~used as a greeting~

[Heavily unedited]

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      There were times when Madeline had always wondered what freedom felt like, what it tasted like actually. She imagined it tasting something akin to lemon- sour and bitter- and sometimes, on good days, she felt it tasted like a peach. She found it oddly comforting that she would never get to taste freedom- she hated fruits.

Madeline slowly brought her food to her chapped lips, eating it slowly and feeling the vile taste spread through her mouth. She looked down at it with disgust and spat it out; landing the barely chewed food on the table along with the rest.

"You need to eat". Madeline heard his voice before she saw him. He had curly black hair and was extremely pale- pale enough that she could see the blue veins run up his arms. She turned her head forward.

"It's none of your business", she said. The boy huffed and sat beside her, scraping the chair noisily which made Madeline wince. She could feel his stare at the side of her head and she shifted uncomfortably.

"What type are you?"

Madeline paused. "What?"

The boy raised a full eyebrow, his lips turning down in question. "What type are you?" he repeated.

Madeline fidgeted on her seat, peeling the skin around her fingers. "A. I'm type A" she whispered. She turned to look at the boy to see his face blank and emotionless.

He shrugged. "Cool," He picked up his food and started chewing, letting little crumbs splutter out from his lips. He was a messy eater, Madeline thought. Her lips twitched.

"I'm Ben", he said. "And I'm a type C"

Madeline nodded. She wasn't surprised that he was. Usually, the people that were the craziest and most paranoid were put in type A. They were being watched closely, close enough to actually detect any abnormal happenings. They were the ones that were least dangerous, but funny enough, they were treated like they were. And that alone made Madeline's chest constrict in loneliness and pain. She had never felt peace before. It surely wouldn't start now.

She jiggled the handcuff that was attached to the table and clasped to her wrist with a sigh. Her wrists have been throbbing a lot more. "You don't know my name", she said.

Ben smiled. "Madeline right?" he asked. Madeline's eyes were wide as saucers. "How..."

"I know everyone. There really isn't much one can do when you are stuck in here" he said, cutting her off.

He went on. "I feel like we should all be put into one room, just for the fun of it. We are treated like prisoners here, not to mention the food tastes like something a dog wouldn't eat" he re-crossed his arms with a grunt. "I came here when I was seven you know? I was caught talking to myself and I was reported. My brother reported me, said I was being crazy and absurd. And strangely, I had always had a strong fascination with sharp objects. I cut my wrists one day."

He turned to face her, a sullen expression on his face. "I swore that it was a mistake, I blamed it on my clumsiness as a seven-year-old. My brother didn't believe me- he said I was trying to kill myself and if I did kill myself, it wouldn't be under his roof."

He shot her a sarcastic smile. "You can tell we truly were the best brothers in the world right?"

She didn't smile. "Where were your parents?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Dead and buried six feet under. And do you know who killed them?"

She shook her head.

"Nigel, my brother," he said with monotony.

She gasped, clenching her fists hard until her nails bit into her palm. She opened them. There were crescent-shaped red marks in them, some faded, some recent.

"They thought I was mad and crazy. Nigel disowned me the day he killed them. He said I wasn't his brother. He said that a real brother would have helped him to kill our parents, our parents who he had completely hated. Instead, I watched him stab our parents. I was seven and I watched my parents get killed." He shook his head humourlessly. "Nigel told the police that I was being weird. He lied about our parents and said we were orphans. I guess that is why they put me in type C- they pitied me."

"Why are you telling me all these?" she asked.

He stared at her for a long time. "It's because I feel like we can relate to our experiences," he said with a shrug. "And I have a feeling that one day you would come to realise that and tell me your own story"

She barely held back a snort.

"We're thirty in total in group C. How many are in group A?"

She looked down at her wrists in silence. "I'm the only one"

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And then they meet.

Thanks for reading!

-Ada