Massacre State Asylum

When she was really tiny, her mother told her a story about a box. It was a magic box, gilt with gold and rubies and presided over by secret prayers. In this box was a slot and when one got scared all they had to do was kiss a coin and drop it in and the box took their fears away. It was originally owned by some important princess and had become so filled with her fears, that it would have been very dangerous to open. Alicia also had a box. To those from beyond the portals, it looked like nothing more than a pink piggy bank, with overlarge eyes and a stupid grin, but that was only its disguise, in reality it was that same priceless box decorated by precious stones and protected by its fairy prayers.

When a newly wakened and dressed Alicia scampered out for the morning feast, the clink of a coin deposited the previous night’s terrors and it was once again happy Alicia who skipped down the hall. This was her panda box and its magic had never failed her.

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“What are you making?” she heard the woman across from her ask. Mayumi’s lips had not moved, but Alicia understood eye language and body words. It was a useful skill that every princess had to learn and for her it was vital because her father’s magnificent kingdom attracted many a dignitary from far away world. Mayumi was one of them, Alicia was certain of it.

“I am making a castle,” she answered back with a flick of her eyes. She knew better than to make full eye contact having noticed that in her particular dialect, direct eye contact was taboo and only a very few people could do so without making her jump back inside her body. It was the moments in between, when the lips were still and no one seemed to be watching her, that her visitor actually came out. “Why,” the silent woman seemed to ask.

Alicia huffed as yet another brick lost its shape and melted into a mound of sludge. She shifted her hips and skewed her forehead into wrinkles before answering; she hoped the gestures made sense. “To protect him.”

“Why?”

“So he has a place to hide when they find me”

Her fifth brick had begun to whither into nothing more than an mud pie and in a pout she gave up, eyes flashing in royal anger at the oatmeal’s audacity.

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Diplomacy was an art and it was dangerous. One had to be subtle and pretend outwardly that the visitors were no different than anyone else. This was because most of them were in disguise and Mayumi was no exception- her language and dialect confirmed it. The woman could speak words, Alicia knew that much, but this was not her true language and, in fact weren’t words at all, but mechanical acts required to keep her disguise believable. What Alicia did not know was precisely where the woman was from and why she was hiding.

She tapped her chin a couple of times and looked over toward Chester, telepathically asking him what he thought. The cat, however, remained silent. He didnt talk much in times like this, eschewing telepathy for his preferred tail swishing, chirps and purrs. “You’re no help, you big fluffball,” she teased mentally as she reached into a side pocket in her dress. It never distressed Alicia that no one seemed to notice Chester, not at all. People were by and large, dull creatures.

The napkin was soft and cushy and her crayon moved carefully so as not to tear it; her little tongue stuck out between her lips as she concentrated. Stroke by stroke, a form appeared. It was a willowy visage with huge eyes and even bigger hands. It showed what Alicia knew to be the woman’s true form and was the only way to get this across without tipping off anyone else in the room. An expectant Alicia pushed the napkin across the table.

Speaking aloud for the first time she followed the ritual that would disguise this communication as nothing more than a mundane gift, “I drew this for you,” she said, eyes dropping almost as quickly as they rose. “I hope you like it”

Throbbing.
It was throbbing.
What was throbbing?
Clearly something was throbbing!
If only she could see!
Wait... why couldn't she see?
Maybe she was blind!
But then, why did her face feel like it was smothered in something.
Maybe she should remove what was on her face.
Yeah, that sounded like a very good idea.
Except... her arms wouldn't obey her. Again.
This had happened before. Yes. Belle could remember now.

She had been in Group. She had been telling Dr. MacNair what a good girl she had been. How she had been helping the nurses and the staff in some smaller chores. Picking up litter and pieces of discarded paper, helping gather the dishes after meal-time. Then...

Belle shuddered.
Wasn't it kinda hard to breathe like this?
It kinda was, wasn't it?
Cough.
Thrashing might get whatever's smothering her face off of her.
Even if her arms and legs wouldn't listen.

That's right. Someone had... hit her? Yelled at her. Both? Probably. It was... hard to remember. Painful. It didn't matter. But someone had been mean to her. Why? Belle was only ever nice. Belle tried to be sweet and kind to everyone. Why had someone been mean to her... but after that, she couldn't remember anything. Just waking up in this room...

Finally!
She wasn't blind after all!
Her pillow had just covered her face!
Aah, the air tasted so much sweeter without a pillow on her face.
Lifting her head a bit.
Ah.
So that's why her arms and legs didn't listen.
Someone had tied her down!
Dr. Massacre maybe?

Though... when she thought about it, thought -real- hard, though she didn't like to do that, cause it made her head hurt, it wasn't the first time she'd woken up like this. Someone had been mean to her then too. Oh, it was Mauling Mary. She was always angry. But after she had woken up in this room, and been let out, Mauling Mary wasn't at the Asylum anymore. Maybe they sent her away cause she was mean? Maybe...

She didn't wanna be in here anymore.
It was smelly.
It was tiny.
It was gloomy.
Maybe someone would hear her!
"Hello~? Anyone...? Can you hear me? I wanna come out now..."

Oh!
The throbbing!
She knew what was throbbing now.
It was her head!
Weird...
Her head only throbbed when she got the sleeping medicine.
But she hadn't taken sleeping medicine...

Celestine~

In the office, the tap tap tap of keys provides a bit of surreal background as reports are read, adjusted, signed off on and filed. So far the morning has been filled with inane chores like this one~ playing catch up with the constant influx of patients, paper work and state funded, state REQUIRED, bullshit.

