Insanity is a state of mind, they say.

Psychopathy is but a mischievous disease of the brain, pilfering the bonds of common sense and reasoning and twisting it out of proportion.

If that's true, then it is nothing but a state of mind that people confuse for a kind of admonition, as if for some reason, I would impose a kind of risk to them. Please. The norm was meant to be strayed from, just as rules were made to be broken and good was made to battle evil in an eternal race for supremacy. I just happen to be a force of nature that battles its opposite, like an airship defying gravity, soaring without a care over the earth.

And yet, some idiot has to go and try to correct nature's way. This is why I hate people. They think they can do anything, anything at all so long as it makes profit. But no, I know better.

My state of mind tells me so.

It started more or less a year ago. I was minding my own business that month of April, going to school as normal, nothing breaking the mundane agenda of my life. But then the next thing I knew I was in court, convicted of murder.

Hear me out: I have pondered the act of murdering before- pondered, mind you, nothing more- but never acted upon such a thing. How they came to the conclusion of murder is far beyond me, when it is clear that I have no criminal record to speak of.

But whatever the case, I was wrongly accused.

I tried to convince them that I was an ordinary high school student, incapable of such a heinous act. But my attempts at telling the truth were about as successful as Cassandra's, and I was put in federal prison.

It was a horrible, horrible place, to say the absolute least.

There are no words I can use to describe my time in prison. It was a terrifying time. I can't count how many times I was abused by the other inmates, grown sick, or blacked out entirely. It seems the whole thing is under a veil of haze in my memory, the dark cells seeming to be one of the catacombs of hell in the thick, smoky filter.

I remember being scared. Scared, defenseless, and confused. I became like a wild animal in captivity, in an attempt of domestication, behind the bars of prison. I lashed out viciously and often in between bouts of weak vulnerability and terrified panic. I became as bad as the inmates, the virus of prison contaminating my benevolent mind. The violence was uncontrollable, was my body's natural reaction to the severe anxiety I was under. It drew to a head quickly.

The murder I was accused of had finally caught up to me.

They took me from the catacombs of hell to solitary confinement.

Solitary confinement.

The phrase connotes a deep primal fear- the ever-looming threat of isolation.

I was locked in a pitch-black room for an immeasurable amount of time. My life turned from hell into a horrible nothingness. Eventually I learned that ramming into the door and wearing my hands bloody trying to pry open the metal hatch was useless. Oblivion engulfed my entire being. Nothing. Just a bottomless cavern of pure, black infinity.

Now this is where my lovely state of mind began to reveal itself.

I can't remember when or why it came about, but I knew something deep inside of me had snapped in half, and in an attempt to fix itself, became twisted terribly and pleasantly.

Solitary became a comfortable cocoon of emptiness with this new state of mind, and on the stone flooring of the place, I spent days just laying there, pondering and pondering about nothing and everything.

I never remember being hungry or thirsty after those first few days, or tired, or lonely, or homesick. I had taken oblivion and embraced it, and nature took me under her wing.

But even solitary confinement could not keep anyone trapped forever.

A mental institution decided to purge what remaining inmates were in solitary and try to re-educate them back to normal. I was among them.

Ripped from the protective womb of nothingness, I became again the wild animal that had killed another man. But this animal had gained a sense of composure about herself. A vicious but solemn lioness, a majestic demon of predators. I was taken out of oblivion, out of hell. They took me away, from prison to the institution.

And this is where it begins.

AN: Hello, all! Glad to see you reading my fic, or at least getting this far. :P

This is the result of me listening to Metallica while reading manga. Whether or not the result is good or not is up to you.

I don't have much to say about this, so drop a reveiw and tell me how I did.

Thanks you for reading and reveiwing,
~UltraVioletSpectrum (aka Mo)