartment 2p shining. He grabbed the doorknob and turned it quickly, pushing the door open as he burst into his home. It wasn't anything fancy, and to be truthful, quite girly. Every wall was painted pink or purple, with baby blue accents all over. He had a poster hanging in the kitchen that stated 'Keep calm and have a cupcake' in blue lettering. It was like his safe haven from the rest of the world.
He jogged to his couch, sitting down and pulling his legs to his chest. Now that he'd relaxed a bit, he could hear sirens in the distance. He didn't know why, but a grin spread acroos his face as he thought of what he must've looked like to the civilians that saw him. He looked at his habds and realized that he had never put down the knife. Blood dripped from the blade onto the couch cushion and he smiled. He quietly whispered to himself 'I have definitely gone crazy.' He was pulled out of his trance when a loud knock burst through the silent apartment. "Open up, this is the police," the voice stated. His grin was now huge, and he got up and walked to the door. He opened the door and his eyes lit up. He calmly stated, "I've gone crazy poppet. You really should take me away." He was handcuffed and pulled down the stairs and into the car, grin still wide.
Oliver hadn't been surprised when the jury deemed him medically insane. He got sent to the International Asylum, a place only the craziest of criminals go. He was actually kind of proud of himself that he had been crazy enough to get into such a high-security place. A week after his trial he was being pushed through the doors of this infamous hell-hole. Men and women in long, white coats approached him, grabbing each of his hands. They lead him to his room silently, something that Oliver was upset about. He thought that they would at least explain things to him. He sighed, and continued walking.
They got to a door and only a few of the doctors followed him in. They set him on the bed and started dispersing from the room, save one male doctor with particularly large eyebrows. He turned and threw a pink sweater-vest and white button-up at Oliver, followed by a tan pair of slacks. He slowly stated, "Be ready for dinner by six. Put on those clothes too, please. I hate those terrible orange jumpsuits. Hope you like pink!" "Thanks ol' chap! Nice eyes by the way!" His bright green eyes flashed' and muttered a thanks before stepping outside the room and shutting the door. Oliver heard the bolt slide, followed by the click of a regular door lock.
He looked down at the vest on the bed, smirking. 'Nice,' he thought as he looked around his room. He saw something move in the shadows and got up. He walked over and was startled as a person walked out. He was completely normal-looking, save the horns that twisted up out of his long blonde hair. He had a five o'clock shadow forming and was wearing a lilac shirt and jeans. You could see the outline of a cigarette box in his jeans pocket. Oliver smiled and the man-daemon coughed then spoke. "I'm Francois, bonjour," he said. "Well hello, poppet. May I ask what you are and what you are doing in my room?" Oliver questioned. "Well, I'm a daemon, and I'm here to help your life become bearable in this hell-hole," he stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, my name is Oliver, poppet! I like to give people nicknames, you know, and I have a good one for you! I shall call you my 'firefly' because you're like my light in this horrid situation! Does that sound good, poppet?" He asked even though you could tell by his tone that it was not a question you could answer no to. "Sure, whatever. Now, you should get ready soon. I should leave before they come to pick you up for dinner, oui?" And with that, Francois disappeared. "Well then", Oliver stated and turned back to the bed, at the bare walls in the tiny room. He walked to the pile of clothes and unzipped the jumpsuit, tossing it to the ground. "Good riddance," he said to no one in particular. He pulled on the white shirt and buttoned it up, leaving the very bottom open. He pulled on the trousers and patted himself down, straightening the creases. He reached onto the mattress and grabbed the sweater vest, yanking it over his head and letting it settle on his form. He sat on his bed and, without anything else to do for a while, rested his head and thought, 'This is going to be a very nice place to live' dozing off and leaving into the word of dreams….