Stupid inspection.

As if there weren't five thousand other things she could be, should be, doing. The morning walk for one, making sure the lost ones went from the dining hall to their early morning rounds of drugs, appointments, and solitude~whether ordered or needed. Hell, just walking the property, like it should be done, could take until after lunch. Instead, she is doing the jobs no one else will do because they are either too insane, or too important, to handle it.

Bullshit.

A glance at the clock, dark eyes serious. Soon enough, the Inspector would be intruding. The Warden had no doubts that Dr. MacNair had already done what was needed to ensure a good review. That woman was a demon when it came to keeping the funding, coming. And it was no one's business that, in her heart of hearts, Celestine was slightly disgusted by the idea. People had NO fucking moral compass. A bit of poke and tickle should not make for funding excellence. It should NOT allow a crazy person to run this place.

Men. Women. Assholes.

The final self appointed task of the day~a look see to bone up on who has come or gone in the night. Reading up on the patients, checking their progress? THAT is a part of her job that she loves, even if it is hard to keep track, some days. Her eyes stare at the monitor, a slight frown marring the icy beauty of her face. So many gone~ Stella, Jackie, Bobbi, Tammy. Traded to other places, termed cured and released to a state pen? Who knew? All that registered was the fact, solemn and immutable, that they are no longer under her care.

Others had arrived from different portions of the Asylum~Alicia, Belle. 'I gotta look in on them...'

Fingers press keys and pull up files for both women, noting any peculiar bits of info on their cases, jotting it down in her ever present notebook. Another set of keystrokes brought up Eva~so dominant when no one else was around~ and Mayumi. She looked through the updated orders, noting with a bit of a sigh that the latter would be on a feeding tube IF she didn't break the no eating thing she had going on.

Worry. More worry.

Finally, the tapping, typing, reading, is finished. All she can do now? Is wait for the inevitable visit from the State Fundies, the Inspector. Even if MacNair and Massacre are responsible for making sure the thing goes as planned? The Warden knows her role. She is order in chaos, safety in a mad world. Sanity in the land of the insane. And she must be IN the office when he/she/they arrive.

xXx​

Mid-afternoon break. Inspectors have come and gone. The lost ones have eaten lunch, either in the dining hall or in the solitude of their rooms, depending on doctor's orders. All is quiet in the land of the crazies. Standing, stretching, she heads out. Time to take the walk she had been promising herself since early this morning. Time to find out who was where, and just what it was they were doing.

Door opens. Shuts. Gone.

Marisa rubbed her eyes and stretched. A frown creasing her delicate features as she sat up, holding Teddy close to her. Her eyes narrowed as they went to the window, she was genuinely confused as to the time of day…even which day it was eluded her momentarily. Her mouth felt woolly and strange, her thought processes a little dulled. Swinging her legs out from under the bedsheet she stood and padded over to the table in the corner, she needed water. She poured herself some from the plastic jug and sipped from the paper cup, musing on what could have made her feel so bizarre. Sometimes she felt like this if her friend had kept her up at night, talking. But she was sure she had slept.

Deborah was snoring loudly and it made Marisa giggle. Probably the only noise the girl ever made. Shrugging off the fading confusion, she gave Teddy a kiss and a hug and made her bed. Placing the bear carefully upon the pillow when she was finished.

Marisa changed into a clean dress and headed for the craft room. Her fingers were itching for a new project. Painting for the lovely Doctor had awoken her creative urges and she wanted to channel them into making something new and sparkly for Teddy.

She wandered down the corridor, noting how it was quieter than usual. Perhaps she had woken earlier than usual. That was explain why everywhere was deserted, and why she had felt so odd. Coming to the craft room, Marisa breezed through the doors and scanned the room. Looking for inspiration.

A box of sequins and beads drew her magpie like eyes and she clapped her hands merrily. Finding some cloth, some thread and asking the supervising nurse for a needle, she started to work on her latest project. It would be a cushion for Teddy to sit on. His own bejewelled little throne. Her nimble fingers worked quickly, using golden thread to stitch the outline of the patterns she saw in her mind and then she began attaching the sparkling gems. Working slower, more carefully, selecting each one with great care.

She was just trying to fix a particularly shiny bead with an almost pearlised finish when the needle’s point slipped and embedded itself in her finger. She withdrew it and almost instantly a bead of a different sort appeared on her fingertip. Tears welled in her eyes as she stopped her sewing and bent to lick away the blood.

Wait, wouldn’t you like that kissing better properly?

Her friend was right, a kiss would make her feel much better.

A sickly sweet smile curving her lips, her eyes still tear bright, Marisa turned to the attending nurse. Holding out her finger,

“I’ve hurt myself…” She pouted, the bead of blood growing darker and then spilling into a rivulet that then trailed down the finger towards her hand. “Can you help me…?”

Dr. Trista MacNair wiped the lipstick that had attempted to stray from her lips to the collar of the man in front of her. She smiled her sweet smile. The one that made the men think she was dumber than she was.

"Can't have your voters seeing that, can we?" She smiled again, and turned from him. He attempted to sigh or something behind her; Trista rolled her eyes and pulled her hair up, clipping it tightly at the nape of her neck, she already knew what was coming.

He would stammer and say something like, "Uhh.. Ahem, Trista we can't do this again..." Straightening his tie, he'd attempt to stand up, much like he was doing right now. Trista glanced over at him with a small smile playing across her lips.

