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Post by Tucker Alexander Fry on Feb 25, 2013 23:25:27 GMT -5
will i ever know silence without mental violence? Tucker had been at Ravenwood for about two years. The hallways and faces were all familiar to him. There was a burning, depressing monotony set in the dark white walls. Sure, the pale-skinned man had no idea how something described as “burning” could be monotonous, yet something about those ivory rooms sizzled his skin. He felt as if his skinned has been burned off and all of his insides were visible. The irony is that he doesn’t give anything away, so he doesn’t have anyone actually seeing him. His eyes speak volumes but no one takes the time to look in them. He’s just like other people . . . with a little depression on the side.
In the years that he had been here, Tucker had taken the time to explore the building thoroughly. Though the security was fairly strict, one could sneak about if he/she knew what he/she was doing. Tucker sure knee what he was doing. His first venture was a bit rocky, but he quickly learned the ways if the guards. Most of them overlooked his quiet movements anyways. Yet even with his two years if experience, Tucker had yet to explore all of the winding stairs and corridors in Ravenwood. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was beginning to think he might be lost. The confusing hallways had come to be a comfort to him, but he couldn’t let this raise any alarm. If it did the freedom he had carefully cultivated would be obliterated.
The dark-haired man could feel panic welling up inside of him. He fought the feeling desperately, but that only seemed to rile his emotions up even more. He stopped his slow procession and leaned against a wall, his head thrown back on the wall in a sign of surrender. He could not let this get the best of him, but at the same time nothing would stop it. Tucker closed his distressed blue eyes and sighed softly. All of the halls were the same—all the same blasted white. The distressed male dropped to the floor and rested his head on his knees. He wanted to cut but settled for digging his nails into his pants.
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Post by Elizabeth Tailor on Feb 26, 2013 23:08:25 GMT -5
Elizabeth couldn't take the noise, the loud rumble of the rec room. Patients all around her were either screaming, whispering to themselves, or crying. She could feel herself slipping away inside herself to escape her surroundings, but she knew that she couldn't let herself do that. If she gave up after only being here for a week...she couldn't. So she found herself roaming the hallways aimlessly, with no sense of direction. The white walls glared at her, reminding her that she was completely and utterly alone.
She gripped her arm, trying to steady it's shaking. The noise of the rec room had been replaced by a shocking silence. There was no noise except her echoing footsteps on the floor. She wasn't sure if this was better than the screaming patients, but still didn't want to go back. The staff didn't seem to notice her slip out, but she was used to people not noticing her. It was easy to blend.
She wondered just how far these halls went. It seemed like a labyrinth that went on for miles. She expected to see at least someone, but so far, no one was around. She continued walking, in a sort of daze, thinking. Thinking about what her life could have been if she had been luckier. She began to feel a slow relaxation sweep through her, and held out her hand to stroke the walls as she passed.
Elizabeth took a sharp corner, her thick blonde hair sweeping over her shoulder as she turned. Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. There was a dark haired man, seemingly around her age, on the floor with his head on his knees. She didn't think he had noticed her, so she stood there for a moment, worried. She wanted to see if he was okay, but her shyness stopped her from running up to see.
But what if he needed help? He seemed pretty distressed, so despite her pounding heart rate, Elizabeth approached the man slowly. She spoke softly, carefully. "Are you okay?" |
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Post by Tucker Alexander Fry on Mar 4, 2013 22:28:04 GMT -5
will i ever know silence without mental violence? Sitting in the hunched-over position he had forced himself into, Tucker fought the urge to scratch at his skin. He accepted that this was a problem—that this would always haunt him. He knew that after making that first cut, there was no going back. This animalistic urge inside of him was why he was institutionalized, and he understood that. He accepted it, let it sink in a long time ago. There was no changing it. Though he wanted to believe that something could lift him from the hell he had stumbled blindly into, he could not see anyone or anything doing that. So he survived. There was no thriving. There was just day after day after day without any change, so much monotony and so little poetry. The same old psychiatrists and the same repetitive phrases that everyone knew did not work. There was no getting better, but Tucker just couldn't off himself.
