Bleak Insanity - Post 2.

Gogogogogo.

--

Damn, I suppose you'll need to know my name. My name is Alister Skye, blood type O, five foot nine, and around one hundred and fifty pounds. My hair is what some might call “sandy”, though I've never understood why. Twenty three years of age when this mess started. I don't know how old I am now, but probably much, much older.
I had just entered work, just like any other day. Said “hello” to the door man, polite as can be. As I entered, I noticed we had a new receptionist. This wasn't too odd, many people can't handle the stress of working here, so we endure many frequent changes of staff. I remember looking at her name tag. “Hello! My name is Erin!”. Never asked for her last name. She looked at me with a pleasant smile, and said “Oh, you must be one of the security guards. I'm just starting here today, so please be patient with me.” I returned the smile and replied “Oh, don't worry, I'm used to new people working here. It'll take you some time to adapt, if you can at all.”. This comment seemed to bother her. Looking back I can see why.
I walked towards the elevator, after excusing myself. Same old elevator. Faux fancy interior, hell even fake plants bolted to the corners of the little box. All of the walls are mirrors. I expect it's to make it feel more roomy. Not that you'd ever need it, never more than three people in that elevator as long as I've worked here. I pressed the button marked five. I think I started to whistle then, something like an off key version of some Broadway play. As the elevator slowly ground to a halt, I stepped out, ready to take my usual post.
You see, I work guarding the mid-level patients. Not too dangerous, these are the ones who're content to sit in their padded room drooling all day. Oh, sure occasionally there'll be something I'll have to deal with. I had just started to patrol the halls when I heard my radio go off. Eh, the noise it makes has always put me off. Sounds like somebody stomping some bloated bug into some unforgiving pavement.
“All guards, report to floor seven. A situation has arisen.” Spoke the voice over the radio, I recognized as my superior, John Cormack. He's been working here since the damn place opened. Some people say he's related to the owner. There are a few other more unpleasant rumors around his working here, as well.
I quickly ran back towards the elevator. A “situation” is never something to meander blandly towards. When I reached the elevator, I saw the other guard who works on floor five. That's another name I won't forget. Erik Baikov, of Russian decent, I believe. Older man, greying hair. Fairly muscular, and in surprisingly good shape for his age. He greeted me gruffly, and asked if I knew what was going on. “No,” I answered “But it's probably pretty bad.”. The elevator arrived. Floor seven is where they hold the... Devil worshippers. You know, the people who sacrifice virgins to Belial. Not quite as dangerous as the people who murder their entire neighborhood because their tratorous mind whispered the notion into their ear. But, still not the kind of people you'd invite over for tea.
Again, grinding to a screeching halt, we exited the elevator. Immediately I noticed something wrong. When you've worked here as long as I have, this is the most terrifying thing you can see. Not one, not two, but all of the inmates doors in my immediate vision were open. I saw a few corpses dressed in Happy Trails standard robes. Two were presumably shot, but one... that's the one that still terrifies me. Crimson pooling below him, running from the horrendous gash through his carotid artery. This wound was greatly complimented by the blood running from his own jagged finger nails.
I didn't even notice it, but I was lapsing into a coma-like state. Mesmerized by the body in front of me. Erik jolted me out of my trance, by slamming his hand down on my shoulder. “Damnit, we have to move quickly. There's no telling how many of the other guards are dead already.” The second Erik finished speaking, as if on cue the radio went off again. “The seventh floor is now being quarantined, for the safety of the other patients, and workers. All guard currently on the floor, but not with the seventh floor, but not with the main unit, make your way to the end of corridor D. Have weapons ready.”

Bleak Insanity, post 1.

Here you go. Enjoy.

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Laughing. Eternal laughter. It almost seems boring now. How long has it been? Christ, I couldn't even say anymore. Must've been years by now. Years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, hell even seconds and the miniscule particles the make up those. They all make up the same mess of destruction in the end. I still sit under this same stairwell. Seems like ages. Thinking back, I guess it's only been a few years or so. Maybe. Probably.
... But has it really been years? Spring moves to summer, as growing buds turn to blossoming flowers, only to die on the ground in the Wintry months. This is but a cruel mockery of our senses. Ow, what was that? Oh, another drip of blood in my eye. I think my head is cut. Maybe it's just my imagination.
I'm writing this down, you know. Well, I guess you'd have to know, if you're reading this, “Haha”. Hope when somebody finds this, its pages are readable. I think one of them got... something on this book. Everything simply runs to a crimson in my eyes now. My life is nothing but a shadowed mess from when this started, spattered with droplets of insanity and hope. Oh, I guess people might think I'm the crazy one. But I hope they see this for what it was. Believe me, I might be a little off, but these people are completely insane.
Trust me, I only work here. Security guard, have been for many years. The pay's pretty good, and so are the benefits. I started out as a janitor and worked my way up. That wasn't an easy task. I'll get back to the past eventually. The present is what's important. Damnit, it's hard to concentrate when all I can hear is that grating laughter. But as I've said, I'm almost used to it. This damned bleak insanity. Steals over you like the worst of diseases. Kills your sense of time, and your other senses as well, I guess.
Like I said before, I'm sitting here under a stairwell. It's kind of a safehouse of sorts. I don't feel as terrified here. Out there... one second could mean my death. Impaled, shot, stabbed, gouged or strangled. No soothing breeze to calm my nerves. No mother to say “There, there, it'll be alright tomorrow. You'll see.”. No sweet sound of a lover's imbrace. All alone, but not alone at the same time. Murderous people looking for me. Years I've been here, eh? I think I wrote that already. I wonder why nobody from the outside has come yet, but they must come eventually if you're reading this.
I guess I should write about where I am now. I've been rambling about nothing. This is a mental asylum. To be specific, Happy Trails Institution for the Mentally Unstable. Supposedly haunted by about a million ghosts, goblins and gremlins. All of these stories are lies of course. Reality is linear in execution. What's actually in here is much worse than a ghost, or some boogieman. One of the high-priority inmates here gets a hold of something sharp? Three years before this mess started, the old Number Five got his hands on a shard of glass. Twelve dead (Including himself) and seventeen injured before one of the other guards blasted through his forehead with his standard issue Glock. Grisly scene, I swear Five made a lunge at the guard before he fell to the ground. They covered it all up. Nobody cares about the lost souls in this hellhole anyway. Guess it'd be a good time to say we number our patients on their levels of insanity. Numbers One through Ten are the worst.
Number One is one terrifying bastard. He was commited here for the murder of an entire orphanage. Hundreds dead. Huge mess, they covered it up as well. Only ever saw him once, to my memory. He was the absolute visage of Hell. I looked into his eyes for one second, and I saw not one shred of sanity dancing behind them. He wanted to kill me, I could tell. Highest security I've ever seen. His room makes Alcatraz look like a Summer camp to be snuck out of to kiss in the woods. At least five guards posted outside his room at all times.
Damn, still laughing. Or maybe it's turned to screams now? I can't tell anymore. They flow together making an indulgence of pure emotion. Maybe I should go back to when this started. I know I'll never forget. Burned into my brain it is. I should give a little backstory beforehand though. A day or two before, to show the daily routine. Or maybe not. There were a few key players in this disaster. I'll go back to when I met them. That should do nicely.

Alright, fuck, first post.

Here's the deal. I'm bored, and I want to get some more writin' done. I'm going to be posting works of both poetry and prose here. Mostly horror related stuff, end of the world related stuff, or whatever the fuck I feel like.