He wasn't entirely sure when it happened.
Everything just seemed to... Fade?
Was that even the right word for it?
God, he doesn't know.
Not any more at least.
He's too far gone to care any longer.
It's pretty sad actually.
He's still not sure why it happened, or how.
He doesn't think that it would have happened otherwise.
Well, he honestly doesn't remember anything.
Nothing.
When asked, he would simply tilt his head questioningly and grin.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he would say.
They would simply sneer and hit him.
"We know you did it," they would reply, "It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you've changed."
Changed?
Had he changed?
Like everything else, he doesn't know.
It doesn't really matter any longer though.
Did it matter?
Or did it not?
You're probably wondering what he's talking about.
But you already know...
... That he doesn't know.
The memory is just...
... Not there.
There are no other words to describe it.
Changed, they would say.
"He's changed."
"From what?"
That's what he would reply.
And that's when the sadness comes into play.
Hadn't he always been like this?
Insanity, that's what they called it.
"His age has finally caught up with him."
"He's finally cracked."
"I can't believe that he's lasted this long anyway."
What did they mean that he's "cracked"?
What does "cracked" even mean?
He's gone insane?
Hasn't he always been insane?
You know, he actually liked the word.
Insane.
He would spend hours afterwards muttering the word to himself and laughing quietly.
Whoever had first said it had been told that they made his condition worse.
So, they stopped.
Insane was soon replaced with changed.
Change?
What is that?
To change was to become something that is different from what one is used to.
He doesn't like that word.
He doesn't know why that is, but it bugs him.
In the beginning, they had given him a cell for a bedroom, with shackles and bindings and everything.
Then, they threw him into a nicer room with cushions and stuffed animals.
And he hated it.
He didn't like that, the room filled with toys and bright coloured objects.
They said he needed a change.
He needed a change?
Was this enough for them?
Was this changed enough for them?
He couldn't remember what had happened that caused him to snap.
It's not like he cared.
But the blood and gore and red was a constant in his dreams.
He would laugh though and it made those who took care of him cringe.
He relished in it.
The fear that he provoked in them.
They said he had changed?
Wasn't he always like this?
Insane?
Crazy?
"Mental"?
Apparently not.
But he had changed.
Shouldn't they be happy?
This is what they had wanted after all.