The Young Institution

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A few nights ago, I was having trouble sleeping. This story popped into my mind, and I felt the need to write it down. I've never shown my writing to anyone before, so I'm not sure how others are going to react.

It was inspired by a picture I saw of a long, white hallway with a red exit sign at the end.

This is basically the beginning of a long story, but I'm not sure whether I should continue with it. It'd be a fantasy, but not for young children.

It might get a bit twisted when it details the girl's past.

Maybe later I'll go into detail about that feeling of unease.

By the way, when I published it, the formatting of the paragraphs went a bit weird. Anyway, I'm not sure how to fix it, so regardless of the odd spacing... Enjoy.

Submitted: February 12, 2011

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Submitted: February 12, 2011



The cat flap on the door was pushed open by a gnarled hand holding an off-white plastic bowl. The bowl was dropped ungraciously and the flap swung shut. The girl listened to the fading sound of brisk footsteps.

The girl paused, sighed, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She wrinkled her nose at the sight of the thick soup.
‘Again,’ she muttered. She stumbled towards the door, wiping sleep from her eyes, and picked up the bowl. She walked to the window, and stuck the bowl through a gap in the bars. The majority of the soup spilled on the window ledge, but she flung it into the distance anyway. The bowl landed in a dilapidated fountain and she watched in satisfaction as the colours ran through the water.
A balding man of short stature appeared around the corner of the building, and stopped at the sight of the fountain. He glanced up at the window to see the outline of the girl, watching him. He shuddered. Something about the girl with the bright shock of red hair and piercing grey eyes always seemed to be wrong, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He turned on the spot, in the direction of the building’s entrance.
Just minutes later, the girl listened to the rattling of the door handle. An inhuman shriek came from the other side of the door. The girl smirked at the sight of the chair tucked under the handle, but the grin didn’t quite reach her empty eyes. She sprawled on her bed and listened to the fruitless attempts of the intruder. Perhaps at last I can get some peace, she thought as she closed her eyes.
The girl could hear a shrill, piercing voice, screaming profanities and threats.
“I told you she needs to be in a high-security room! We might as well chain her furniture to the damn floor!”
The door burst open, and the girl was greeted by the sight of a short, plump woman with a face as red as beetroot, dry black hair hanging out of its usual orderly bun in strands. Behind the woman she could see the balding man with a crowbar in hand and a scowl fixed on his face.
The woman stormed towards the girl, grabbed a fistful of her red hair and dragged her towards the door, pushing the man out of the way. The ironically named Ms Young remembered the day she found this girl.

Ms Young appeared at the end of the corridor, and froze at the sight before her. The girl was a mess. Her face was streaked with tears, and she was leaning against a row of lockers, with her knees pulled up to her chest. The girl’s eyes were fixed on the unconscious petite blonde girl lying still in front of her. Tears rolled down the redhead’s face, but she remained silent.

Ms Young blinked, and shook her head. She limped towards the shell of a girl and said monotonously, ‘Get up.’ The girl showed no response. Ms Young repeated her words, to no avail. She muttered under her breath, tired of the problems her job presented. She reached for the girl’s hand to pull her up, and started at the feeling of unease that spread through her at the girl’s touch. This child was different.

The woman tried to pull back her hand, but the girl wouldn’t release it. She wouldn’t tear her eyes from the blonde girl, either. The woman placed herself in the girl’s line of sight, and saw a flicker in the girl’s eyes. At first the woman feared a reaction, but the girl simply pursed her lips and closed her eyes. The woman tugged the girl’s hand again and led her down the hallway. She didn’t understand this ominous feeling rapidly spreading through her, but she
ignored it.
To that day the feeling of unease lingered whenever Ms Young looked at the girl. She averted her eyes and tried to pull the girl through the doorway. The girl collapsed limply to the floor. Ms Young sighed, grabbed the girl’s arm and dragged her through the hallway to room C17.
The girl’s visits to room C17 were the few occasions during which she displayed any fear. At the sight of the door she whimpered and pulled weakly in the other direction, but the older woman’s grip on her arm was firm. The woman yanked the door open with her free hand and tossed the girl in.
The girl gritted her teeth, and waited for the numbness to set in.

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