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Post by Frederic Bourgault-Christie on May 31, 2006 14:31:32 GMT -5
It is a Saturday, one of the three days where the physical and mental rehabilitation efforts cease and the residents are allowed to rest. The residents of Goldview are wondering where Bruce DuLac has gone...
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Post by Mace Parshath on Dec 28, 2006 18:57:05 GMT -5
Adalina sits in the corner of her room, waiting for her pills, the purple ones that suppress mental activity and make you drowsy. She listens to the voices in her head without resistance, having given up the fight long ago. She leans forward, putting her hands under her chin and her elbows on her knees, wondering when the color purple would come into view.
Her eyes seem to wander, as if reading or writing something down, like scanning pages. But her room is sparse, there are no books to read nor any writing utensils to write with. She randomly giggles from time to time, or hisses as if threatened. Sometimes she just tilts her head to the side, curiously examining the so called 'imaginary' texts she constantly described to her psychologist, when she wasn't screaming or cussing at him.
Her short, cutely cut blonde hair gave her a fair amount of innocence and beauty, but the outreaching gaze of her eyes threw out the possible charm and replaced it with a disposition of insanity. Her body, while appealing and attractive to men, was veiled and covered by her hospital clothing, generic pants and a shirt like everyone else, with the fuzzy slippers on her feet. Both of the heads of the bunnies that had decorated the fronts of her slippers had been gnawed off, out of some random impulse she had from one of those foreign emotions invading her own. Maybe the nurse would bring something good for once...
She eyes the lightly scarred lengths of her fingers, inspecting her chewed, ragged finger nails and sniffs her pinky.
She bites it off...and chews it.
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