"Look senator, grow up, you called me, we both know you want both the fucking and the moral standing of helping those less fortunate. Of course," Trista put her earrings on, "we both know that you rather like bending over for me, don't you pet?" This last bit was said lovingly, and it was quite obvious that the senator practically melted at this little sobriquet. Trista pulled on her coat and looked at him coldly.

"I need to get to work, you will clean up your mess, and make sure that you lock up behind you. If I'm not satisfied with the results you will be severely punished." She left him standing stunned in her hallway, a devious smile across her face as she strode out her sleek black BMW.

Dr. MacNair got to work in record time, she was mentally prepared for the inspector and her "pet" had virtually guaranteed her funding for the next year, she just had to deal with Massacre and her games. There was also the two girls in house that the company wanted dealt with, but the company couldn't infiltrate the asylum without gaining MacNair's attention so she felt that this was a back burner item. No, forefront on her mind was the inspector and Massacre's... games.

Trista dumped her stuff in her office, donned her coat, and headed to see the grand ole doctor, it was the early morning, so Massacre would be poring over records. Trista knocked and entered, Massacre looked up at her expectantly.

"We have an inspector coming today and-"

Without wasting a beat, Tessa interrupted, "Then why are you bothering me? I trust you have it well in hand, if this isn't something you can handle, then why are you working for me?"

Trista stared daggers at the other woman, "Of course it's well in hand, I wanted you to know that we would be stopping by your office at 10 am sharp. Please be here, otherwise I will have explain why you are, again, not in your office." Her voice was cold, "Or reachable."

Trista watched the other doctor a moment more, the urge to move across the room and slap her almost unbearable.

"Ten."

Turning on her heel, she left the room without shaking in anger or looking back. Once in the hallway, she breathed and then spun away from the door almost knocking into a very dazed looking Nurse Shannon.

"Shannon!" she barked, "Get to work!" Trista placed a hand over her slamming heart and walked off. This place was sometimes way too busy. On the way back to the office she saw that the craft room was lit up, so she peeked in, catching Marissa hold her bleeding finger out to a nurse. The nurse quickly donned gloves, and cleaned up the finger with supplies from the nearby first aid kit. Once the band-aid was affixed, she had leaned forward as if to kiss the girl's finger.

"Ahem." Trista cleared her throat and shook her head no at the nurse, before winking to the girl and leaving. That girl and her bear sometimes scared Trista, because while the nominally sweet girl got downright mean whenever the bear was involved. Stopping briefly at the nurse station, she got the daily report from the night nurses who were preparing to leave.

Remembering that she had given Alicia a dose of lorazepam last night, Trista decided to check in on the girl. Tiptoeing into the room, she checked the girl's vitals and everything looked good. Glancing at the pig on the bedside table, Trista hefted it. It was full, apparently the girl had been dreaming again. Leaving orders for the pig to be emptied discretely, she left the room.

Noticing on her morning check sheet that apparently Belle had gotten a dosage last night too. Seems the girl had another split episode, Trista sighed and entered her room, Bella had woken up, and was looking around maniacally.

"Shh, Belle, it's okay. I've called one of the N.A's to get you breakfast, you're going to be calm today, right darling?"

Belle stared at her blankly. Trista initialed the vitals, and left orders for the girl to be kept in restraints for one more evening, and added another prn dose of anti-anxieties.

Leaving the patient's room, Trista finally made it to her office. She sank almost gratefully into her chair, losing herself for a moment, before a sharp knock at the door. Standing up, she called for the knocker to enter.

A sharply dressed red-head entered. Trista's jaw almost slid to the floor.

"Good morning Dr. MacNair. I want you to know that I've been looking forward to this meeting."

"Of course you have, Dr. Valente you giant prick." Trista barely missed a beat, taking stock of the woman in front of her. Dr. Gwen Valente was the perfect portrait of a gorgeous woman, long wavy red hair, bright green eyes, perfect perky tits, and an ass that practically begged to be smacked.

"Such language Doctor, I would have expected that you keep that in the bedroom, along with all of your... extracurriculars"

"Are we going to exchange barbs this morning or are you going to view the hospital?" Trista sounded bored.

"Oh, I've seen what you've got set up here and I know your funding is secure. I was rather thinking of some other poking around I could be doing."

Trista groaned softly while walking around the desk, stepping in close to Dr. Valente. She pressed her body against the other woman's , "You've come all this way, and it comes down to your dick, again?" Her words were soft, and Valente smiled.

"Like you don't want it to be this easy. I fuck you, you pass the inspection." She placed her hands on Trista's shoulders, and pushed her to her knees. "You know what to do, darling."

Trista watched the other woman intently, not taking her eyes away even as her hands slid her skirt upwards, over her panties and the bulge contained within. Trista's lips slid over Valente's thighs, over the soft cotton of the panties. She pressed her lips to the tip of the bulge, listening with pleasure to the soft moan above her. Hooking her teeth into the cotton she pulled the offending piece of cloth down, keeping an eye on the woman above her.

Licking her lips, Trista pulled the length into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it.

"Yesss..." hissed Valente as one of her hands slipped into Trista's hair tugging her down the shaft, her other hand playing with the buttons on her blouse, freeing her chest from the form fitting fabric. Trista slid her hand over the soft skin of Valente's belly up to her breasts, the tips of her fingers teasing against the silken fabric of the bra. She could feel the stiffing nipples, even while the member in her throat pressed harder against her tongue.

