I've tried,

I've tried, and i must say, writing is difficult. I've been trying to come up with something for the last like, week or two, but i've been reading and everything, and my mind raking has come up with nothing. I fear that my mind is slow, (or more quickly than i think) being sent to a hell, where my knowledge is kept in a vault a glass that is inpenatrable, or however you spell it.

I sit here, wondering, why, why can't i come up with some decent vocabulary or some sort of clever quotation that will set everyone on the ground, either laughing or crying with joy or disposition- a pleasant disposition.

Reguardless of how hard i try, i'm just a stupid sophomore in a high school that has too many students to allow individual attention, it's a prison cell every time i walk into a school room, it's terrible bordem that i cannot complain about because 1800 students go through all the same, if not worse.

For you see, I have no extracirricular activities. I go home and read until I fall asleep, plus eating, plus thinking of writ, plus doing this in this particular case. I feel trapped, and there is absolutely no way out, I feel pathetic, i am pathetic.

Chains speak nothing, It's the bars the talk in the gloomy fashion, like glass grating accross tempered steel with little ridges burnt into it. A rigid pounding of mucas slapping my face after 2 weeks without anything to drink, or eat.

My breaking point slips away from my captors still, as i defy them with everything my feeble body can throw into their mindless tortures, of shock treatment, and pounding the ends of my fingers with hammers, and then spitting, snot infested slobber into my face.

Nevertheless, i take their spit as a gift, and swiftly lap it up, like a cat drinking from a toilet. I feel like vomiting every time, but vomit would merely make me more dehydrated. I'm crying, my eyes well up with what feels like burning salt and lemon juice on open wounds. But i move my hands up to catch the tears that wash away some of the grime and dirt masking my face. My glasses are all but broken, in a heap of clattered lense and metal, i don't need them anyway. What's the use of seeing in a room 4 feet by 4 feet.

I lick up the tears that i catch with my hands, salty and not pleasent, though more so than the goo that came from the mans mouth, that horrid man, that... that... ugly man, i hate him with a vengance, my mind feels like screaming in agony, I'M GOING TO DO SOMETHING.... something that the man will hate, i'm going to snuff him in the end.

the man doesn't answer my questions, how long has the fighting gone on up top? i'm 40 feet under the ground, on the highest floor of the sanitarium.... my sanitarium....

Please, release me.... please RELEASE ME..

Song, song moves out, it glimmers among the synthetics. It's me, it's what i need, i hear.

i find a reason to smile. I unsheath the invisible dagger at my waste, my schizophrenic notions are getting to me.

I take my blade to the mans gut, it's not a knife, but my fist. My knuckles tear through his diaphram and his sinewy guts and come out the other side. I feel power radiating from my body and i try to block it from getting out of control... it washes over me and begins to drown me, i run to the door, and pound... once.... the door crumbles like paper, the stainless steel rips into a massive whole that burns like phospherusance. I feel immortal.... I move into the hall after a blow to the hinge on the door smashes it free, and against the opposite side of the wall.

A pathetic mortal servent is coming toward me, but turns and runs, i weave my fist into his spinal cord and take his back apart, and throw it against the wall. Him screaming all the while in a gutteral voice as his heart spills out his mouth.

I begin a search for the man that captured me in the first place, and i find him minutes later, on his way to my cell. I wait around a corner for him, and when he rounds it, i take his leg off in one sweeping arch of my fist to his lower end, he falls into a crumpled heep, blood squirting everything, even me. He screeches in agony as i tear him limb from limb. I cackle wildly, not caring for the mess i make.

The sanitarium owner, is found in his office, and is decapitated in one smooth motion of my elbow that crackles through his juguler, and into his spine, taking discs out and leaves his head rolling to the floor, and a stub of neck an inch and a half long remaining.

Leaving his office, a squad of guards approaches, eight in number... feeble pathetic, feeble pathetic feeble, pathetic, feeble, pathetic, FEEBLE, PATHETIC....

I take the foremost of the guards instantly, and leave his screaming upperbody two feet from his legs. The remaining immediately open fire on me, and all miss with every shot in their magazines, or so they think....

I'm riddles with holes, nearly two hundred. I'm not going to die, i'm immortal. The next of the guards is pounded into the wall, and left a bleeding lump protruding from the steel. I walk through the guards, the last four getting another magazine of rounds off into me before I devastate them, and leave them crying out in agony as their hearts seize up, and they go still, only seconds later, after muttering oaths.

I see the outside door. I haven't seen sun light in ten years, I become eager and anticipate what i'll do once i'm outside.... I reach for the door. and i open it, and walk up.

Waking up, i see the man torturing me. he is lying dead, crumpled in a heap with a hole in his torso, but i am strapped to my bed with metal straps, unescapable. I'll die here, and that's that.

Two days pass before i lie in my seconds before death, i mutter a curse, and close my eyes, and fall into a deep, deep death, that will not be disturbed by heaven or hell.

Finally, i wrote something, i was beginning to think that i was never going to get something out of my head ever again.

Thanks for reading, i suppose