Only two days have gone by but this place is already eating at what is left of my soul. I cannot eat, I cannot think, I cannot sleep. All I can do is scribble in this journal my thoughts that have plagued me thusfar. Sometimes I sit and watch the ceiling and pretend that the white padding is a cloud. This always makes me laugh. If I'm creative, I can imagine myself flying towards Neverland fingers locked with Peter Pan. These happy thoughts are what keep me sane, if sane is what you may call it.
In the afternoons they clothe me in pearl white wraps that do not allow me to move my arms. They do this because at this time they feed me. I get fed like a dog, food from an anonymous can without a label. The cans are usually already tainted and battered from time, I feel like they have been here longer than I have. After they feed me I rest. I never have any dreams but the blackness soothes me and I can elaborate on my thoughts even further at this time. They don't let me talk to any of the other patients here, I have never seen any of them actually. They put a blindfold over my eyes so that I would not be able to know where I am, but I know. I know where I am, and it is the only think I know anymore. All my knowledge from schooling has faded into the dark abyss that is now my brain. The only things that now clutter my brain are the things I write here, in my journal. After that my mind goes blank. I have failed ot do the simplest of equations that they have used to test me by. I have also failed to answer any of their questions regarding my past. But those, I choose not to answer.

Today they played a ballad on the loudspeaker, it made me cry. It had no words, nothing, except the lonely cries of the violin. Once it ended I was angry. I yelled, screamed and pulled at the bars. I clawed at the doors but left no marks because my nails had been bitten down to the nub. I couldn't contain my anger that they would tease me in such a manner that would insult me so greatly. To play a magnificent ballad only once just to tease my senses. Give me something sweet and then just take it away. When I calmed down I could not speak. All the words had left my brain leaving it blank. There was complete nothingness, nothingness filled by the lonely notes of the violin playing in a monotonous tune. At one point I closed my eyes and saw a field, it was filled with butterflies, flowers, and absolute bliss. Suddenly, it turned to a gravel road. I was stumbling upon it barefoot and my feet ached like no other pain I had encountered in my natural life-span. I cried again in the middle of the gravel road. I cried tears of pain and suffering, tears I had not shed before. The tears hurt my head and they wouldn't let me think or see clearly. A hazy figure appeared, I couldn't tell who it was, but I hoped it was my mother. Knowing I was hallucinating in my own dream, I thought nothing of it until it spoke to me. The words made no sense at all but they sounded sweeter than the lonely notes of the violin. I was taken out of this trance when the door opened abruptly from my cell. As I opened my eyes two men in white cloaks shoved a needle with red liquid into my arm. I blacked out.

Today a bird passed by my window. It teased me with its freedom. It tweeted flirtatiously looking around with a puzzled look at my room. When its eyes locked on mine it made me grimace, I was afraid of the bird. I decided to growl at the bird to make it want to fly away but it didn't. I tried stomping on the ground but that still did not help at all. As you can tell, I did nothing today except fail at intimidating a measly bird. It made me feel inferior while I am not inferior. The bird had bright yellow feathers with small barely noticeable specs of orange on the tips. It was beautiful. Its voice was harmonic and sweet. Watching this bird perch on my bars infuriated me. It had so much freedom, so many choices. That bird had most likely made just as many faults as I had yet it was allowed to roam the world, continuing to pillage on its trips stripping people of their food and drinking water. It infuriated me that this measly bird, capable of so much destruction, so much chaos, was perched at MY window mocking me from above. I had nothing to throw at it so I stood up and screamed. It turned its head on its side looking at me with piercing black eyes, the eyes of murder. I had only seen them on one person before and that was me. The sunlight casted a large shadow of the bird that made it look even more intimidating that it originally had seemed. This made me smile, I laughed at the bird. My laugh echoing throughout the empty room. This was what made the bird leave. All it left behind was a yellow feather slowly making its way down from the window. I caught the feather rubbing it softly, feeling its texture and cherished it blissfully. I keep this feather now in my journal, next to this entry.

