A Monument To Our Sins; Claythorne Chronicles Part 1

So, Child of Madness and I (Caleb from Gentleman Killers) are writing a story that takes place with my favourite guy to write about (Burton) and a particular patient he has in Claythorne, a mental Asylum in Leeds England during the late seventies to late eighties. It is and will be rather violent and graphic, profanity will and shall be common to see throughout. If you would like to become a co-writer please send a request with the idea you have. I hope you can sit back, enjoy the painful pleasure and the squealing goodness of evil madness.

Please fan and comment! We need more readers and feedback!!

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10. Lunch, and the Expected Visitor

       It was lunchtime yet again, a time that Gwenyth despised most. She had always disliked the food here at Claythorne, ever since day one. It was just that she was picky, only ate certain foods cooked to certain temperatures, with certain seasoning. And the kitchen here couldn't provide her with anything customized. The same old drab, generic food was thrown onto her plate day after day; sometimes she wondered whether it was even safe to eat. And yet, despite her picky appetite, she was forced to swallow down what food they gave her every now and againg, just to soothe the insistent gnawing in her stomach.

       So, with a soft sigh, the young woman picked reluctantly at the pasta in her tray. It only took a few moments before it became far too disengaging for her. Instead, she decidedly scanned the cafeteria, looking to see if there was anything at all that would keep her mind occupied. There was a line of people at the kitchen window, most of which seemed either miserable or criminal. At several tables around her, people sat with each other, some chatting, others-- like her-- deathly silent. But no matter where she looked, one thing was clear: It was all boring.

       At that point, she felt a slight disturbance in the atmosphere, noticing easily that William Taylor had entered the cafeteria, clearly in a sour mood. Rumor had it he was one of the favored patients in the asylum, as he'd already stayed here for almost two years now. For that reason, perhaps, everyone's conversations dulled in anticipation of whatever troubled him. Just as quickly as the noise level dropped, however, it started back up again, and people were minding their business as usual. Gwen was slightly interested, wondering what on Earth had him so frustrated, but she knew it wasn't her place to care and no one would ever give her the answer.

       The woman looked back down into her tray of pasta, poking at it's limp appendages with her plastic fork, timidly drawing them one by one out of the messy pile they had accumulated into. The marinara sauce was slightly reminiscent of blood, she realized with a slight grin, and soon her once precise movements turned into stabs. In her mind, the pasta was begging for mercy. It sounded like a symphony, a symphony of orchestrated pain. After all, there was no need for happiness. Everyone would die anyway, most likely with suffering, or before they were ready to. It was simply the way life worked-- why not speed up the process?

       So lost in her gruesome thoughts, she didn't realize until the last moment that someone had taken a seat across from her. As soon as she saw his tray, however, her hand stiffened and ceased to move. For a moment she felt a bit panicked, constricted, wondering how to approach the newcomer. But upon glancing up at his face the fear faded; it was just Daniel. Cutesy little Dan. For whatever reason, she found it easy to talk to the young boy; it might've been because he was so curious and insistent, that she was never left having to start conversation with him. In fact, he was friendly to nearly everyone.

       Just as she thought that, he opened his mouth to speak, empty eyes staring directly at her tray. "Hey Gwen... aren't you gonna eat your food?" He sounded more concerned than his expression would let on, but Gwen didn't let it confuse her. She liked to pretend he just wore a mask all the time, so she would just rely on his intonation most times.

       Her reply was a simple shake of the head, as she set down her sauced-up fork. "I've told you before, I'm picky." The woman smiled faintly, brushing a stray black hair out of her face.

       For a moment, the younger simply stared at her, before he opened his mouth to speak. "Well, what do you like to eat? You must be hungry." Gwenyth blinked, shrugging a bit. She didn't quite know what she liked, she just didn't like this. It made sense enough, surely. Daniel seemingly got the message, or perhaps didn't care to dig deeper. Either way, he resumed eating his own lunch, allowing the woman to have her own thoughts for a few moments.

       She stared distantly off in some direction, thinking about things forbidden to her...

~M

 

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