Valente wasn't playing games, and neither did she really want to be teased. Pulling Trista to her feet, she pushed her on top of the desk, spreading Trista's legs while her skirt rode up. Pressing herself against Trista's pussy, Valente pulled aside the small thong that covered Trista there, and pushed forward. Trista moaned, just like Valente expected.

Reaching up, Trista pulled Valente close, not to kiss her, no, but to expose those perfect tits to her gaze and her teeth. Latching onto the small nub, she moaned as the other woman pounded into her. Trista reached between them to finger her clit. If Valente was going to cum, so was she.

"Fuck me, you bitch." She moaned biting down on the nipple between her teeth. In reply Valente's hips sped up, her teeth gritting while she whispered in Trista's ear.

"You like being fucked by a woman don't you? I can feel how wet you are down there, you little slut."

Trista couldn't deny it, sliding her nails up Valente's back. The other woman moaned and dug her teeth into Trista's neck, sucking there while her cock pistoned into the Trista. They were both breathless and getting close. Valente reared back and pulled out, reaching down to grab a handful of Trista's hair while pulling her off the desk and bringing her back to her knees. Valente slapped Trista, "Open up!"

When the good doctor reluctantly parted her red lips, Valente came all over her tongue with a satisfied moan. She patted Trista's cheek.

"You've passed."

Trista swallowed what of the fluid had landed on her tongue, standing up she straightened up her clothing and walked away from Valente. "Thanks, and fuck you."

"Anytime. Here are your forms and licenses." Valente nodded at her briefcase as she straightened her clothing, pulling her skirt down, and buttoning her shirt.

"Thank you, Dr. Valente. Now get the fuck out of my hospital."

"What no tour? I rather wanted to meet your warden. She looks like a tasty specimen."

Trista laughed at the other woman, "She is and she'd rip you apart. Now get out. I don't have time for you, but once a year bitch."

Valente gathered her things and held out her hand, which Trista eyed with disdain. Dropping it, Valente turned and walked from the office. "Thank you for your time, Dr. MacNair." With a huff she was gone, and Trista dropped into her chair. That woman irritated the fuck out of her. Literally. But she mentioned stopping to talk with the Warden. That worried Trista.

Gathering up her things, she headed out the door to find the warden of Massacre Asylum, hoping that she wouldn't find the woman fucking another woman. Or maybe she hoped she would. Trista tried to shake that image and found she couldn't.

Damn.

Something that looked like Tessa woke in the dark.
She thought she knew the girlthing beside her on the floor, but paid no notice besides that as she struggled to her feet.
It was dark everywhere, inside and out.
Something that looked like Tessa caressed the flat screens of the monitors in her panopticon.

Tessa? Baby?
I can’t see. I CAN’T SEE!
Shhh...shhhh...its ok. Think about the bear. You like the bear.
I do. The bear scares me. I do.
Think about the bear. Tessa? Where have you wandered off to?
...

Stained skirt, torn blouse, one fishnet staggered down the hall.
Smeared lipstick growled.
Night nurses refused to see. Could not bear to see.

You are scaring me, Tessa.
Go ‘way. Too loud. Too crowded.
Baby? I don’t...
Talking too much.
You want me to drive for a while? I promise I’ll be good.
I’ll make her be good.
See? It’ll be OK, I promise. We’ll just go back and...
Go ‘way.

The creature that stumbled its way around the halls was...lost. Deeply. Confused, even more. Home was a maze.

All the same. All different.
What do you mean?
Not right.
Its different now. Here. This. Us. She’s never been different before. She’s always been.
We are always here, Tessa. We don’t change. We don’t leave.
Glows. It glows.

There were paintings. Pottery. Drawing.
Rippings.
Then just paper.
Mess.
Shards.
Some she kept, some cut her palms.
She made her lips redder for it.

“Doctor Massacre? Are you ok? You don’t look very well.”
“S’ok. Just too much to drink. S’ok.”

Too much.
Too much flesh wandered halls that had matched and didn’t now.
Changed. Too much flesh knew both had changed.

Yes. Change. Baby, change is ok. She is ok. She is like us.
She’s home with us. Both this and this are home for her now.
We love her.
We love her.
Go ‘way.

Sharp nails stood about a woman on the floor.
Dangerous woman.
Animal, predator.

No. Not. Not like them. Not at all like them. Like us. You need her. We are incomplete. You are incomplete.
Its going...
SHUT THE FUCK UP, ULI!
...
You love us, Tessa. So we brought you to this place. We love you, and so we brought you to her.
Please...
Do you love me, Tessa?
Its a cliff. A ragged sea.
Answer me you cunt!
I love you.
Do I love you.
Yes.
Trust me. I will never take you from home. Just make it better.
Broken glass and turpentine and the scent of fire and its its its
Sleep. I will fix you.
Please. Please. Please.

Alicia’s eyes met Teddy’s and stuck. It was a momentary pause, the eyes locking, but eternity is often wrapped in the span of an insect’s twitch.

“Turn it, poppet. That’s a girl.” A voice, smooth as silk over knives, stood in sharp contrast to her crushed fingers as the man’s vice of a grip held her fast. “Turn and push; like butter she is...” The blade slipped forward, separating flesh and causing the air to vibrate in lacerating notes that cut through the child like a banshee’s wail. “That’s my poppet, push it in deep.”

There are layers to the soul that were never meant for a child to see and her thrust opened each in turn and laid it bare. She could see it all, the searing pain, the desperation that comes when one knows - really knows- that death is inevitable and the helplessness of watching pure evil guiding the hands of your child.

