Ack! I'm so sorry it took so long! I was planning on posting this chapter two days ago actually, but my computer was freaking out on me, so I was only able to post it today. I'm sorry once again and I hope the wait was worth it!
I thank all those that have given reviews and all suggestions have been taken into account and noted. Thanks!
Just a notice for future reference: Keep in mind that I am a 14 year old girl who is a freshman in high school and I have no study halls. I'm already a bit pressed for time, and writing all these stories puts a bit more strain on my already filled up schedule.
Shameless Advertising: Here is were I try to convince all you people to read my other stories, but I never was good at persuasion…
Disclaimer: After awhile, I start to run out of creative ideas to say that Danny is not mine. I will mourn.
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Fits of Madness
Ch. 3
No one dared to speak throughout the rest of the night, nor were they ever able to sleep. They all lay awake in their cots, trying any method at hand to drive the memory of that horrible wail from their troubled minds. It seemed to have pierced them to their very core of being, refusing them any type of respite from the agonizing sound. That anguish resonated with their own, bringing up their uniquely unpleasant memories to the forefront of their active conscious, the place where they had fought to keep them for so long. Perhaps reflections upon their own shortcomings, unfortunate circumstances, or mistakes that had landed them in prison; or perhaps they reflected upon a wrong accusation or some type of mental insanity that had haunted them for the rest of their life through no fault of theirs. But whatever it was, it followed them, not even allowing the shortest of slumbers.
So it stands to reason that by the time morning dawned on that institution of the damned, everyone was drained from any sort of energy: physical, mental, or emotional. And even in the daytime, their own horrors lurked somewhere in their thoughts; whether forcefully pushed into one corner of the mind or thought of constantly until it brought the person into a deep depression. This lead to a search for an outlet, distraction, or in short, anything that could take them away from their dark mental dwellings. Near the end of the day, some semblance of normalcy was reached in the form of the exchanged mutterings that had been conspicuously absent that morning. They found that arguing about Phantom was the best distraction to be found, not to mention that he was a perfect target for misplaced anger.
"This is all because of Phantom, I knew he was trouble!"
"For what? Being in pain?"
"For dragging us into some deranged feelings that I haven't thought about for years! It's all some psychological battle to make us weak!"
"It sounded more like he was in pain than anything else."
"But didn't you hear the building shake! He's going to being this cursed place down around our ears!"
"No I didn't notice, probably because I was too busy trying to stay conscious."
"He's plotting something, I know it."
"You can go ahead and let your paranoia sink a hold into you, but keep you suspicions to yourself."
"Then don't go around blabbing on about sympathy for the monster."
Conversations like these spread wildly around like wildfire until almost everybody had taken a side. There were those for Phantom, those against him, and those who were either too confused or simply didn't care enough to choose. It goes without saying that less people were for than against him.
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The warden sat exhausted in his chair, cradling his head thick with ebony colored hair in his hands and taking deep, calming breaths. The slight sheen of perspiration was barely visible against his alarmingly white skin. The past two days had been particularly draining, not to mention that the prisoners had started to become even more difficult than usual. I didn't help that he already had so much on his plate. After all, long-term possession isn't easy.
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An old man was outside of cell X666Z. He wore a purple cloak, accenting the odd sheen of his skin…which seemed almost green. He held an odd staff in his hand, yet he wasn't leaning against it. He didn't need to; possibly because he was floating. He peered into the cell through the small window in the door and watched sadly as Phantom's eyes shifted rapidly between green and red. The being sighed.
"For now, Daniel, you are fighting a losing battle. Yet perhaps in the course of the events to come, that might change. I am sorry it had to be this way, but the delicate balance of time must be preserved." His smile was hollow, "At least this way, there is a chance that you may find yourself once more; and perhaps, you may be redeemed."
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The Phantom felt it. The insanity fighting, bubbling just under the surface of his mind. It was there, biding its time for a moment of weakness. The weakness would come, because it had all the time in the world to wait. A blue mist that escaped his mouth brought him temporary relief from his constant and eternal struggle. His wide eyes darted to the only window, where the fringe of a purple cloak and the slight swirl of green energy caught his gaze.
"Clockwork." He hissed.
His eyes narrowed. They turned red.
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The warden turned an irate glare upon the two newer guards that had dared to disturb him.
"The Phantom's going berserk!" One of the guards burst out when he was able to assemble the words. Obviously, these two lacked the normal firm countenance and finesse that the more seasoned guards had learned to adopt.
"Explain." The warden ordered.
"He's damaging the walls, sir! They are made of titanium and he is creating dents in them!" The other elaborated.
The warden's brow was furrowed in thought.
"At this rate, the ghost shield will have to be set up." He mumbled his thoughts aloud.
"What was that, sir?"
He looked up sharply and ordered, "Go back to your stations. I'll settle him down."
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A small group of newly recruited guards crowded around one of the security monitors, their faces slack-jawed. They watched with an almost morbid fascination as the figure on the screen rammed repeatedly into the metal walls of his enclosure, making large dents appear in spite of the supposed impossibility.
The Phantom gave an inhuman roar, straining with every ounce of his strength against the Kevlar enhanced fabric that bound him. With a resounding rip that had the eyes of the guards nearly pop out of their heads, the straitjacket gave way and fell to the floor. Along with the tattered remains of material, a fine silvery powder sprinkled from around his wrists and to the ground.
One of the guards gasped apparent horror.
"What?" One of the more coherent guards asked.
"That dust is what's left of the ghost inhibitor cuffs." He answered, turning to face the other with an ashen face, "You think he was powerful just then? You haven't seen anything yet." His face was etched with lines that told stories that should never have been.
The first guard turned back to face the monitor with a sense of terror that he just couldn't seem to shake off. How could he, when the main character of the world's most tragic life story stood in front of his very eyes?
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I hope this chapter stands up to everyone's standards, and I am sorry again for the long wait.
Please review! Criticism and praise are greatly appreciated along with any comments or questions you have. Thanks!
