Mama, we all go to hell - Chapter One
Anastasia just stared at nothing; just a plain, worn out, wall that was once white. Not so much anymore. She hummed a light tune while she held a broken clock in her hand. She had been sent to this clinic for the mentally insane and ill a while ago. She was messed up as a child. She saw things no child should have seen. She started to write twisted story's her teacher thought was fiction, but truth is, she was writing everything she had witnessed.
Anastasia was different: her mum had said. Anastasia was special: though in bad ways. She still is. "Daddy was a bad man…" She mutters silently to herself. She was waiting for the people in her mind to reply. "Daddy did things, daddy hurt people, and daddy hurt me." She started to get palpitations. Her chest rose and fell with a unbelievable speed. She raised the arm that had the broken clock in it; she was aiming for the picture of her and her father.
Tears fell down her cheeks. "I hate you!" She screamed and threw the useless clock at the photo. Glass shattered. Anastasia smiled as if she could let her shoulders down; as if she could finally be calm again.
Though- not for very much longer. Anastasia pushed herself off the metal bed, letting her smooth feet against the cold concrete floor. She looked out the window; staring down at the lunatics that spoke and played. Though she noticed one. He was staring intently at the black gates that were what looked like miles away.
He was looking for a way out: an escape. Between the metal bars, there were electric bars. There was no visible way out. Might as well welcome you to the hell that is St. Michael's hospital for mentally unstable.
The boy had a look in his eyes. They were sharp, cold, haunting. Anastasia turned her head to the left slightly, to get a better view. The boy could feel the burning stare. He turned around and looked up at the windows, searching for the right one; Anastasia moved out the way before he could even catch a glimpse of her light brown hair. Just lay back down on her bed, and continued to stare blankly at the plain wall.
"Welcome to hell, new one…" She whispered with an evil voice. It was so hollow and grim; it made hairs turn on end. It wasn't like a witch; it was more like an empty, depressed tone.
She never understood why she was in this place. Why did her mother put her in an asylum? Why did her mother never visit? Was it because she never loved Anastasia? All these questions flew through Anastasia's twisted head.
Anastasia pushed herself up after a long period of her confusing herself. She opened the white door that was now her bedroom door. She walked out; her black long laces trailing against the floor. She half liked the asylum. It was big, spacious- but she could never be trusted alone. Not with sharp things. Also, Anastasia despised the food. She despised all food, to be honest, she was forced to eat here. Also, the lack of in internet seemed to ruin her usual lifestyle. She'd always go home, lock her bedroom door and go on Tumblr or YouTube; after school. She was happy that way.
Though, her mother always complained. She thought it was unhealthy she was sharing pictures of herself harm with other self-harmers. Anastasia never thought it was bad, she just reflected how she felt and what she does for a living. Which was hurt herself to take out pain, misery and grief.
Her dad was a murderer. Or so they said he was. Anastasia believed them; the media; the internet. If you search her father's name; James Prince: you'll find so many accusations about her father.
Also, Anastasia believed them because her father, James, he had beat a young Ana to the pulp. Poor girl, she was only a baby, being strangled, punched, slapped or kicked. It wasn't fair: it isn't fair. She's been scarred, emotionally, physically. God knows it.
Suddenly she snapped back to reality at the top of the 'everlasting' stairway. Her super skinny jeans were still baggy on her. The faults of not eating. Though- she found it annoying. When boys get anorexia, they can get girls jeans. When girls get anorexia, they can't do anything about it.
Anastasia brushed back a rebel strand of her light brown hair back. She wished the damn thing would stay behind her ear; though she wasn't in much luck, was she? Nope, it just kept falling back, no matter what.
She had always hated having the stupid strand, but she prefers it to a fringe. With a fringe, she can hardly see, with a strand, she gets easily irritated. It's a lose-lose situation. But she'll live with it, after all, she has to. If she wants to make it out the asylum.
She started to make her way down the stairs. Her footsteps echoing of the walls. Everybody was outside, only one or two patients and three nurses were in. Anastasia sighed, slipping outside, but luring in the darkness of the shade. She picked up the small plant pot that had a white rose growing in it, a single white rose.
It had small droplets on it, they were fresh; showing nobody would be coming round to water them anytime soon. From underneath the pot was a collection of small silver blades in thin see through pocket. Anastasia looked around cautiously. No sign of anybody. She slipped one out and picked up the blade, pressing it to her skin, about to slide it along.
"What are you doing?" She heard a deep voice from behind her. She didn't recognise it, after all, she only recognised faces, not names or voices. She froze. Putting her blade back in the bag. "I said, 'what are you doing?" The voice asked her again, more sternly and sharply.
Anastasia turned around slowly. Looking down at her feet, only managing to see her and the voice's feet. She could tell it was a male, from the tone and shoes. The shoes were full black vans, that had a space showing pale skin, then some black skinny jeans. "I-I just found a blade, and I was going to give it to a nurse." She swallowed, stuffing the blades in her pocket.
The voice wasn't buying it. He wasn't dumb. In fact, he was very much the opposite. "Yeah right. You were staring at me. You're the only person here with a pale complexion and light brown hair
. Of course, I only caught a glimpse of you, but I worked out the pieces. The other girls here are blonde, with a tanned complexion, or dark with black hair. You're the only you here. The others are simply copies of the same make with small differences."
"I noticed." She simply says before trying to walk away. She looked up to see the boy's face. Properly. More than she did before. The boy grabs her wrist with force.
The boy bit a silver lip ring that was through the pink flesh of his lips, they looked so soft. "I asked, 'what are you doing?', now my question is 'what were you doing?'. So c'mon, what were you doing?" The boy states ever so smartly, it was confusing.
Anastasia let out a wince. "I was trying to..." Her face stars to let a red flush creep on her pale cheeks. The boy nods and lets Anastasia's wrist go. She went into her pockets and took out the small easy-seal bag. She lifted up the plant pot and looks up to the bright blue sky that had dark clouds starting to puff up; starting to cover the sun.
Nun Madeline starting to become noticeable behind the boy. "Children, run along, the devil is brewing a storm…" She tut's, giving both Anastasia and the boy a glance when she was a little bit away. Anastasia rolls her eyes from all the religious crap. She never believed in anything. She didn't see the point of it. It was a stupid concept to her.
The boy walked and ushered Anastasia with him. His hand placed firmly on Anastasia's back. She felt uncomfortable, yet calm.
"Why are you in here?" Anastasia asked he boy, knitting up her eyebrows.
The boy chuckled. "I'm a murderer…A cold blooded, psychotic, murderer."