So this is my first entry at the Hall of Assholes, aka American Asylum for the Profanely-Powered. They had almost closed within two yards of me today, the big men we call Coats, due to the fact that they wear heavy overcoats lined with different substances… to protect them from us. If it was not for their goddamn Carry-All Devices I would have turned them into people-stew. Wait… I’m getting way ahead of myself here.
I should start with my name I suppose, just like any other journal. But just like any other contraband, I should most likely just give myself a fake name. Let us just keep it simple, for now, and call me Wayne. I have no idea why I just chose that, but I guess that is a good thing.
I grew up with my first 16 years of life similar to the rest of the Norm, which is the government’s name for those who have no genetic defects, no mental illness, and no Power (or so it seemed). The first ailment the doctors noticed was that my primary brain waves were… off? Eventually they diagnosed me as “Chronic Mental Condition: Status Unknown” and all my wonderful doctors turned into caretakers for me. Just before my twentieth birthday I got a gift from them: an actual diagnosis. “Psychophrena: Latent Obscura” was the name, if my memory serves me (which it always does). Something about having a completly different set of electrical impulses that would at times allow me to run my thought patterns more efficiently than the best superprocessors, and at other times would begin to run me, sometimes to violent outbursts, but often into the nearest wall. They deemed me “Harmful to self and others, in need of constant care” which means they bugged the fuck out of me until I passed out from boredom or exhaustion. Eventually my family sent me to the San Antonio Mental Treatment Facility, which is a misnomer because most of the kids stuck in the “Young Adult Rehabilitation Center” were far beyond treatment, myself included. I met a few friendly-types, but mostly enjoyed 15-20 hours of watching them watch me. Despite this “constant care” I found myself in a few scuffles with some of the not-friendly-types, and if it were not for one certain brush with oblivion I would not be typing this currently.
One of the bigger boys, whom I shall call “Dick” (because you are what you eat*) decided that during one of the only phases of the day where I could have social interaction he needed to attack me with some home-made contraption, the only quality I remember was “rusty.” Now conflict resolution is not my strong point, and Dick seemed to be lacking this as well, but when one finds out (for the first time) that the sight of one’s own blood gives them the tendency toward violence in the likes of the common sociopath, bargaining turns into… begging? It felt so good, bashing Dick’s head into the (at the time) cement flooring, but it felt better when I noticed I was not using my own hands. Poor dick, with sanguine shiv still in paw, abruptly ceased his onslaught and instead decided to beat the living fuck out of himself then and there. Orderlies attempted to restrain him, only to find themselves joining in on the revelry or self-destruction. Another took away Dick’s weapon, just to plunge the brittle edge across his veins lining so delicately his arms and wrists. Within five minutes the entire wing was an erruption of beautiful chaos, flailing limbs holding together what was left of their tendons and musculature, and I can dub that moment purely as the most sensual experience in my life. One person remained unharmed, but a small gouge in his right shoulder. That is right, kids, it was me. Well from that point on I couldn’t just be held in a place where I could destroy everyone I come in contact with. I needed to be restrained… for I was dangerous… but where? At this point those only known as “Different” were just beginning to open their proverbial eyes, with no place of concentration to keep us “secure.” Of course, off to prison I go, but for such a short amount of time I cannot even recall the name of that establishment. The only recollection of that institution was my long hours of solitude, and the ability to harness my newfound Power into something more controllable, something more devastating. In time they established A2P2 (if you cannot remember what that is for, keep up with me*) and once again I was carted away, but this time to a location where I could finally become myself.
Right now I am in hiding for the night, an area not to be disclosed, and writing this to you, to whomever will listen, for if I do not keep my minds busy, they will take me over again.
* If I ever say something humorous to myself, I will star it, due to the fact that I will most likely forget it was funny.