Half-past five. The sun trickling through my caged window.  I feel the irrisory of the voices beneath my head pleading with my sanity, influencing my already unreliable and lingering thoughts. For, my mind is a labyrinth; neverending, perplexing and deranged. The scorching chamber that my body lays in is infested, infected with one singular horrendous, disease enveloped rat. NOT plural.  The rat, my rat, is named Fredrick. Unsettling name indeed. Fredrick is my best friend, however. I often spend most of my precious time with him. Feeding him on occasion, bathing together frequently and talking to him for entertainment. I thoroughly enjoy watching him squirm in the lukewarm water, he repeatedly makes uncalled for noises and motions, so as one does I begin to drown him for pleasure. I thrive off of his whimpering and anguish.  In spite of my actions, Frederick remains my friend and I applaud him for that. Sporadically, when my rat rebels against my treatment, I encapsulate him in the wall. For I dug out a small hole to mock the jail I am in. Around one month from this day of January 27, I scavenged a plastic knife during chow and began to carve into the wall. It was only until December 28th when Frederick decided to bite my pointer finger. Pain is never of the essence and it is quickly disregarded from my mind. I put Fredrick in the cell as corporal punishment to learn that the actions he has committed were not enforced. I always have to be strict when it comes to people...animals and maybe that is why I am locked in this goddamn chamber.

Half past six. Fredrick and I decided to play a little game. I used the knife from chow which I had sharpened previously in order to continue with the game. Due to the superior being in the sky, not one guard entered my room, fortunately. To play one has to take the sharpened knife and cut the forearm until they pass out and/or beg for mercy. Fredrick and I have played this gave previously. It was only a couple days ago. May I assure you that I (the so-called “human”) does not feel pain in any form, I merely enjoy watching others in agony. When I was a young boy, my mother and I would spend hours on end playing only childish board games. I told her that I wanted a game that was more dauntless but she disregarded my comment as if it were nothing. She was malicious. The equivalence of rancid milk. Spoiled. Ugly. Foul. I did not want her around me.  She never met my standards. My mother choose to neglect me and torture me but she did not know what was to come. Anyways, Frederick and I were beginning our long awaited match of mercy! As per usual, he went first. I began to cores the blade along his velvety soft fur, anticipating what is next. I took the acute knife and directed it towards Fredrick’s pink feet, they were smaller than my fingernail yet larger than my importance in this world. The blade grazes the pink feet softly, then I take the jagged razor and cut deep into his flesh. His individual hair follicles rise and an ear piercing screech comes from within the rat. The rat frantically runs into the corner of the room which was a mistake. I proceed to trap him. But anger arises inside me and I feel the blood rushing to my skull...head. Why shall this rat act as if he is greater than me? Why do I feel intimidated by this filthy creature? Then at once, I threw the knife at him, luckily, it only grazed the wall. I went to lift up my Fredrick to escort him into his chamber. The rat has punctured his teeth into MY supple skin. Agonized in pain? Never, never, I have not once felt pain. My hands surround the rat, grasping his furry exterior and slowly bringing him closer to my face. Around five centimeters to be precise. His squeamish body attempt to escape my interlocking hands. But my grip overrides his attempts. I lock him into the chamber and wait for his apology.

     Half past seven. My guard began banging on my cell door, I did not respond, however. I want them to believe that I am insane so they would not remove me from the cell. I flourish in isolation. The guard leaves without saying a word. The striking of his shoes on the floor makes my hair rise. The screams of my fellow inmates haunt me. I resume to my routine which consists of brushing my teeth, peeling the dead skin off my feet and punching the walls until my hands' throb.  I let Fredrick out of his cage and begin to yell at my fellows in the other cells. I have a Rolodex of hate. My mind never ceases to amaze me; I come up with the most absurd comments and insults to mock the inmates. They would never know this is I that says those harsh words for, we are all behind walls. I have not seen a “human” face for over 127 days and counting but I can hear the voices. I position myself on the floor and gaze at my cell. The led paint falling from the walls, my room has a punitive scent of feces, and my rat lay beside me. My actions inflicted pain. He can no longer walk regularly and now must limp. I wish I could suspect guilt. My mother would often send me to do deeds for her such as put high doses of hemlock into a breakfast meal that my father ingested. He would complain of not being able to feel his limbs while also being aware of what was occurring as per the mind is unaffected until death is imminent. After he became paralyzed he eventually died. My mother congratulated me and said that the work I was doing was spectacular. My rat reminds me of my father yet I don't remember him very well. I do not miss him whatsoever.  Similar to how I do not miss my mother.

     Half past eight.

     “Chow!” yelled one of the female guards. I arose from the floor and put on my trousers. I open the door swiftly and line up with my fellow inmates. Peering into their eyes and viewing their bone structure. I have always been fed in my room so being out and in the glimpse of the other people give me a rush that I have never experienced. The door shuts abruptly and forgot to put Frederick in his cell! Rampaging I hit to door as hard as humanly possible only to become in direct contact with a metal pole that struck across my face. I was dragged to chow like a piece of meat. Now forced to cram unconscionable food into mouth cavity. The guard iron grip clamps my arms and tucks them behind my back. I do not wince in pain. I merely smirk. This agitates the guard who then kicks my legs and directs me back to my cell once again. The guard opens the steel door and I sprint into the room, slamming the door as hard as possible. Frederick, the rat, my rat, is sprawled out on the metal frame known as my bed. I caress his fur, his body temperature being abnormally low. I take the knife which I hid under my mattress and cut the tender area which I punctured earlier. No response. I cut his back. I butcher him. He did not move. WHY WAS HE NOT RESPONDING? I took him in my palm and put my fingers in between his teeth. I press down and did not stop until there is visible blood. Then I repeatedly throw him at the wall, laughing as I know I should not be. I press my bare foot on his body. I take a bite near his head. The blood is warm and I drink it with delight, almost like red wine.

I had yet to realize that I converted my best friend from a living specimen into a flat object. I had yet to realize that slaughtering my mother was not justified. I had yet to realize that for the past 9,350 days I have spent in this asylum, not once did I ever feel remorse for my actions. I will never feel sorrow for the pain I inflicted on others, I enjoyed every basking in my mothers blood, I relished in the feeling of throwing the rat at the wall. For all the Frederick is just a horrendous, infested and infected rat. Why shall I care for his “livelihood”? A rat does not deserve life, mother does not deserve life, I do not deserve life. No one deserves one penny yet alone life. Murder and pain are the only belongings I abide by. Compassion I shall never feel.