Her arm slid forward till little knuckles pressed against a stomach rising and falling in desperate spasms while rivulets of blood coated her arm and drenched her tiny body. It was a mother’s blood, her mommy’s life flowing onto her, soothing- even in its last, with the very warmth upon which it depended. Eyes met and held for an eternity- but even eternity cannot prevent the passing of a soul, and as the equally helpless child watched, light faded from them both.

As the men turned her on the rest of her bound family, Alicia made not a sound. She was a true marionette, moving under the infinite power of the one who held her, cutting and slicing amidst the macabre instructions. “Open her throat, poppet”, “Cut here, lets see what this one has inside.” Father, sister, one by one she cut them and bled them dry, awash in a violent maelstrom of emotion and sensation she could never understand. He held her hands so fast and so tight, directing each slice all the while telling her what a good girl she was. Then, when it was finished, that possessing grip turned her to him. This time, there was no locking of eyes, Alicia’s were blank and unfocused. They carried the almost misty cast of one for whom light, sound, sensation had lost meaning. However, an outside observer would have noticed his breath change from adrenaline’s quick panting to a slow, sick lustful, rhythm; he’d worked himself up good and both men now fixed their gaze upon the crimson painted child. “Lets play a new game now, shall we, poppet?” Thick fingers fumbled against the tiny buttons of her pajamas.

Inside, something was rising, something deep, primal and very very wrong. It clawed its way up from her depths, shredding what was left of her spirit like so much blood-soaked cloth and the last sensation she had was of her hands, now possessed from the inside, renewing their grip around the knives. “Run!” a feline voice urged, “Run.”

There was an open and a close; two lids dropping and then lifting to find Teddy’s brown eyes staring back at her. She smiled cheerfully before turning to Marissa and suggesting, “lets go make pictures.” Hand in hand, Alicia led Marissa toward the art room.

Eva found herself outdoors on the third day? Was it the third? The fourth day maybe? This place never changed, she didn't know the date anymore with no trusty wall calender in the hall to remind her of important dates, the white walls that never changed colour - just a stark reminder of a gloomier future.

So Eva wandered out, feeling the morning dew slice in between her toes, watching all the other women as they filtered out from the open doors. She noticed that most of the ladies that came out here or could be found out here quite often seemed to be smokers, Eva had never smoked but she stared at them, fascinated by the way the end of the cigarette glowed brighter when encircled by tight pink lips.

"Oi! Watcha starin' at ya dopey bitch?" The woman who was smoking the particular cigarette Eva had been staring at called to her.

Eva blinked back to reality and looked away instantly.

"She don't even know Nat. She just starin' fo' the 'ell of it." Said her friend standing beside the woman Eva now knew as 'Nat'. They had thick accents, obviously British interlaced with American street, poverty stricken immigrants Eva assumed.

The two women rounded on Eva who held her ground, swallowing down her fear and her reflex to kneel before someone with a clearly dominant personality.

"She got pretty 'air." Said the woman named Nat, lifting a lock of Eva's curls and running it between her fingers, "You know, I think I'd really like some of it fo' me-self Jess." Nat's lips lit with a wicked smile as she exhaled a puff of smoke.

"Yeah..." Jess' eyes flitted around the courtyard briefly, spying the nurse on duty as otherwise occupied at the far end before she pulled something thin and black from her waistband and pressed a button on it. Silver sprang from the black instantly and she brandished the shiny switchblade in front of Eva's eyes.

Eva took a deep shuddering breath as Jess gave the knife to Nat who held it menacingly beneath Eva's nose, "Now look 'ere, you gonna tell me watcha was starin' at or not?"

"Y-your cigarette. I'm sorry, I've never smoked, it looked...fascinating." Eva gulped as the women looked at each other in disbelief and broke out into peels of laughter.

"It looked fascinating?! Fascinating?! You 'ear that Jess, we was fascinating you an' I!" Nat choked out her words between laughing fits before she finally slowed down and regained her deadly serious expression.

"Now listen 'ere bitch, we run this place s'far as patients are concerned and if you think of tellin' anyone at all about this 'ere little meetin', we'll slit your pretty little throat in your sleep." With that Nat swiftly hacked a bright red lock from Eva's hair and held it in front of her eyes, "That's to remind you."

She handed the knife back to Jess who quickly put it away before they trudged off across the yard. A completely bewildered Eva felt the short, stabbing bristles of hair they'd hacked away from her before she quickly made her way inside.

"I don't think I like smokers very much..." Eva whimpered softly to herself, realizing not all of these women were crazy and harmless...nor were they unarmed.

Trista rested her head against the wood of her desk, the ice in the glass in front of her clinked as it melted. She wasn't feeling so great, but this wasn't an illness or injury, at least nothing visible. It was one of those moments where the line between herself and her patients was so thin as to not even exist. Her head pounded from the combination of whiskey and memories.

"It wasn't my fault" she whispered fervently, over and over. Attempting to stave off the memories that were threatening to overtake her, threatening to assault her senses, her body, once more.

So easily did they slide into place that Trista visibly flinch when she recalled that night. She shook her head trying to clear her mind. It didn't work.

The laughter and the drinks flowed easily through the evening, her young body responding to the evening. She was happy. In college and safe in her own on campus housing.

Fuck this. Trista moved to window, but whether or not she wanted it, these memories were going to happen.

