Mercy me

You're on you're own my little nightmare. You cannot stay here, it far too bright for you. If they attack you, just lay there. Play dead dear, it's your only hope of pulling through. And seconds seem like a lifetime, a dream recurring. A dream that can't come true. And they'll pin it all on you after all you've been put through.

As the cold pries him out of dreamless sleep he broke into a cruel smile. Every breath he took, was another sin committed. Every scream, every choked sob was the soundtrack to his whole life. Things are different now. No screams. No tears. No blood. He doesn't recognize anything, but he is not alarmed, he is relieved. The white walls, his lead heavy arms, it was all so relieving. He is away. Away from home. Away from Him. Father. His number one excuse for becoming a bastard. Literally. His Father killed her long ago. But it wasn't terrible as it sounded he didn't remember her much. Besides, she didn't love him. When his father wasn't slapping his head off he was pounding it in. He didn't mind the beatings much. They say pain doesn't hurt when that's all you've ever felt. Father was gone. Pain was gone and what was left was an empty feeling and what remained was a strong urge to kill, to fill the hallow feeling.

Run along my little nightmare. Your job is done here, you've scared them all to death. If they revive them just sit there, just smile dear. Make them thankful for every breath.

How has he come here? He has forgotten if he ever knew. This place belongs to cold and darkness. And he belongs to this place. He feels a chuckle escape his lips. How could he laugh like that? Where did it come from? For so many years life couldn't make up its mind whether to beat him like a dog or ignore him like one. He never once known what he needed. He never knew what he was doing. How could he laugh? His eyes bore in to the white of the walls as he ponders. He had never seen so much white, it seemed a lame attempt to cover up how every corridor was septic with despair, each of the neatly numbered room an abscess of fear or fury. Silence is soon put to an end. Footsteps echo across the room. A timid woman in a white coat meekly steps toward him.

"Gaara, you have a visitor."

This sentence may seem like a lifetime, a scream that's curdling the blood they found on you and your knives and clothing too, Charlie's broken .22

Well, they found you and they shipped you up the river tge same way that you bound and gagged, you shot and stabbed. You tried to set them free but they've thrown away the keys.

It was yet another woman in a white coat. Not again. They're all the same. Give it up. The voice won't leave. He can't outshout it. He'll be cured when he dies.

"Gaara?" the woman whispers.

He ignores her call. Instead of listening he focused on the item hidden in his pocket the last thing his father-if you could call him that- gave him. The only gift that he ever gave him. A knife. A nice knife too. Nothing boyscout about it. Made for stabbing and not much else.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk. I think I can do enough talking for the both of us. " the small woman says quietly.

"It's a nice day isn't it?" she muses, looking out at the view.

"Leave" he growls. It wouldn't matter if they could cure him. The voice would stay. The need for blood to spill would stay. No one would care. As long as they didn't get hurt.

She still stays firm, a smile forced on to her lips, humming a tune, fixing the crooked flowers that were falling out of te cracked vase.

"Why do you stay? I know you fear me. I can feel it." he feels the harsh words gush out of his mouth. It feels good.

The girl stays silent for a moment, "I am afraid of you. I won't lie. I stay because I want to." Her eyes, they shift back and forth, her voice is shaky and searching for just the right words. But there was something about the way she said that, and he knew she meant it with every bone in her body.

"Why?" he feels his own voice become softer.

"Why not?" she answered, looking in to his eyes. To her surprise they are much like hers, and not just in color. They way they showed emotion. The boy was as stoic as any one could be, but his eyes, they told everything. His eyes were entry in to feelings you couldn't put in to words no matter how many dictionaries you used.

"Because I could kill you at anytime." he felt his hand tightly grip around the knife, he pulled the knife out quickly. Those beautiful eyes flashing in excitment.

She shrugs, "That's not the worst thing that could happen,"

He releases his grip on the knife.

"I don't know why I'm here or who you are. But I do know you murdered many people for no reason. And I do know you need someone who understands you. I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing or if I even understand you. But I'm just asking for a chance to help you," she pauses,"I'm here to make the voices go away."

He smirks at the thought. She's here to help me; make the voice go away. What a load of crap.

She tells him that she'll visit him tomorrow. He tells her he'll kill her if she ever steps in the room again. She says she will come back even if he does.

He whimpers, he dreads it, he can't wait.

Hey Lauren in this hizzy, whaddya think? My second serious fic. Did I bore you? Well, tell me what you think and I'll think about continuing. Read and review. Oh the lyrics are from Alkaline Trios' Sadie G. I think it fit so perfectly for this story!