• My mother literally threw me out, screaming at me to 'get better', as if it was going to help me. Help me from what? My transformation into a demon? Well, they were very religious. Every Wednesday and Sunday, my father forced me into my best suit and hand me down tie, urging me to accompany him to church. I always agreed when I was younger of course and exclaimed enthusiastically, “Grandma said she would give me a gift this time! She promised!”.
    Sooner than later though, I realized Granny would never bring any presents for a mutant freak like me, and by the time I was thirteen, I seemed to be getting into bed earlier and sleeping later than usual. My old man stopped bothering once the wrinkles in his face became visible by even a blind man. Although, he complained occasionally about my religious faith, he didn't seem to care as much, as I didn't care for anything other than getting my sleep. I was sightless to everything except my blanket and pillow on those mornings and evenings. Honestly, I didn't have even the slightest clue of how to pray anymore and I wished I could remember as soon as I took a step through huge iron bars. The bars that admitted me to the surroundings of my living nightmare.
    The outside of the facility was adorned with flowers and summer vegetables. If you squinted just a bit, it could be considered 'pretty', but sadly right in the middle of daisies and tulips, there were rough gray bricks, built into the shape of a tall building. The color gray and vivid rainbow blasts were a color clash and seemed so unreal to me because I had never seen something so colorful be so ugly. Color was about beauty right? You'd never seen the ocean, blue and green with sea foam as an ugly sight. The sunset: yellow sun fading into soft orange and red, eventually turning dark blue where the night sky starts, was never something you stayed inside to hide from.
    Inside the monochrome building was even worse though. I had to walk through more metal doors, as the guards, people with black and white suits and black sunglasses just like in the movies, trudged behind me, closing the doors that were opened and making sure I was in place. I stupidly decided to joke a bit with their seriousness and growled in a wicked tone, “Don't worry, I won't bite”, flashing my teeth, I continued, “unless you anger me.”
    They didn't find my attempt at lighting the mood too funny though, and just pushed me through the endless doors faster, until I was brought into...confinement. Yes, it was a room, with stone gray rough walls, just like the outside. The only happy thing was the rug. I memorized the pattern on the first day. Blue and green with floral print and a red dot in the middle of each flower. It was the tackiest thing ever, but somehow it was the easiest to remember.
    When the men pulled me through the last door, one of them, the only one with a scar falling from his forehead to his cheek and all the way down to his chin, turned to smirk at me before he left. Almost mocking my existence, he said, “You're the first of your kind to step even a foot into this place kid.” I grimaced at the word 'kid', it was what my uncle called me when he was drunk and wanted to start a conversation. I always hated the term. The man continued though, smirking wider, as if he'd found my weakness already, “Your parents must hate you.”
    Growling, I went into my defense stance, but there was no need . He just walked off and locked the door behind him. I could sense how smug he felt just then and that in turn made me infuriated. Instead of going nuts on the door though, I released my anger on the ugly gray couch, digging my nails – claws – into it as soon as I sat down. “No mercy for the couch”, I sighed out as soon as I couldn't hear their rather annoying footsteps.