Trista got drunk. So easy at high elevations, made easier by cheap whiskey and seven shots. Her throat burned and she could make out two televisions. It didn't matter, she was home and safe with her friends.

Or so she thought.

The whiskey burned her throat, reminiscently of that night, the tears blurred her vision. Would it be too much to say it was raining outside her barred windows at the dark asylum? No. The bright blaring sunlight filtered into office. Any other person would say it was beautiful-

Fuck them.

It had started as she had watched some stupid music videos on MTV.

Trista snorted. Who gets raped with MTV in the background?

She never said yes. She didn't say no. She was too drunk to say anything. Did she feign passion as he pushed her face into the cheap scratchy college carpet? MTV had something on that she liked, she kept watching while he did...what he did.

Trista scoffed. She had spent the last ten years referring to this as a sexual assault. Somehow this kept a certain amount of clinical distance.

Trista got up off the floor when he finished, and mumbled something about going to bed. He followed.

She woke up a little later with him back inside her. She feigned sleeping until he grunted and rolled over. Trista passed back out, only to wake up again wtih him doing the same, again.

Looking over some of the paperwork, she noted that there were some girls who were due for their one on ones. She'd schedule them this week.

She'd found the condom a day later, shoved inside her. She tried not to cry when she found it, and just cried in the shower. How melodramatic of her.

Trista wiped her face and reapplied her lipstick, pulling her long black hair back into a bun and studying her face she let those last few details wash over her.

She had been home and safe. Or thought she was safe. That's when she learned that sex was a weapon. That's when she owned her own sexuality as a giant fuck you to the men and women who sought to use it against her. That's the moment she refused to allow herself to be a victim.

Or so she thought.

Though every now and again, she wondered what it might feel like to not carry this around.

Fuck them, thought Dr. Trista Macnair smoothing her dress and walking out the door slamming the memories behind her to be dredged up at another moment of weakness.

She hit the heavy bag.

Left, right, right.
Right, left, left
Jab, jab, hook.
Hook, hook, jab.

There was a rhythm there, one that matched her thoughts or maybe consumed any thoughts she might have allowed herself to have, if she were not busily beating the absolute stuffing out of that particular inanimate object. Each punch landed~ held a face at the end of it.

Her. The crazy bitch with the snooty attitude who acted like her shit did not, could not, ever be considered~ stinking.

Her. The cocky nurse who hung on the crazy bitch's every word, like she was waiting to see what would happen next.

Her. The slutty shrink who had more problems keeping her legs closed than ANY one on the entire fucking planet.

Her. The insane girl with the twinkling eyes and the pretend playmate who was, sometimes, all too real.

Her. The cunt who had exited stage left, but not before making sure that she would be remembered with nothing but revulsion.

Her.

Her.

Her.

So many fucking hers. So many punches with names attached. A positive drum roll of violence echoed throughout the emptiness of the gym. It felt good. It felt righteous. It made her smile and with that smile, which in all reality was more of a grin, she looked up into the camera that she had slowly become aware of.

It wasn't a pretty grin. Not a nice grin. Not a smile that said, "Pleased to meet you. Let me buy you a drink." It was the grin of a woman who was sick and tired of HERS. All of them. That grin said she would willingly ass rape the first one who looked at her sideways and she didn't give a fuck if they ALL knew it.

She hoped to God that they did.

She hoped, with a fervor beyond telling, that one of them tried it. Made the attempt to connive or convince her that she was NOT in control. Because she was. She WAS.

Speed bag next.

Her fists slammed into the small red balloon shaped bag..and soon developed a rhythm.

And there was no thought.

None at all.

And she was in control.

The HERS of the world be damned.

Celestine...was...in...CONTROL.

“I need you like a fat kid needs cake.”

So… not at all then?

“The writing is on the wall. “

Thankfully we purchased washable crayon.

“The serpent people are your misfortune.”

And here I thought it was thong Tuesday.

“Is it tea time? “

“Yes. We even have crumpets and sugar cubes this week.”

Where did the day begin and the night end? How long have I been here?

Squeaking white nurses’ shoes wiped off stocking footprints from the once gleaming linoleum floor. Shannon had no idea just when the last time she left this place really was. She used to go home at night. She used to enjoy candle lit bubble baths and curl up in that place she called home but she can’t recall exactly why, or when, or how?

There has to be a spell, an incantation that wakes you from the Asylum. She knows this. People come through the doors and some even go back out of them.
Not her, not now.

Now she finds herself crawling in bed with those that are screaming in the night. It is her lullaby. The minds that are so tortured sooth her into a slumber she had never had for a single moment outside these walls. At times she has noticed that the comfortable – the comforting ones that are already bound to their beds – are not screaming. She changes that. She has too. She must. It, they, warm her heart and sooth her mind. The ones she whispers to, with a hand on her chest so she can feel it start to hammer out its wondrous beating on her palm. “The birds escaped again, they are trapped in the cooling system. I’m here to make sure they don’t pick out your eyes while you sleep. Aren’t I helpful, Cheri? Shhh, sleep precious. They can’t get to you while I’m awake.” The trembling form she cuddles against works just like a car ride to a new born babe.

She wakes in the morning to still shivering forms. It’s better than the finest coffee man ever harvested for waking her mind. Better still than any aphrodisiac one could imagine for waking her body.

Now, she’s awake again and needing something, anything, to play with.

Romancing the Blade

In the silence, a glitter of broken glass. In a padded room. In the Eastern wing.


