An endless passageway.
A white ceiling.
A cold marble white floor.
Grey walls.
No windows.
Only locked doors with horrible things behind them.
My bare feet felt heavy, it took a lot of effort to walk, to keep on going without collapsing.
This is hell.
And I need to escape.
My eyelids also felt heavy, but I can't close them.
How long haven't I slept? How long couldn't I sleep because I was to terrified for my dreams? My nightmares? The memories of my experiences in this hell, the pain, the tears, the screams...
It was good that I had found space in the steel bars of my bed where I spit the sleeping drug in that those sadistic people always forced in my mouth, an advantage I'd learn in the asylum.
The asylum... how stupid I were that I thought that that was hell, before the asylum, the time that I had spend alone in the orphanage was hell for me, and before that it was the time with my father.
It seems that my life can only get worse and worse...
I just can't get a bit of happiness in my life apparently...
Although I really think this time that there isn't a place worse than here.
I clutched my left hand tighter around my right upper arm, the blood kept sliding through my fingers, across my arm, past my fingertips and dripped on the marble white floor where the red drops stood out.
How long have I been walking?
Haven't they noticed the dead bodies in my cell yet?
Haven't they noticed yet that some of their cruel colleagues were missing?
How long have I even been in this place?
Longer than a year...
2 years? 3? 4? Maybe even 5...
I've lost track of time completely, but why would you even think of unimportant things like time if crazy people were stabbing and drugging you?
The front of my toes scratched against the floor, nearly causing me to fall.
My sight blurred for a moment, I rested my left shoulder against the wall, resting for a moment.
The pain my body was in felt ten times worse now that I've stopped moving.
Though it never could match my mental pain I couldn't help but wince and double up.
I turned around so I could rest my whole back against the wall, flinching when the wall pressed against the countless burn marks and whiplashes on my back, causing the recent ones to sting.
Screams and pleading of the new kids reached my ears, I turned my lifeless gaze towards the door across me, a young girls voice screamed bloody murder when the sound of metal cutting through flesh sounded behind the door.
I looked down, though I was clothed in a thin article of garment that looked like a hospital robe, you could clearly see the outlines of countless stitches, holding the flesh of my own stab wounds together.
I took a deep breath and waited for the girls' scream to get even louder, to get higher in pitch as she would be in incredible, unbearable pain.
The moment when they would put acid and salt on the burning open wounds.
For a moment it was silent behind the door, I could imagine how the girl was staring wide eyed at the small labeled bottles of acid and other liquids that would hurt insanely if it would come in touch with skin.
How the girl was shaking uncontrollably against the strappings that were holding her against the table and were preventing her from escaping or take a swing at the approaching person.
How the girl was silently pleading to the person with her silent tears and begging expression, how she was praying to god that this was all just a nightmare where she would wake up out any moment.
How she was to scared and shocked to scream as the person held the bottles above her wounds, how she clutched her eyes and tried to make it stop with her will...
I could imagine myself...
Then it came.
That scream filled with unbearable pain.
That scream from when the acids and salt hit the already burning flesh.
The people who did this were demons, helpers of the devil himself who build this hell.
That's how everyone in this forsaken place saw them.
But they called themselves “doctors”, they all wore the same, long white coats that reached their ankles, white caps, thin plastic white gloves, white masks that covered their mouths, white shoes and they all wore the same pair of round shaped glasses that hid their eyes from the world to finish the “doctor” image they created.
Bunch of sadistic, heartless demons...
Itachi pitched up from his lying position, immediately opening several fresh and poorly bandaged wounds on his back and stomach.
He held a hand on his forehead and was panting heavily, as if he just ran a marathon.
“Dammit...” He muttered while the headlights of a car that passed by the window ran across his face.
Itachi quickly glanced across the room, making sure he really was resting place, he would never call this shithole his home but he always returned to this particular place to hide for the many cops.
“Ey mate...” A low voice grunted from a dark corner.
The raspy voice belonged to a hobo, Itachi snorted, why did those damn useless homeless people resemble cockroaches so much?
“Ya won't mind if I crash here for a while? Eh mate?” The hobo hold up a bottle of wine with a huge drunken smile plastered on his ugly, hairy face.
That damn guy didn't even know he was in the presence of the most wanted criminal! What a insult for Itachi's image!
Itachi's hand immediately shot to the unstable, wooden table next to the uncomfortable bed he was lying on, coming to the conclusion that one of his guns wasn't lying on it like it was supposed to do.
“Oi! I... Ergh... borrowed that piece 'o metal... hahaha...”
Itachi shot a dead glare to the man, his eyes flashed red while his desires to kill this stupid guy increased.
The man wasn't drunken enough to not notice the dead glare.
The man shuffled from side to side while scratching the back of his head.
“Ehehehe... Funny story mate! Ergh... Mah friend... Good guy, but smells like sewer water and brain like a peanut... Ergh...” The man rambled along over this 'friend', obviously trying to draw some more time for his pitiful small brains drowning in liquor to come up with a good enough excuse to the question why the heck Itachi's gun was gone.
In Itachi's presence however, he was actually trying to draw enough time to keep on living.
Itachi took in the guy's appearance, he had small green eyes, a dirty dark brown long beard, under the beard Itachi could make out a stitched scar that went from his mouth corners to somewhere under his ears, he had filthy, long slick dark hair that hung in greasy wisps around his face, he wore a gray shirt covered in stains with a thin, brown jacket over it, a pair of black pants that were to short and had uneven length at the legs, to finish his poorly appearance he wore ripped, woolen gloves and a pair of dirty sneakers were his toes stuck out.
“...And money is the most important thing in the ole world! *hick* 'Thout money... Ur... Nuthing! Nuthing I say!...”
Itachi had about enough of this guy so he reached under his mattress for an other gun, Itachi's eyes widened when his hand touched nothing but... the mattress.
Now, Itachi was quite literally shaking with hold back anger.
“...You....” Itachi grumbled with a tone that would scare anyone away.
“Name's 'Kuzu!... Wait... Ergh... Ka! Kakuzu!... Ya... That it...”
Now Itachi had really enough of this stupid guy, he just discovered that even his reserve guns in a box under the bed, and all his bullets were gone.
Itachi jumped out of his bed, grabbed the unstable wooden table by one of it's legs and smacked it against the wall so that he was only holding one of it's wooden legs.
And so, a new weapon to smack this guy to a bloody gory pulp was born.
And it was damn sure that Itachi would enjoy seeing the brains of this Kakuzu guy, if the guy even had brains, being smashed under the strength of the wooden leg coming down on it.
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Chapter end notes: To Be Continued...