Note by the author: This story is rated for violence, language, and yes, though you may not think so, the insanity of Ryan. Only those who truly know what madness is like would agree that the crazed thought of a madman can be psychologically harmful.
Read on.
p.s. I don't really know if they had swears this creative in the 1800's, so that's for your entertainment.
"RrrrraaaaaaagGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH! LEEET MEEEEE OUUUTTT!" Ryan screamed. His head was bleeding, his neck hurt from the constant weight of the cage they'd placed on his it, and his torn and sorry fingers throbbed in agony. His hair hung in his face, he needed a shave and, most bizarre of all, he was homesick for the outside world. It took him awhile to figure out what, exactly, he missed. Then the thought hit him, and he began to laugh hysterically.
He missed his mother.
Of all the things, he missed his fucking mother! The slutbag! But no. The thoughts constantly swirling through his mind, incessantly moving, and never making any sense, began to really bug him as memories of his mother joined the traffic.
Cookies
(the slut)
Baking on the stove, rats
(in the corners, yum, the blood runs)
Caught in the mousetraps, mother handing him a pair of socks
("wait up, muma, I can't run that fast!" she is running, playing with)
For Christmas, oh, how he can hardly remember
(me. How I love her, her golden hair,
"Fucking dog! Fucking scoundreless! Take that!"
(he kicks the dog, its yellow fur, so like her hair, running with bits of filth)
"Ryan! Smile for the camera! Be a good boy!" she croons, and as she smiles at him, he hates her, hates her for what she is
(kick the bitch, kick her, wait)
"Ryan, what are you doing?" she's screaming, but I can't hear her, no, her golden hair ain't so golden now, oh no, it's red now
(smash her sky blue eyes in, make them bleed, she's the succubus, she's my)
"MOTHER!"
Ryan screams this last thought aloud in the dark, dingy confines of his bleak basement cell. He lets himself fall to his knees and touches the cage on his head to the floor, sobbing now, where he was laughing at the absurdity of it all.
"Mother… make them let me out, tempt them like you tempted me…oh you bitch…" he mutters. He is not even aware he is muttering, not aware he is saying anything at all.
Suddenly, he hears the jangle of keys and the muted click of footsteps outside the door.
They're coming for me. He thinks, bunching up the wasted muscles of his thighs, preparing to leap.
The door opens and they are carrying some strange new metal contraption into the room, and he leaps for the nearest doctor, arms outstretched as if to give him a big hug, but no, that's not what he has in mind, instead, he knocks the man to the floor and begins tearing at his clothes, his pants, everything he can reach. Blood droplets fly from his much abused fingers, but he hardly feels it, he hates the doctors for what they have made him become, he hates his own reflection in the puddles of water they bring him in those new, shatter-proof plastic bowls, he will make them bleed.
One doctor reaches back as if to subdue him with a fist, but Ryan flings the first doctor aside limp as a rag doll (he is hardly aware, but he has torn the man's jugular open with his bare hands) rears his head back, and slams his head, and the cage around it, into the second doctor's chest.
"Oof!" he wheezes.
Just then, a third doctor sneaks up behind Ryan with laced fists, ready to knock him out. Ryan stands, feet planted apart, panting, thin chest heaving, fingers dripping blood and waits. He can hear the man sneaking up behind him, that's what being locked in the dark will do for one's hearing and eyesight, so he waits, ready for him, when the doctor whos veins are being bled dry suddenly crawls towards Ryan's feet, and Rynz does what he did oh so long ago, and kicks out. He feels two of the dead man's teeth break, when his world suddenly goes black. 'They' have finally knocked him out, finally done it, finally got the better of Ryan Kuhn.