She hadn't meant to cut so deeply. At least, that's what she believed.

Lie. You meant it, you just didn't want to be caught.

The razor had slipped through each layer of skin housing her soul in much the same way as fog through an empty street. It had been cold, painless. Like a homecoming for steel. Truth be told, it had felt righteous.

A blessing.

NO. You had felt righteous. The blade was just an inanimate object.

She had watched the beading, the drip drops of red that had sped up and slowed down with the pounding of her heart. It had been a mosaic, a pattern of pieces put together with a skillful eye and trembling hand.

A pattern brought about by steel upon flesh. A puzzle broken apart and reformed into this thing. HERE.

You like it here. All of these...fresh bags of flesh waiting to be overwhelmed.

She hadn't made it into the newest incarnation of the State Asylum. Death by misadventure they had termed it. A lie.

It had been death by seduction.

They never should have left that piece of broken bottle in her room for as long as they had. Almost as if they wanted her to finish the job. And the glass had sparkled at her. Had glittered with it's faintly dangerous jagged edges. Had beckoned and called and cajoled.

Use me. I heard it. It whispered~USE ME.

And she had. Wrists first. Delicate tracings over the veins that ran just beneath the surface of the skin. Pale blue. Throbbing in time to her pulse, her heartbeat, her soul's deep need.

But the wrists hadn't been enough. Not when one noticed the edges now coated in gore, bright red droplets asking for more company.

Ankles then. The Achilles tendons. Hard work.

Ah but we got it done, didn't we?

By then, her eyes sight was strobing, fading to white and then black. A pretty light show made up of flesh and bone, blood and glass.

We should not have used it there.

The cunt. It made sense at the time. The secret heart of her had been the beast that had caused the pain and it needed to be gone.

So jagged piece inserted into tight wetness and yanked through puffy mound, like a dagger, leaving only the rip of bleeding flesh behind.

No one came until after the fact

By then, blood pooling from wrists and ankles and cunt? It had made sense to finish the job.

Left to ri-

Shhh. It's over now. We just need a new play mate, one who can see us. We will start over, again.

In the silence, a glitter of broken glass.

Trista sauntered down these vaunted halls teetering on heels that were much to tall for her. Each new step a dare for her to fall from on high to her knees, as if in supplication to the insanity that burned her veins and fogged her vision.

Maybe she shouldn't have broken into the med cabinet.

Dammit she was a doctor here, and if she couldn't dip into the goods every so often then what the hell was the point?!

Thusly, she sauntered, teetered, giggled maniacally, tiptoed, and sashayed down the halls. The videos of which caught every last move of hers. Trista stopped at Alicia's door. The vision of the girl sleeping one of true innocence and beauty.

It made her cackle.

The next door, she almost didn't stop. That bear. What the fuck was up with that bear? She wanted to burn it.

Past the nurses station. Those bleating, mewling cows of organized chaos. Trista hated them so. Unless they were under her. Under her hand, her lips, yelling their happy noises to the sky under her.

She wanted to stop at Massacre's office. To demand the other Doctor's supplication. But Trista knew. She knew. Something was up with this Massacre. That she was a crazy as the rest of them. Trista was sure Massacre needed to be locked up with the rest of these little loverlies.

She turned towards the camera and flipped it off.
Dedicated that moment of rebellion to both the Warden and Head Doctor.
Fuck them both.
Terrible dominant insane women who ran the show and expected Trista to toe the line.

Fuck the line.
Perhaps those last pills weren't a good idea.

She tottered towards her own office.
Decided to hide under the desk.
The oncoming storm wouldn't stop from blowing them all over. She knew it. She was sure of it. The voices in the back of her head told her so. She'd hide and it would skip her and she could find someone else to love.

To really love.
Not to pretend with words, with cooing happy words that rolled off her tongue and dripped like honey into the ears of whomever she held close to her breast at night. Those whiny wanting words of need that she detested.

Stupid love.
Stupid, stupid, stupid love.
Creating knots where there should be none. Creating chaos where there should be calm.
Trista was addicted.

Marisa sighed loudly and made her way back to her room. Back to Deborah. Back to the silence.
She had a strange, unfamiliar feeling burning in her stomach. It hurt. It made her feel ill. But she wasn’t sick. She knew that much at least.

There was a new girl. She cried a lot. All the time, truth be told. Marisa had tried, she had, to distract her from her sorrow but it hadn’t worked. Instead she’d had nurses flocking around her for the best part of the day. So pre-occupied they were with the terrified new girl that they barely flinched when Marisa asked for help. Telling her to be a good girl and just wait a minute.

A minute became five became twenty. They barely noticed when she deliberately spilt beads across the floor. No one commented when she finally rose, an uncomfortable and unfamiliar frown on her face. That prickly, hot feeling came from them, from the nurses, from that girl.

She sat down heavily on her bed and hugged Teddy close.
“You understand me. I’m so glad to have you.”

They talk about us you know. About me.

“I can’t believe that,” Marisa’s fingered the soft fur around Teddy’s ears, shaking her head. “Why would they?”

Jealousy.

Marisa giggled. That light tinkling sound that echoed ever so slightly in the stillness around them.

They know they’ll never have you, not like I have you.

“No one could be more my friend, than you, you know that.”

Doesn’t stop them wanting.
Doesn’t stop them wanting…and lying…

“They…they don’t lie…” Marisa’s brow furrowed as she thought.

Oh but they do. They all lie, all the time. They say they care but they don’t. And neither do we. It could all burn for all we care.