Today when I woke up my skin began to shed. I found that extremely ordinary discarding it at once and stared at the guards. They never look at me unless its time for me to feed but even then... It is extremely lonesome. They usually pick the most ideal Adonis like figures to "play guard" and they carry large white gun-like cannons that they aim at me whenever I get closer to them. They treat me like scum. I wish I could be home, I miss my dolls. My favourite doll's name was Molly. She had beautiful red hair and a blue velvet dress. Her eyes were gray and tended to stare at me at night. Her eyes never closed or blinked. They were an empty stare as if something had been torn out of her. At one point, I believed she was living and it tore up my mother to see me believe such a thing. Molly often told me to disregard mother and to shun her from my own life. I never listened to Molly, sometimes she would say the most horrid things that I could not bear to live with. Now that she's gone, I miss her. I miss her empty stares and her glowing locks that landed safely at her hips. She still speaks to me, in my dreams. Telling me of the chaos and terror that could be if I continued my path of greatness. I believe her now. I believe I could be a great ruler, a great killer. She says I could use my quill to stab out an eye or two of the guards rubbing the blood and pus on my journal as a sign of greatness. I have considered this many times but I don't want my quill to get any dirtier than it already is. I also might infect the man with whatever viruses it carries (because I am sure it does carry some kind of virus). The rust stains might make the socket burn with an unbearable agony of not knowing when the pain shall end. I couldn't do that, or better said, I shouldn't.

I had flashbacks today. They flooded my mind all at once burning my memories branding them harshly like a cow. Not allowing me time to compute, time to think. Everything came back to me all at once and there was nothing I could say, nothing I could do. I began to bawl, staring up at the ceiling rocking back and forth as I did so. All of my senses cluttered with such vivid memories, such vivid thoughts that I hallucinated and thought they surrounded me picking apart my mind and my every sense of logic. I buried my head in my arms screaming not being able to take their sad lonesome faces plaguing my mind and reminding me. All of those people, all of those THINGS, had decided to come after me in a vicious mob just to keep me restless and remind me of all the sins I had committed and all of the people killed in doing so. I wanted to run forever, not being able to face the shame. Hiding from the world where no one would expect it. The mob of memories took a ghost-like form spreading their arms out towards me as if they were trying to drag me with them to their World. The unbearable pain of weakness made me cry once more and I screamed out the name of the only one who could help me.

Every single time I try to forget they come back quicker, smarter, and much more versatile. Why must my memories be the only thing on my mind? Why can't they leave me be! I wish to be left alone but NO, there is apparently NOTHING those things understand. I have tried reasoning with them today. I pleaded for them to leave me alone and that there is nothing I can do not to change what I have done in the past, they responded with the same BULLSHIT answer they give every time I ask them a question. "Repent...” I am NOT going to "repent" because it is a pointless completely idiotic thing to even consider. Honestly, there is nothing to repent to. So what, if I committed over 56 homicides, almost killing off an entire town. They deserved it! I know they did! They kept taunting and teasing me and making fun of my mother for having me out of wedlock. What should that matter? Why pick on her for something that is already known to be unfortunate? Those bastards never stopped, so they got what they deserved. Every last man or woman who had told even a SINGLE JOKE regarding my mother was killed. Why kill them you say? BECAUSE I AM BLOOD-THIRSTY! I enjoy having the power to take another's life away and I ENJOY seeing the light leave their eyes as they plead for mercy that was LONG overdue. They deserved no Mercy. They deserved death. Molly told me it was okay. Molly said that if I did it, it would all be over... BUT ITS NOT! When will these phantoms, these THINGS, leave my mind, when will they realize that THEY are the evil ones and I am the one who deserves the mercy. I only did what I needed to do in order to protect my mother from any further humiliation and shame. I created momentary peace in a world of chaos by ripping the flesh of those who detested me. I created momentary peace when I killed, and the power felt great.

