Aberrant: 200X - Days turn blue to gray

[Fahrenheit]

23-03-1998 – Somewhere in Germany

Days turn blue to gray...

Sascha stared out of the tiny window in her cell. Clouds gathered and darkened the sky and she felt today was a special day.

She turned around and her gaze fell on the high-security door just across the room... or cube, as she referred to it. For the last 4 years it was the only space she knew besides the ‘walks’ she had to take in the asylums park. It was a beautiful park for sure if it wasn’t for her being literally imprisoned there.

Her daily dosage of sedatives and medications had been already administered to her but somehow the full effect didn’t deploy today. Instead she felt her just underneath her skin... waiting patiently to be unleashed. It was a long time she felt her... it was a long time she heard from her... it was a long time she felt the urge...

The red light in her cell turned on and almost as if it was a automated process she turned around to face the wall and put her hands on her back. Then she slowly slided into a crouching position with her knees balancing her against the wall. As her head brow settled on the cold wall she spoke out monotonously “Ready when you are, Dr. Silberman”

The door opened with a heavy clacking sound and in stepped two guards and an elderly man in a Doctors apron. He nodded to the guards who proceeded to lay Sascha in chains, making sure that both her hands and her feet didn’t give much space but for little steps to walk. One guard behind her and one guard to her left she started to walk outside of her cell and turned to the left down the hallway which led to the asylums Park.

“No, Ms. Kindler... the other way, please” objected Dr. Silberman and took the lead down the hallway to the right which led to a simple white door - Dr. Silbermans office. Sascha wasn’t sure if yet another year had passed and she was due for her psychological exam but she turned nonetheless and followed Dr. Silberman.

“Take your seat, Ms. Kindler.”, said Dr. Silberman, pronouncing the last syllable as he sat down himself. “You know the procedure, so lets get this started.” He took a small sip of his glass of water and opened a file folder containing Saschas medical history.

“Do you still believe that there is an entity in your subconscious mind, waiting to be released in a blaze of fire?” his voice sounding mockingly.

Sascha knew the procedure all too well and she knew no matter what she said, she could never convince Dr. Silberman of her mental stability. Today it didn’t seem to matter, though. She knew the truth, she felt it.

Dr. Silberman massaged the bridge of his nose, rubbed his forehead, and looked back at the young woman seated in front of him. He snapped the file shut. She remained silent. He slowly shook his head.

"Well, Ms Kindler, it really matters little," he said, "as your delusions are atypical and, as far as I am concerned, untreatable."

He watched her for a reaction to this declaration. When he got none, he sighed.

"Yes, Sascha...after so many years, I may call you Sascha? I have given up on you. You should be functional, but are not; on the other hand you have all the classic symptoms of MPD- Multiple Personaility Disorder- except that you have never manifested this, this 'other personality'."

He rose from his chair, lit a cigarette,watching her closely. He nodded to himself and walked around the desk. He leaned against it.

"I am baffled by you, I must tell you. Fire fixation, pyromania, yet no response whatever to fires set by others. A true pyromaniac would be fascinated by my cigarette. You pay no attention to it whatever. I just...do not know."

He looked at the tip of his cigarette. Crushed it out in the ashtray on his desk. Motioned the orderlies forward, handed off the file to one. He looked at Sascha with something approaching compassion. Was it...pity?

"You are being transferred today, Sascha, to the Institute for the Criminally Insane. Someone has finally noticed that you have become a woman, and we can no longer hold you with other juveniles. The I.C.I is....different. If we were progressing at all with your treatment, I would find a reason to keep you here, but..."

He looked at her for a long moment, then glanced at an orderly and nodded quickly.

"I wish you all the luck, Sascha."

Sascha felt a sting in her shoulder, and turned. The orderly was withdrawing a hypodermic needle. Dr. Silberman had turned, as though she were already gone.

"I'm afraid you will need it."

The orderlies began lifting her out of her chair.

The constant dripping of water on cold stone echoed through Sascha’s mind. Her body ached all over, even breathing felt painful and exhaustive. The cell was dimly lit and she could hear the squeals of rats scurrying around. She felt an odd itching pain on the back of her head and reached with her hand to feel for it and realised that she was shaved bald.

She tried to stand up but the pain in her legs was unbearable. Gritting her teeth she managed to pull herself across the floor to her bed tears running down her cheeks both of frustration and pain. Obviously she was thrown forcefully into the cell and not taken care for where she landed. Bloodstains gave the floor an eerie sense of doom... as if she would never make it out of there alive.

Almost screaming from the pain she managed to drag herself on the bed before she lost consciousness and oblivion darkened her mind.

Visions of flame and fire coursed through her subconscious mind. Fire was virtually everywhere - in space, on the streets and in the darkest corners of her soul. Encircled by lashing flames Sascha tried not to be burned and to her surprise the fire didn’t harm her. The dancing flames slowly formed a face vaguely resembling hers and spoke just one word. "Burn"

Her waking dream, a common one for her, was pleasurable and varied little. The vision of being one with the fire, unconsumed by its heat, came to her daily. At least. This time, as she reveled in its majesty (and took a break from her depressing reality), she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched.

