One

tick tock tick tock never say a word your voice is laced with magic your heart a fluttering bird tick tock tick tock no one can know tick tock tick tock he wants to steal your soul

ONE

There are 179 lines on my wall-a gray one of the cement brick variety. There's a line for every day that I've been here. I spend my days murdering the minutes as they walk into the small cell that has been my home. You see I've been waiting

                        and waiting

and waiting

and waiting

I've been waiting for so long that sometimes, when the thought occurs to me, I forget why I'm here. But I can't don’t like to think about that. I pass my time by counting the ceiling tiles.

256

I count the number of gray dots the cement floor.

789,708,769

And, when that begins to bore me, I count the seconds that pass, making a small etch in the wall (away from my day count) for every hour. I'm crazy, it’s true, because if you hear something enough times you start to believe it, right? Right. I'm broken, bloody, bleeding out numbers so I don’t have to face the train that is reality hurtling toward me at full speed. Like a tree I'm rooted in place, unable to move out of the way.

Unable to save myself.

There's a leak in my room. In the right corner, right under the pathetic slab of nearly opaque plastic they call a window. Water is dripping in, collecting in a tiny lake on the floor. I call it Lake Chagrin, because it always brings on a deep feeling of frustration. Dripping, dripping, dripping. All day-it is the only sound I hear.

That is, besides the screaming.

I'm not sure if they are real or if I've finally lost it. I've already lost it, though. A sharp knock on my door and my eyes drag themselves across the room and toward the large metal door. A small trey is shoved through the narrow slot at the bottom. I'm mildly surprised to find that it is what appears to be a thick shake with a clean, white straw-the kind that would fit through the hole in the front of my muzzle.

What's the special occasion? Maybe they're finally going to kill me. You see I'm on death row. And it may or may not involve the death of a certain deserving a*****e. The governor of the New (new new new new new) World was my uncle. I say was because he is now dead. I killed him. The b*****d deserved it. Closing my eyes I lay back on my pile of springs mattress and pretend I can't feel the metal digging into my back.

Sleep little angel don’t you cry.

Sleep little child the day is done.

No one can hurt you in your dreams.

A voice drifts through the building and for a moment I wonder if I had just imagined it. But there it came again, a soft baritone melody-sweet and pure. It burned my ears; I rolled onto my side and squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my hands to my ears so hard it hurt.

Sleep little angel don’t you cry.

Sleep little child the day is done.

No one can hurt you in your dreams.

“Stop it.” I want to scream say, but I haven’t spoken in 179 days. They say I'm cursed, that I'm a witch, that I'm a demon. They should just kill me before the puddle in the corner of my room gets big enough for me to drown myself in.  But, you see, that would be a rather grisly task. Assuming the water level ever rose to the designated height there would still be the slight problem of my muzzle. No use in drowning yourself if a crude muzzle made out of suffocating rubber that keeps you from talking-keeps you from taking a deep breath-is in the way.

They call me Silvertongue.

Author's Note

Any criticism is welcome

Reviews

[Ashley]

Wonderfully written. The only issue I had was the line, ( I've already lost it, though.) He wonders if he's "lost it" then says he has. It's not a big issue, it just stops me while reading. and the bit about the deserving b*****d. The whole entry, your character feels detached. Like he's going or already gone insane, then this one bit, "The b*****d deserved it." is the only moment of strong emotion. The only explanation is that the Uncle is important to the future story, but if he is, then just a bit more info is needed or else I'll forget he had an uncle he killed. If he's not important, then I'd lose the b*****d.
Love the entry. I look forward to reading more. Hope I've helped!

[Grey Grimly]

I'll take a look at that part, thank you! Also, your review has brought up a fear I had. The main character is a girl not a boy. Any suggestions on how I can make that known without coming outright and saying it?

[Ashley]

I'm not sure. They usually separate the sexes in prisons or psych wards, so you can insert that there is nothing but women with her. Or that the other screams are feminine. You can describe the other girls in a way that describes the main character. Since she knows nothing about them, she could wonder if they're anything like her.

[Grey Grimly]

Oh that's great. Thank you :)