The depressive mood he had allowed himself into made his urges a little less powerful. He unclenched his hands and slowly lost the burning desire for pain. The burn of a cut distracted him from everything else going on; it kept him calm when everything else was spinning. Tucker could focus in on that pain because it had a meaning, a reason, a purpose, and he could actually grasp that. All of the suppressed memories that spun dusty cobwebs were too confusing, too intricate, and they appeared in the darkest corners of his brain. He couldn't turn a corner in his mind without running into one, so he focused on the little things of no importance—like his cuts.
The dust motes were just beginning to settle when soft noises interrupted his thought process. There was nothing big about them—almost hesitant, he thought, before realizing that they were footsteps. Already having a handle on his panic, Tucker was able to contain his social anxiety. Not only that, but this could be one of the patients that ratted others out. Even if that was highly unlikely, all of the terrible possibilities crowded his mind. Instead of looking up, Tucker kept his dark-haired head down. The footsteps came a little closer before stopping. A hesitant question followed.
Tucker was able to deduce that this wasn’t a staffer, simply by the sincere sound of the female’s question. But then again, there were a lot of great actors in Ravenwood . . . Slowly, the young man lifted his head and glanced shyly at the girl. He could already tell she was pretty, which made him withdraw a little bit more. The destructive thought that he was useless with this social anxiety passed through, leading him to wish he was more outgoing.
Even though he was a sitting duck in his position, Tucker turned his head towards the girl but didn’t move his body. His eyes said volumes more than his wordless mouth, and upon meeting her eyes he leaned back a bit. “I-I-I . . .” Tucker stuttered, unable to complete his response, “I-I am f-f-f . . . ” He couldn’t finish the last word so he just sighed in frustration. “S-s-sor-ry.”
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Post by Elizabeth Tailor on Mar 5, 2013 23:26:36 GMT -5
Elizabeth continued to look at the man. He was a bird with broken wings, alone and dying. He was a lost child in a supermarket. He seemed so fragile, and somehow in the strangest way, he seemed strong. More mentally than physical, like he had seen hell and returned alive,but he was never the same. It struck her so deep somewhere that she almost forgot where they where, and all she cared about was helping him be okay, because no one had helped her when she was a broken bird herself, and look where that got her? A pale, silent corpse.
Something about him- was different than the other patients she had met here, as strange as that felt to her. She didn't even know him, and yet he mattered more than the others? It didn't make much sense. She twisted at her wrists nervously after her question rang out into the hall. Perhaps he didn't need help...or want it..? She was beginning to regret asking when he looked at her.
She was stunned by his blue eyes. She was almost entranced by them, with their deep, dark color and vibrance. She couldn't decide if they were more like the sea or sky. But his eyes spoke more than she could've known. They were so sad, and terrified. A deep depression settled in them. She didn't know how long she had been staring at his eyes when he spoke. He stuttered out barely comprehensible words, almost full sentences. She was just glad he spoke to her.
She didn't know what to say, he said he was sorry, but he had done no wrong. "Don't be..you haven't done a thing wrong." She spoke. She shocked herself when she sat down close to him, inches away from a stranger, maybe a murderer. But the feelings that he was important, and that he was like her, blocked out the rest. "It's going to be alright. My name is Elizabeth." She looked into his endless eyes again, waiting for a reply.
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Post by Tucker Alexander Fry on Mar 6, 2013 23:04:46 GMT -5
will i ever know silence without mental violence? Tucker held his breathe, lips pursed so that all color faded. It took so much—so much—power to keep his gaze on her. He could feel strength draining from his body, but that didn’t make any sense, considering this was only a mental disorder. The dark-haired man tried to contain his spinning thoughts but every time he grasped something it danced away without ever becoming coherent. Finally he could no longer keep his eyes on her, so her stared intently at his eyes. For whatever reason, he could not make his look something intent, so he just stared blankly. He could sense that her eyes were not on him anymore.
Feminine words interrupted his thoughts, a reassuring pause to the ever-flowing river of destruction. Tucker grabbed those words and wrapped himself around them, focusing so that his tornado-mind would stop spinning. It took him a second to fully comprehend what the girl had said, so concentrated on concentrating that he was. The fact that she said his stuttering was okay shocked him a tiny bit. He was so used to being told it needed to stop; needed to improve. Now that someone said he had done nothing wrong was like a cool glass of water on a thirsty throat—filling a need he had no idea was there. Tucker blinked quickly at his knees, the only physical sign that this had affected him.
