He stared straight ahead, his unfocused eyes barely registering the white tile walls of the room as they tightened the straps of his straightjacket to an almost unbearable level. The guards seemed to be wary of him as he was half dragged down the hallway, the tranquilizers finally kicking in.

They never seemed to work on him. The last time he had broken loose, it had taken two hours for the drugs to have any effect. Even then, he'd only been out for five minutes. The guards had barely got him through the door before he'd woken up. He laughed bitterly to himself, and the guards exchanged a few uneasy looks, moving faster down the corridor.

They dealt with plenty of crazy people in this place, but this oneā€¦

This one was more than just crazy. He was insane.

He unnerved them without trying, almost as if he was unaware of the effect he had on people; maybe he was. There was an indefinable air about him that made him different from the others. It was easy to spot him from a distance, and as odd as it was, it had nothing to do with his appearance.

He was so tall that it was almost ridiculous, towering head and shoulders over anyone in the room, although his mere presence was enough to make them feel small. Hollow-eyed and gaunt, his unnaturally still, pale face only amplified his odd, skeletal looks. Even his straightjacket seemed to hang limply off his frame, though it hade been specially fitted and was as tight as possible. His long jet black hair was the only thing about him that still retained a sense of normality, though it was untidy and in dire need of cutting.

Throwing him onto the floor of his cell, they left him and locked the door, no doubt posting extra security outside the door. He giggled softly to himself as he sat up, slowly making his way to the wall and leaning against it.

He winced as he put pressure on a large bruise on the back of his head.

The guards figured that a few knocks couldn't really make him much crazier. In his increasingly rare sane moments, he tended to agree with them. That didn't mean he appreciated it.

Bringing his knees up and tucking them close to his chest, he rocked back and forth, trying to shut out the white sterile world he lived in with its locked doors and no windows.

He knew that he hadn't always been like this. If he tried, if he really tried, he could vaguely remember a time when he had been free of this place, unaware of it and the horrors that lay inside.

Most of the time, he could barely recall his own name. But he could remember the wind. He missed the wind, blowing cold against his face.

Visions tormented him, and he could find no refuge from it, even in his sleep. Ochre leaves swirling around a gravestone, the name carved into it always undecipherable, unreachable. He didn't know when or where it was, or if the place even existed. All he knew was that he woke up screaming every time.

He couldn't even remember the last time he'd been outside. They thought he'd freak out. Too much excitement, they said.


Yes, I'm crazy, he thought, but I'm not stupid enough to screw up a chance of freedom.

That was where he'd been attempting to go today. He'd had no plans for once he was outside. He wasn't even sure he could survive the outside world. He didn't think he wanted to, either. He just wanted the wind on his face.

Somebody further up the corridor started screaming. He groaned, knowing it would be hours before they stopped. He hated this ward. All of the screamers were here, and once one got going, the rest would soon follow.

Burying his face in his knees, he began humming to himself and attempted to shut out the voices, both inside and outside.

"Sir, we had another attempted breakout today. He was apprehended, but he was almost out of the building, sir." The guard captain saluted the director of the asylum and looked straight ahead as he gave his report, wishing he was somewhere else entirely. The director was sometimes worse than the crazies he had locked up. But no one crossed him. At least, no one crossed him and lived to talk about it.

The director sighed and looked across his desk to one of his three captains, noting that his gaze was still fixed on the wall.

"Who was it this time?" he had already guessed, as the guard was still obviously shaken from his encounter. He frowned slightly. That would need to be remedied, soon. Nothing unsettled his captains. Not while he was in charge.

"It was him, sir."The guard swallowed thickly and presented the director a file that was much thicker than the others piled on the desk beside to his feet. "Again, sir."

"Thank you, Sinker," he said easily, calling the guard by his nickname. "You may leave."

Sinker was slightly taken aback by his master's in-depth knowledge of him, but he still managed to croak out the necessary words, and left the office.

The instant the door closed, however, the director completely dropped all pretences and threw the file at it, growling unintelligibly as he stomped over to his liquor cabinet.

The file had fallen open to a photograph taken five years ago. The man in the picture was about twenty-five, tall, too skinny and pale with short, jet black hair and equally dark eyes.

Below the image was a short caption.

It read 'Skellington Jr'

Author's note:

Worked out who the director is yet? It's totally obvious because I have no imaginationā€¦ sorry. Lolz.

Please review! It would be nice to know what you think, it would make my day. Criticism and tips are welcome AS LONG AS IT'S NOT BASHING. I do not like bashing. THANK YOU!

Next chapter will be up as soon as I finish it. Which won't be long. A few days, max. XD