She shook her head, to deny the feeling, but it came stronger than ever. The woman in flames that she saw became stern and looked at Sascha as if to reprimand her for almost dissapating the vision. Sascha basked in her fire, uncaring who may be seeing her.

Without warning, a man walked through the fiery woman of her subconscious. He, too, was bathed in flame, a white hot plasma utterly unlike the flame of her other self. Light crowned his red hair. His green eyes pierced her where she lay. Incongruously, he wore a purple polo shirt untucked over jeans.

Sascha moaned. She tried reflexively to turn away from his stare, but could not.

"Do not fear," he said. His lips did not move, but she heard him speak with her entire body. She fought to respond.

"I- I-"

"Be silent, woman," he said sharply. This time his lips did move, and she only heard him with her ears.

"I do not speak to you," he continued, "you are but the shell. I speak to one yet unborn."

Again, she heard him in her bones, "Be not afraid, beautiful one. I know of your pain, and how unbearable it is for you to be trapped in such a vessel. Soon, very soon, your waiting will be at an end."

He stepped forward, and gently touched his finger to Sascha's forehead. A smile curved his lips.

"I too, know how hard it is to be Chosen."

A clanging sound indicated the imminent opening of the door. Sascha glanced at the door involuntarily. When she looked back, she saw only her cell.

The orderly came in with a tray and his baton. The baton was tipped with two metal prongs, like a miniature cattle prod. Sascha had already felt its sting.

The orderly set the tray on the floor of the cell. He eyed her speculatively, his gaze crawling over the curve of her hip and sliding up to the swell of her breasts. His lips curled in something akin to a smile.

"New girl, huh?" he asked rhetorically, "Well, eat up, new girl. You're gonna be needing your strength, around here."

When Sascha made no move towards the food on the floor, the greasy smile fell from his face.

"Might do you some good to make a friend, too. I can be a good friend to have, new girl like you."

He glanced over his shoulder, out of the cell. Whatever he saw, she saw him decide not to push it right now. He looked back at Sascha.

"You think about it. New girls are only new for so long."

The door clanged shut behind him.

For once Sascha wished she was sedated. The pain was not unbearable but strong enough to impede her movement. She looked at the tray unsure if she should give it a try or puke. Sitting up on her bed which took almost all the strength she had recovered from her unconscious sleep she tried to steady herself gripping the frame under her thighs with her hands. The pictures of her vision were still tangible and the voice of the man had etched itself into her brain right where he touched her head.

Sascha had lost all sense of time but she had found what she was looking for all her life instead. A reason for her misery, for all the years of neglect and abuse. She smiled involuntarily – Dr. Silberman was right after all but did that make her less crazy? She rubbed her forehead trying to get rid of a nagging pain that had settled between her eyes. Staring at the bars she felt exhaustion overwhelm her again and she blissfully fell asleep.

“Time’s up!”, the orderly yelled at her. Sascha felt like she hadn’t slept longer than 5 minutes. Her eyes burned from the light and she couldn’t adjust her focus. Almost blinded she felt two strong and sweaty hands grab her and throw her against a wall ripping her shirt half off her. With a sickening smacking sound she collapsed to the floor. Not yet unconscious from the impact she heard heavy boots approach her.

“Told ya, girls are only new for so long”, the orderly picked her up and twisted her around with relative ease and uncanny skill – as if he was doing this kind of thing a lot. “Meet your new best friend, bitch”, the orderly removed her pants and underwear with a quick jerk. Just as he was about to enter her forcefully Sascha managed to squeeze out of his grip kicking blindly at the orderly’s crotch missing it by a few inches. Surprised by Sascha’s sudden resolve the orderly stumbled backwards while Sascha tried to steady herself against the wall.

“Help!!!”, she yelled from the top of her lungs as she desperately tried to get as much space between her and her tormentor. The orderly recovered quickly and picked up his baton. “It’s a waste of breath, bitch. No one hears you, I’m the only one around.” He smiled wickedly and raised his baton taking good aim at her legs. “This is going to be one hell of a session you’ll never forget, I promise.”

The noonday sun shined in through the mesh on her small window. There was no darkness to hide the act. Sascha lay on her belly on the floor of her cell. Her shirt was ripped, and pulled up to her shoulders. Her pants and underpants were pulled down to her knees. Her cheek was already starting to bruise, but she knew that was the least of her problems.

The orderly pointed the baton at her legs and pressed the stud. An arc of electricity ran between the two prongs at its end.

His lustful expression was warped with rage, and he looked like an inmate of the asylum, instead of a caretaker there. His erection thrust before him like an accusation. His own pants puddled around his ankles, and he walked towards her on his knees.

"Here it comes, bitch. Lesson one, " he panted

He thrust the end of the baton into her calf. Instantly her body went rigid, as 40,000 volts passed through her body. He held the baton there far longer than necessary, then released the stud. She collapsed limply to the floor. He cackled at his success, and lurched forward on his knees.

She couldn't move, her body was incapable of responding. He tossed the baton aside, literally drooling with anticipation. He yanked her pants off the rest of the way, and jerked her behind up into the air, so that she rested on her knees. He leaned over and panted in her ear.