Again, this young woman shocked him by moving closer. He realized she was sitting by him. She had actually decided to sit by him. Tucker wasn’t a sucker for attention; he didn’t really mind not getting any, but the sudden attention he was receiving was surprising. He had gotten used to being overlooked, and this girl had no idea if he might try to kill her (not that he would)—he sure looked crazy enough. Tucker felt obligated to look at her, to thank her, but the crippling social anxiety stopped him. He would have to wage a bloody war to look her in the eyes again. It wasn’t that he was afraid of her. He definitely wasn’t afraid of her in the physical sense. Social contact usually meant some sort of relationship, and those always led to pain. So why should he participate? Shut up, shut up, but not really. Talk to her, just not like this, a vicious voice snarled in his head. Tucker gritted his teeth.
Somehow, digging deep within him, Tucker found the strength to look up. He refrained from sighing, and he didn’t want to be awkward, yet he knew that was inevitable. The young man froze when the girl spoke again, meeting his eyes. Elizabeth, he thought quietly to himself. Her name was a soft whisper, only making an impact because she talked to him like he was normal. Even if she sensed his sadness, even if she said it was going to be all right, she managed to treat him normally. Most patients would just pass him by. Being unfamiliar with “correct” social interactions, Tucker found responding to be another struggle—determination swelled in his mind, though.
“T-Tucker,” he said softly, holding her gaze then turning to face the opposite wall. “Y-your n-n-name . . . p-p-p-” at this he sighed, feeling defeated, but again determined. “P-p-pretty.” Feeling useless, frustrated, and angry, Tucker narrowed his eyes at the white wall. This is why he never talked, this is why no one talked to him. It was hard; it was way too hard.
will the ringing at night go away? |
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Post by Elizabeth Tailor on Mar 7, 2013 18:29:55 GMT -5
After she spoke, there was at first a silence. A deafening quiet not unlike the one before she saw him. He wasn't looking at her anymore, but down towards his knees. Again, he seemed so sad...she just wanted to hold him. But she shifted slightly, startled at the thought of her..holding and comforting a man. She had always been terrified of men because of her sexual abuse, and usually wanted to run from any and all males that she saw, but now she wanted to help one? It didn't make much sense to her, but despite this man's apparent quirks, she sensed no danger from him. It was an irrational thought, especially here in Ravenwood, where murders are present. This was a first for her, since the incidents. He was, to her, safe.
She noticed how he tensed as she spoke slightly, as if her words had caused a physical impact on his skin, making him wince. She felt the smallest bit guilty for making him feel bad, but pushed it away. She tilted her head slightly ever so slightly when he appeared shocked at her saying it was okay. What kind of monsters had this young man been around to make him not expect kindness? She could see his dark lashes blinking into his knees. It was endearing to her, but also made her miserable for him. If she could go back and try to right the wrong that was done to him, she would.
Elizabeth thought that he became even more rigid when he realized that she was near, but couldn't be sure. Of course he is. You're repulsive, he doesn't want to be anywhere near a fat girl like you. The single voice whispered frantically in her head. She balled her fists behind her back , not wanting him to see her weakness. She would not listen to the voice, she could not. It would kill her.
Then his striking blue eyes meet hers, as hypnotizing as before. She could stare at them all day if she had the chance. It was then that she realized how attractive he really was. She forgot about the demeaning voice in her head almost totally. Then the young male spoke again, to her surprise. After stuttering a bit, he told her his name. Tucker. She liked that name, a lot. Then he said that her name was pretty. It was a small, fleeting compliment which to most girls, would have been insignificant. But Elizabeth wasn't like most girls, that was for sure. Her heart dropped in her chest, and she flushed slightly, embarrassed. She couldn't remember the last time she received a compliment, no matter how small.
"I- uh,thanks..thank you." Now it was her who was stuttering. She was honestly flattered that he would say something so kind, despite the effort it took for him to speak up. But then he looked away at the wall, like he did something wrong again. "I like your name too, Tucker." She said, testing out his name with her lips. She liked how it rolled off her tongue, breaking the silence in the corridor. She smiled at him genuinely. She was glad she left the rec room.
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