I have lost sleep on countless nights trying to come up with an idea that can capture more than the usual ?damsel in distress?, ?revenge?, ?sci-fi?, or ?the lemon without a plot?, (Even though those are one of my favorites)
. I decided to try something new. Don?t sue. It?s hard enough with your parents comparing what they do to what you do all day. Sorry, I?m still a blooming ?business lady? to them, and as hard as it already is, I will be chained to the family business FOREVER! 
On a higher note: I would like to dedicate whatever meaning this might later on develop to all the excellent writers that have inspired me to challenge myself and rebel against my parents wishes: Leia Avenrose, Zapenstap, blackrose, Ice Princess, Morrighan, lady Casper, Tomorrow. You guys rock and make me feel like it?s my birthday all over again when you post!
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- ABANDONED SOULS: (PRELUDE: "WHERE WE LEFT OFF")
By: Aisha Kafati
Rating:R
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Drip-Drip-Drip?the mop great Bill was carrying around looked small in comparison to his huge and wide frame which filled up most of the old and decrepit hallway. Dorothy found herself once again fighting between turning around and giving up the idea of taking a stroll around the institutes gardens, the only perimeters she was deemed allowed to cross, or going through Bill, at the risk of receiving an uncalled for beating, just because he could.
It was customary for the wardens at this particular mental hospital for females to be used to such thoughts and possibilities. She had arrived 7 and a half months prior to the day and had not yet found herself adapting to the place the way the other patients seemed to be doing so. As if, they knew they had no chance in overruling the system and that they would only receive beatings and punishment for their rebellious ways.
The mental institute was widely recognized for being one of the few that offered a cure to the common disease of insanity (that was often the case after a war) and for housing very prominent figures such as poets and widely recognized painters of the abstract. Dorothy believed they were most famous for their hypocrisy and their ability to keep the ?patients? quiet even in the face of torture. Yeah?she had been there before; she had had a taste of what they referred to as punishment. She was not prepared for the grueling ordeal of having to be strapped to a bed where the linens, constantly washed of the smeared blood of a thousand patients before her, bit into her skin and rubbed it raw in places where they stubbornly stuck to her like leeches. In a mix of her own blood and sweat, she found herself time and time again convulsing from the large amount of electric shocks that were forced through her body.
Ever since she had escaped her welcomed death at Libra, the authorities had forced her into seclusion at a mental hospital. The after effects of the zero system included momentary visions and mental spasms where she would lose the connection she had with reality for brief instances.
She could still remember feeling lost, crumbled up in a ball while sirens went off in the distance. She could still faintly make out Quatre?s voice through the chaos, it was soothing and soft, but the minute it was there, it was suddenly gone. Before she had a chance to move her weary eyes in the direction he took, she found herself suddenly being harshly hauled up by her arms while they apprehended her.
The trial was quick and effective, she didn?t stand a chance at survival, the only thing the jury saw in her was a lost soul from the war, and she didn?t deserve second chances. She didn?t expect pity, and certainly not compassion. No, why would they care about her? Who was she to the 19 randomly picked people in the jury, nobody.
But, the judge and the poor excuse for a lawyer she was given managed to let her off on a small charge or misdemeanor for mental instability. She could?ve been put on death row, sent to prison, beheaded, but they decided that she was to receive treatment and someday be released in a better condition. Dorothy did not feel that she was going to get any better by being placed in a loony bin where she would eventually rot away and maybe assimilate her surroundings. The results of the trial caused her to loose whatever she had claim over in her grandfathers will. Broke and declared mad by the judge, they had no other choice but to place her in the mental institute she was currently in, left with false hopes of recovery.
By the time her mental battle with herself was over, Bill seemed to be looming over her with every intention of banging her head in with the mop. It sounded kind of funny being beaten up by a mop, but with Bill, she never took her chances. She managed to skid around his left at the last possible minute, only to fall over while he purposely stuck it in her way. All she managed to catch was a few guffaws and smirks, as he walked away, but not before getting to place a good kick at he ribs. Even as she lay still on the ground she found the situation to be quite funny. How was it that she, a former member of the White Fang, could be knocked senseless with a broom by a mere brute? She had long lost her passion for fighting; all that remained now was a fake imitation of the real Dorothy Catalonia.
As she regained her senses and tried to lift her head to search her surroundings, she found out that 1 of her ribs was fractured and a couple bruised, the air was tough on her lungs as she gasped out and took a breath. She wobbled up to a half leaning position against the matted yellow wall, with the peeling wallpaper covered in pink flowers. Making a sound of pain and disgust she moved toward the far end of the hallway where the meager hospital gardens were located. As she took a while to breathe in the small bit of natural air she could, she began to make her way to the rotted tree she called her own. The moss was heavy at the bottom and it made for a great cushion to sit on and reflect about nothing at all, just lie in the sun while the flies blew around her in the heavy air.
Her long billowy skirt served little purpose in protection. It was starchy and sticky from use and sweat. The neckline was conservative; it was sleeveless and had a few buttons in the front to hold it together. It was supposed to be white, but she could not make out a single color pattern at all. It was yellowish under the arms due to the sweat that it had engulfed from the many patients before her, and then it kind of grayed out.