My heart races more than it ever has before. As I sit and write, my hand trembles and my guilty conscience grows. They’ve switched me to a smaller cell with no window. The cell has no padding on the walls; there are just plain gray cement walls dulled with time. It smells rotten like old oxidated metal with a tinge of blood. This tinge of blood is what is making my heart race. Even the smell of it makes me go into a shark-like frenzy that is invincible to almost any man-made device. Instead of clawing at the walls for escape, I have decided to sit and write calming myself as I do so. The urge to stick my quill into the guard's throat has grown and Molly's voice grows louder in my head persuading me to do so. In my head, all I see are burning horizons that never end in a sociopathic cycle of destruction. In those horizons, Molly stands where the sun should be grinning down at me in all her glory moving her small lips to form words, words that speak of great massacre and the glory of extermination. Her red locks glided down her hips into the burning horizons of death as she spoke. She was beautiful in every way. Her power, her incendiaries, they all made sense, they were all her. Even with all the death and destruction, everything moved so slow and precise that it was almost perfect. Molly, MY doll, could create the perfect scenario of destruction and chaos, which may be what, makes my hands tremble. I try not to think about it because it may make me go even more insane (if that’s possible) and it may make the past repeat itself except with much more sadistic manners of agony and extermination sprinkled on top.

Today I could not think of anything except for mother. She is most likely at home with my sister cooking her baked chicken and mashed potatoes. When I was smaller, I always found myself sitting beside her in the kitchen just to watch her. I liked watching her cook and often times mimicked her elegance in the kitchen, often times ending in failure. She would always let me taste-test her food and she printed out restaurant styled menus for the night's food in the mornings before school. She would slide it into my book bag and it would usual slip out during class attracting much attention. The menus would usually be a very bright baby blue color with plain black font italicized only on the titles. She was always so worried about how my relationships were with my classmates so I would constantly reassure her that everything was fine by bringing home friends for dinner. Often times, my friends would never want to leave being stuffed and sleepy from the meal. When this would happen I would gleam with happiness enjoying the fact that I actually had a friend over. Mother always had a way with words that was so calm, gentle and soothing. Her face was as pale as snow with black hair that was usually in a loose braid to the side. She was always so patient with me, even when I wasn’t with her. She tried helping me even when I told her to stay away, she should have stayed away. I hurt her terribly, I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it... I just wanted to return the favor for all of those years that she took care of me and that I took advantage of that. I never meant to kill and I still don't. My thirst never came from within, I promise. I just needed for them to stop the teasing, tantalizing and name-calling. Every day when I got home, things were being thrown at her when she came to greet me. Every day, more and more people joined in on the name-calling. "STUPID WHORE! STUPID WHORE! YOU SHOULDA JUST KILLED YOURSELF! YOU SHOULDA DIED ALREADY! WHERES YOUR HUSBAND, WHORE? WHERE IS HE?" I, being as protective as I am of her, could not allow this. She was too gentle, too nice. I understand why she put me here but, I wish she would come back to me and just save me from this place. Just scoop me up and take me back to our house so that we could be together in peace and harmony with no death, no destruction, just peace.

I feel like my own abnormalities are getting the better of me. I still can think of nothing except for mother and I wish I could just end this eternal misery. I came to this realization after a book was thrown into my cell this morning. The name of the book was The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and it was very interesting to see how even back then, men had committed gruesome murders without their knowing. It was interesting how back then, we had the same amount of criminal insanity that we had now and that the only way out, was suicide. When I finished the book, I kept reading the last sentence which was "I bring the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end" and I cried. I cried because I felt Henry Jekyll's suicide and took it as my own realizing, it was the only way out. How am I to bring the unhappy life of Elizabeth DeLioncourt to an end? What shall I prescribe? Will it be a brutal stabbing, or a peaceful self-poisoning? How do I reach peace? After I cried, I paced my room for a good hour running my fingernails on the walls scratching them, not making a sound. This created deeply indented lines in the walls and parts of the cement chipped and made a mess on the floor. I thought back to the bird that once rested at my window and its inner potential for chaos. It reminded me that things that are planned, never work as expected and I stopped in my tracks dropping down to the floor. I sat against the wall and small crumbs of cement piled in my hair. I tried to relax, closing my eyes for inspiration thinking of nothing, not even the blackness before me. Tomorrow is the Day, Yes Tomorrow. It will be the day my eternal suffering and agony shall end. I shall bring the life of that unhappy Elizabeth DeLioncourt to an end...