"Oh, oh, oh, and I'm going to enjoy lesson two. Hehn...hehn- I don't think you will, though...hehnheh..." He prepared to enter her as violently as possible.

An explosion rocked the asylum. White light burst through the window, blinding them both. It lasted several seconds, then was gone. Distantly, an alarm began to sound. They both heard the footsteps running down the hallway. The orderly lurched to his feet, his penis wilting quickly.

"Wha-" he began. Wildly, he looked at her. Looked down at himself. He bent, and yanked his pants up. He buckled his belt furiously. He scooped up his baton on his way to the door.

"This ain't over. Not by a long fucking way, it aint." He opened the cell door, went through it. It clanged behind him.

Sascha lay for a long time, tears streaming down her cheeks. She started to giggle, then chuckle. Finally, she rolled onto her back and howled with laughter.

Maybe she was getting crazy. Sascha remained on the floor and looked at the ceiling. She barely felt the cold stone floor or the bruises of her encounter with the ‘caretaker’. Though her body ached all over she couldn’t remove the smile on her face. Her breaths got interrupted by uncontrollable fits of chuckling and laughter. It felt like an out-of-body experience. The same thing people who lay in a coma described. Sascha registered the world around her through an odd haze of dreamy fog. Her movement strangely delayed from the decision to the actually motion.

From the distance she could hear the alarm and the clacking of boots. Something has happened... something that had spared her from getting raped. She wondered if all this was making sense. If the dream she had was connected to this. Her mouth was dry and she bled from her nose but she didn’t cared. The rhythmic sounds around her carried her thoughts away and she remembered a song she heard years ago.

She's not a girl who misses much.

Do do do do do do, oh yeah

She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand

Like a lizard on a window pane.

The man in the crowd with the multicolored mirrors

On his hobnail boots

Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy

Working overtime

A soap impression of his wife which he ate

And donated to the National Trust.

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down.

Down to the bits that I left uptown.

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down.

Mother Superior jump the gun

Mother Superior jump the gun

Mother Superior jump the gun

Mother Superior jump the gun.

Happiness is a warm gun

(bang, bang, shoot shoot)

Happiness is a warm gun

When I hold you in my arms

And I feel my finger on your trigger

I know nobody can do me no harm

Because happiness is a warm gun.

Yes it is

Humming its melody she smiled to herself "Yes it is..."

(OOC:Lyrics taken from Tori Amos - Happiness is a warm gun)

The disjointed feeling did not go away. She didn't know how long she sat there, humming and interrupting herself with laughter, but it felt like a cleansing eternity. She rocked back and forth, and hugged her secrets tight.

The vision came to her again. Not suddenly, like usual...it just sort of drifted up. Her other self, wreathed in fire, walked toward her. The air pressure in the room seemed to change when Sascha saw her. The finger pointed. The woman spoke as always, said the only thing Sascha had ever heard her say.

"Burn!"

Sascha thought about it for a moment. While she thought, the door clanged and began to open. Her attacker had returned.

*****

The orderly grinned at the sight of the new girl cowering in the corner. She might have thought he forgot, or was scared. He didn't get scared. Once he saw that the staff was watching the news, all about some satellite, he knew for sure no one would come down here anytime soon.

His lust had cooled, but he felt himself getting hot all over again. He stepped forward.

"Where were we?"

She just looked up at him, a blank expression on her face. He frowned a bit. That wasn't right. She was gonna react to him. He took off his belt, and wrapped the end around his fist. The buckle dangled. He moved closer to her.

*****

Permission, she decided. That is what her other was giving her. Relief flooded her body, and she saw the man standing over her. Over his shoulder, her other self whispered to her.

"burn."

Sascha grinned. She spoke aloud.

"Okay."

Again she felt droplets of water on her skin. It felt alien and her skin didn’t get wet. Instead the droplets which were heralding the rain they’ve been birthed from evaporated the moment they touched her. Reaching for her head images of an inferno and the bright light of the sun flashed through her mind. Sascha tried to focus on her surroundings but only managed to smell something akin to tar.

The images kept disorienting her, as if she was assaulted by flashlights. Eachtime an image burnt into her eyes, the caretaker’s face distorted in agony, melting metal bars and strangely deformed plastic tables. The images seemed to come directly out of a Salvador Dali painting. Sascha didn’t know how she came to her feet and she stumbled around trying to reach out for something to hold on to when she suddenly stopped sobered up by surprise… or was it shock? She stared at her hands which were a crimson red but the color was slowly fading away until it resembled her normal rather pale complexion. Looking around she had difficulties to process what she saw… a huge crater of molten concrete – and she was standing right in the middle of it.

“Oh my god…”, the images flashed again through her mind and as if that wasn’t frightening enough she started to hear voices or screams to be more precise, deathscreams. “It was…”, she couldn’t finish the sentence but the truth dawned on her. She relinquished to the voice in her head and what she saw now was the consequence of it… of losing control. Terrified by the damage she had caused Sascha started to run unaware that her clothes had been burned off her body, too.