Her eyes were still the same icy blue as before, but were dulled with weariness and time. Her eyebrows had been shaved clean from the health inspector of the hospital, they had wanted to chop her hair off but she had managed to save that as a token from her past to remember by. She had also grown impossibly thin from the lack of nutrition and she bore a pale countenance from being kept indoors by her superiors.
As she lay down on the soft grass she turned her eyes to the sky and then closed them, trying to recapture his eyes and the way he had looked in Libra, just before another one of those Gundam pilots had taken him away. He had been wounded, by her. But she did not miss the last look of warmth that he had given her. She was confused by it and it did not make her situation any more the better. Why did she have to fight him? Why had she let the zero system take control over her mind and make her injure him? She felt alone and distraught at that very moment and could not help but let her eyes glaze over and her heart to constrict in her chest.
A fake animated voice woke her up from her peaceful meditative state. ?Yes, these are the famous grounds where poets find their inspiration and make startling recoveries!? She couldn?t help but frown at the cleverly recited words from memory. Mr. Brown was never quite bright, but he was very cunning and, not surprisingly, a great liar. As he led the way for all the new interns that consisted of beautiful young women studying the field of medicine, and a few reporters, Dorothy felt yet another pang in her heart. They reminded her of what she could have been. Now she was merely a shadow. What would the people who knew her before ?Libra? say if they could see her now? Her downcast eyes moved with the scuttling figures, they were afraid of her?huh?what?s new?
A movement near her right arm broke her concentration. Morgan Beatle, an ex-friend of hers from the war had nudged her side so she could lie next to her and give her second hand smoke in the process. Morgan loved her ?babies? they gave her a certain peace that Dorothy thought was possibly caused by the way they slowly killed her until all she felt was numbness. When she hurt, she smoked; right after an electrolysis treatment she smoked, it was a drug, and addiction that she thought kept her alive. ?Hm, more like a painless slow death to me,? Dorothy thought. Though she was quite used to the bitter puffs and sour after taste in her mouth, she resented her for it. Not like Beatle cared anyway. ?Aren?t they cute?? she sarcastically asked. Dorothy merely sighed in annoyance. ?You know, I just stole this packet from Miss Ratched?s office?? she suddenly confessed without a care in the world. Dorothy was not surprised, it was common knowledge that she liked to steal the already opened and confiscated items from the ?high priestess? of the place.
Miss Ratched. Now how could you even begin to explain someone as crude and emotionless as her? She ran the whole damn place, didn?t give a rat?s ass about anybody and shook with pleasure at the possibility of having the delight to perform torture on us poor souls. Yeah? a real bitch. She was dubbed as ?momma? by some of the girls, because they got what they wanted, when they forked up the cash. Every time Dorothy looked at her, she got this image of a bustling hippopotamus with curves. Her hair was pulled up so harshly back into a bun that it actually gave an impression of a mini face lift. Her breasts where as large as watermelons and they constantly drooped and sagged in annoyance as she made her daily strides across the place.
But what really made her look the part was her blood red lips, the younger girls used to tell stories about her colored lips. They believed the color came from real blood. Dorothy had to smirk every time the poor bitches shook with fear as she herself helped the stories gain fame.
She had already droned out Morgan Beatle?s words over her interest in the past and the war. She was like a nasty memory from Dorothy?s other life that just would not go away, literally. ?Ya see, in my ?perfect world?, we should have already died. Think ?bout it Dorothy. We wouldn?t have to deal with nobody, question nobody, war really is the perfect answer!? Dorothy had to purposefully ignore her, she reminded her of a pitiful young woman that threw it all away for misconstrued beliefs?her. What an asshole she used to be.
All of a sudden she heard Mr. Brown yell out in fright and watch the primly painted girls make a mad dash to get out of the way of Sylvia.
Sylvia Lambergale, she could?ve been someone, but alas her modeling career was cut up short by a small dent in the road. Yep, it was a regular case of rape, common here, at the loony bin. But that was not what made her special or part of Dorothy?s ?gang?, it was the way her behavior and personality changed after the incident. Usually girls would resort to a life of solitude and depression until they eventually withered away, one by one, in the hospital. Suicide case after suicide case. Lambergale, naw?she was too great a person to follow in the ordinary footsteps everyone else did, she decided to be proud about it, include it in her resume per se.
Yep, she was quite a character, currently running stark naked across the hospital grounds for no reason at all, maybe, except for the secret pleasure it gave her or just to show off the wondrous globes of flesh she possessed. It was quite hilarious actually to see Mr. Brown give up his ranting at the 5th attempt and resort himself to unabashedly stare at her while the high society girls screeched and gave high pitched yells. Of course, this only seemed to encourage her even more, so as to give her the incentive to push herself against one of the other patients who, by chance, was blind.
Suddenly as quick as it had begun, it was over. Dorothy found herself being squashed between 2 of her best friends, Lambergale with her breasts against her left arm and stubs littering her lap while her right arm stung of put out cigarettes made by Beatle while she had found the comfort passing out provided.
Dumbly she wondered just what Quatre Winner was up to and if he had even survived their last encounter...
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Quatre will be coming up next ch.
Also, the rest of Dorothy's gang will be making an appearance; not to mention the other creepy deranged staff of the hospital and her own personal psychologist.
TBC