Written by: Annak Edalbracs
There was always something about the place that always struck a wrong chord in all who stood in front of its towering doors. Perhaps it was the name, Catatonia. That name that spoke of someone on the edge of death, unaware and unmoving. In general, no one really paid any mind to the place. People went in because they were ones who were deemed dangerous or different, so much that they were out casted from the modern society. In the public eye, those people deserved to get sent to there, they had no place anywhere else.
At the very most, they were sent there out of spite alone.
When sent in, no one came out. There was no point in pondering, after all, Catatonia feigned such innocence, dignity, and justice that no one felt a need to question it. Only those who are inside of its bowels are the ones that have peeked through its cracked door and seen a slimmer of what goes on behind it. The only thing to do now was to escape with most of their sanity, and hopefully with most of their physical body.
But how? No one believes the words of a ‘crazy’ person.
Not unless they were crazy themselves.
After all, this was Catatonia, an asylum for all to enjoy.
There standing in front of a gleaming glass desk stood a woman of about 5’7, about a so average height. From the piercing eyes of the man that was sitting before her, or from any person that was looking at her from any distance for the matter, one could describe her as looking like a character straight from a role-playing video game that one can occasionally see one play. Midnight hair that was cut in few layers fell in thick streams around her face and whispering against her shoulders, a few large strands streaked of pure molten silver. Whether of natural pigment or from dye, it seemed to create a somewhat plastic look or even portray a skeletal feel on her round face. A perfect portrayal of what one would deem a toy doll, from the white tank top, to the baggy gray sweats, down to the black flip flops that seemed to be too wide on her feet, coming complete with a matching set of cuffs that brought her hands together in front of her.
“Kanna Scarblade, you know the reason as to why you are being put into this establishment, to be put behind the doors of Catatonia I assume?”
From behind clear silver eyes that could feign blindness, Kanna scoffed ever so slightly at the smirk that the man before her adorned. Bleached hair that seemed to be cut in small layers and flipped back, frameless glasses that were perched upon a pointy nose, a near flawless face except for the wrinkled brow caused from furrowing eyes; all perched on a pair of folded gloved hands. It was as if he was the representative of, ‘fucked up bullshit.’ And more than likely, he was going to be pulling said bullshit from either his ass, or from the business section who partly ran Catatonia.
“I understand perfectly well why I am being sent to Catatonia…Mr….?” A questionable raise of an eyebrow.
“Please just call me Hearse. “
“Mr. H. Lets just get down to the point as I’m sure you have more incoming patients that you need to interrogate.” A side glance towards a door to the right of his back. “I’m here because I’m violently schizophrenic and apparently I have a multiple-personality disorder which brings about an insane trait through bipolar-ness.” Throughout the sentence, multiple quotation marks were signified with her fingers.
A content smile stretched across his lips. “Again call me Hearse. Now that we have that done and over with, I suppose I’ll be sending you off now Ms. Scarblade. If you will please follow Mr. Adventum he shall escort you to your new living quarters.”
Before she left, all Kanna saw was the man reach toward a harmless looking paper on his desk and push a corner of it with a distinctive, click, sound before exiting out a door that seemed to be seamlessly installed into the left wall.
Now sitting in her brand new cell (who the hell were they fooling calling this room a dorm!?), Kanna sat perched on her cot facing the reflective surface of her wall. A wonderful upgrade to what the prisons usually consisted, instead of cement walls, they were mirror like surfaces that no matter how much force was applied, it would not break or even be marred. No matter what, one would always see their reflection. Not even the floor gave relief as it too had a nice shiny surface that one could see ones face in.
Reaching up to tiredly ruffle a thick wad of hair that got into her face, Kanna leaned forward to press her elbows against her knees before staring straight at her reflection, a dull light (where the hell did it come from?! There were absolutely no windows in the area) somehow enhancing its surface as she monotonously recited her situation. Talking to ones self was usually the cure for everything and gave great insight through what your inner self was going through after all!
“My name is Kanna Scarblade.” Her neutral face momentarily lit up into a happy smile. “Also known as Annak Edalbracs, or Annak Edal for short.” Lips pulled back into a straight line. “As you know, I’m here to infiltrate the inner workings of Catatonia and to investigate what has been going on with all the people and ‘patients’ that reside and work here. By faking and admitting myself to this place, I have fully taken a responsibility to tackle on this mission and to complete it to the best of my ability.” Reaching a tentative hand towards the left strap of her tank top, she absently tugged on it. “No matter what, I will not quit and I will not be discouraged to where I will stop.”
It was as if a switch flipped inside her head, from her neutral countenance, her round face scrunched into a piercing, mocking stain on the mirror like wall. “But what if I’m unable to uncover what’s going on in this place? What if this place is just that good that I just cannot find out anything and admitting myself into this place will be all for naught?” A toothy grin tugged at the sides of her lips, her natural fangs displayed proudly in her jaws. “Then I shall stay here; better to stay in a place in which there is a much more, ‘human’ side to mankind than the spiteful heartless creatures outside. Admitting me here won’t all be for naught. I don’t think I’ll be even more normal after witnessing all that is here.”
Stretching her arms out wide to her sides, Kanna reached with a stuttered hum as bones cracked absently in her, a content sigh escaping her as she fell backwards and stared at her reflection in the ceiling. Talking to oneself was a perfectly natural thing and didn’t cause questions to be made from the general public. But it was when one answered themselves that one had to start to worry.
A small smile now was plastered on her face. “My name is Kanna Edalbracs, Kanna Edal for short. Also known as Annak Scarblade. One thing that is true about my reason for being here…is that I do have a multiple personality.” She laid her hands behind her head. “So long and goodnight for now.”
There was something there, he could sense it. Yet everything was just so muddled. But there was always something, every time, a single something that had such clear clarity that it couldn’t go by unnoticed. Like right now. Everything was just dark. Dark. Dark. Dark. Black. Pitch Black. No different shades of black. This was the black that you look into a deep part of the ocean and see no escape, where nothing is able to reach down. No form except, well, an abyss. Nothing was felt. Nothing was heard. Nothing was smelt. Nothing at all. Except for that. That golden streak. There. It fell in the left side of his vision, the left side of the dark abyss. It went by so quick. There again. And again. Why wouldn’t it slow down? Automatically, his mind counted in the blackness. Counted? How’d he know how much was of what with counting? The gold streak, there it fell. 1…4….2…6….4…1…2…3. 3 seconds, the gold streak fell for 3 seconds. But how long was that? Why was there something so bright in this ink anyhow? How? Where? What did these specifications mean? What is what? What is this?
Laying in the dampness of his ‘locker’ lay a man of about the age of 23. Tall and frail, his head laid against the cool smooth wall that made the back of his room. Hair was plastered against his head like frazzled seaweed on a dry beach.