“That’s a horrible thing to say.”

Burn. They should all burn.

“I don’t …I don’t know. It seems cruel.”

They’re cruel. They don’t deserve you.

“I suppose you’re right. You do know what’s best.”

Trust me, sweet one. This is the right thing to do. They don’t deserve one more day with you…but before this one last day is over…there are some last games I think we should play…

Deborah the silent screamed that night. No one heard, but she did. She screamed as the pillow pressed down onto her face, as Marisa hushed her and two glass eyes watched from the other side of the room.

Susan screamed too. That night a real monster came out of the shadows. A monster with a sweet smile and a soft voice. It looked like Marisa and to a point it sounded like her. But the eyes that looked into Susan’s face were not the warm brown ones that beguiled the new nurses when they started or even the narrowed ones that greeted disappointment. These were cold. Empty. Even when the scissors from the craft room were causing Susan’s blood to stain her clothing and heat her skin with a warmth that was unnerving…those eyes barely blinked.

Her screams brought a nurse. A new one, one who didn’t really know. Who should really have known about Marisa and Teddy and how those wide eyes were so deceptive. Soon she had faded away, with a rather pathetic whimper in the end, and her keys danced prettily from Marisa’s fingertips.

Marisa skipped merrily through the halls, causing happy mayhem. Unlocking those doors usually locked, locking those usually open. Trapping and freeing, freeing and trapping. She giggled as the nurses hammered on their door. Realising too late what had happened. She laughed out loud as the mad and the crazy started to filter out into the hallways.

Teddy had whispered a plan, a plan with flames and so soon a wastepaper bin in the craft room was glowing warmly. A second began to dance another in a bedroom and then another. Those helpful girlies made sure the dancing flames spread quickly. Marisa watched for a little while as the flames licked higher and acrid smoke began to curl dangerously around the ceiling. Teddy’s eyes glowed in the light as she unlocked one final door and let herself out of the asylum.

Sighing as bare feet found grass. Cool and damp, refreshing and wonderful.

Teddy knew best.

Teddy always knew best.

Teddy told her where the tree was, the best one for swinging. She’d not sat on a swing in years and yet it had been her favourite thing.

Bare feet climbed nimbly, the bear resting on a rock. Watching as she moved from limb to limb, higher and higher until the best bough was found.

A smile and a call of “Watch me! Watch me, Teddy!” and then she jumped.

Marisa flew.

Marisa never landed.

She just swung…back and forth…and back and forth…

And Teddy watched.

The end of Massacre State Asylum.

“Thank you Jim. Yes, Massacre Asylum was set on fire late last night. Reports of seeing flames started sometime around 11:30 pm. By the time the fire department arrived on scene, it was too late to save or stop most of the fire.”

“Investigators believe that it was one of the residents that started the fire, we will have more details on this after your morning traffic.”

He clicked off the news. Yeah, it had been a resident that had burned the hellhole to the ground, stroking a grizzled chin he stared at the reports he’d been working on since combing through the charred remains of the women who had resided there for the past several days.

Seems the fire had been started by resident, Marisa Stone. She had locked the nurses in their nurses station and freed others, and started fires all over the building. From what he could glean from her files she talked and took direction from her teddy bear. Which only confused him, but who was he to understand the fucked up minds of the sick?

He glanced through the list.

Staff:

Head Psychiatrist - Tessa Massacre- Had been burned to death in her office. She had been found in the recording room section, sitting in a chair. It was presumed that she had watched the entire thing happen. There had been cameras all over the entire building.

2nd Psychiatrist - Trista MacNair- Smoke inhalation, her body had been found in the clutches of another, unidentified, presumably male person. Marks indicated that she had been beaten before her death. Her notes on all the residents had been confiscated, their charred remains laid all over his desk.

Warden - Celestine Myers- The warden had barely escaped with her life, and she wasn’t talking to anyone on his staff. That woman knew something, he was sure of it, but she wanted to be left alone and had chased more than one cop off her premises with a gun.

Nurse - Shannon Stewart- The nurses had been locked in the Nurses’ station and all had succumbed to smoke inhalation, though it seemed that after the coroner tested the blood of the newest nurse it had been revealed that she had died from taking all of the available meds, and dying almost instantly. Her body had been found in almost a slumber, while the nurses around her had seemed to try and claw their way out of the room.

Inmates:

Eva Dumingo and Mayumi Oshiro- had been found in each other’s arms, having succumbed peacefully in their sleep. Their background was an interesting one, and had led to some ties between Massacre and some very powerful people.

Stella Morgan- Had gotten free of her room, and helped spread fires all over the building. She had been found burned to death in the recreation room. Very little had been found of her remains.

Jackie McAffrey- She had been found under her bed, death by smoke inhalation.

Alicia Thompson- She had been found curled up in a corner of her closet, ostensibly trying to hide from the flames, while she died from smoke inhalation, the suffocation that she suffered as a result of holding a pillow to her mouth hadn’t helped.

Marisa Stone -Marisa, the culprit of all these deaths, had been found hanging from a nearby tree. How she had gotten out, or had hung herself hadn’t been figured out. And her teddy bear was another mystery. It was missing.
The detective was willing to bet it too had perished in the flames that ate Massacre, but after reading the case files that cluttered his desk he wasn’t sure.

His desk was covered in the stories of these women, of how they lived and died, all in detailed and copious notes. It was going to take some time to get through them all. May they all rest in insane peace, these women deserved it.