Insane

They locked me up about a week ago, and I've been stuck here since. Mostly, it's okay, even if everyone else is a little bit insane. But then again, so am I.
*contains a lot of swearing*

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My name is Ron Weasley, and this is my secret diary. About how much I wanted to fuck my sister, and the times when I beat the shit out of Harry, who managed to forget to put that in his stupid book. Be prepared for a wild ride.

 

Nah, I just kid. Thought I'd have a laugh, see if I could piss off whichever guard decides to find this and read it. Wish I could see your face though, LOL.

Someone, a psychiatrist or something, gave me this diary when I first got here, saying that no-one would ever read it, and that it was 'perfectly secret'. Pricks. After my first day the sheets had been moved, someone was probably checking under the pillow for knives or any other bullshit like that, as if the metal detectors or strip-search didn't eliminate anything like that being brought in.

I guess they have a reputation to uphold, or something like that, being the best child prison in the world. Or 'juvenile asylum', as everyone else prefers to call it. I like to keep things honest though. They didn't exactly give me the full guide tour, but my lawyer told me about it. Before I tried to bite her. It's on an island, somewhere or other, I don't exactly know as I was in full lock-down on the flight. Y'know, chained to the bed, sleeping pills, all that. The weather is fucking awful, so it can't be anywhere exotic or cool. Probably Scotland, knowing my luck. If you're going to go to the most secure juvenile prison on Earth, then you want to move more than fifty miles from where you live. 

As for the other inmates, I'm not sure. There's gotta be around forty, I think. You've probably got a whole database about us on your posh computer: what we did, favourite food, when we started picking our noses. Well, not you. You're too low on the career scale to get access to all that, you just know that we're dangerous.

Think I'm meeting the others tomorrow. It's hard to know, as you don't exactly give us a schedule. Just open the door (after unlocking all the padlocks and scanning your wrist bracelet) and drag us out, to wherever the hell we need to be. Which has only happened about five times before, as I think you're trying to settle me in. 

I'm Hazel, by the way. Fifteen year-old high-risk danger to the public. Fun times for me. Or 0067, as most of the guards call me. Thanks for that, by the way. Fuck you. Before I was just Hazel Auguste, generally normal girl. Actually, that's a bit of an understatement. I was probably one of the most popular girls in my year, with the whole dyed hair, this-is-our-clique-and-you-can't-come-in thing. Had a lot of friends. A boyfriend for a few months, but then got sick of him. Slightly shitty levels, but it was a shitty school, so it wasn't like I was different to anyone else. 

If there's any blood on the pages, then that's from my wrists. Yeah, that's right, I managed to hurt myself even after you searched my room for anything that I could use. World's most secure child prison, my arse. I know that after reading this, which will probably be while I'm showering (you don't trust me with one in my room, as I might drown myself), you'll find what I'm using and confiscate it. But you were going to find out anyway, it's not like the cuts are difficult to spot. I'm not even sure why I'm doing it, it's not like I'm feeling depressed or anything. Guess the blood just looks kinda pretty.

The guards are coming back, I think. The however-many-feet-thick door covers up pretty much any sound. Though you can hear the screaming pretty well. Thank God it's not mine. Yet.

Guess I'll be off in a minute, for whatever the hell you have planned for me.

Oh, you're probably wondering what I did, aren't you?

Well, I chopped up my parents and ate them.

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