Clinically insane.
Murdered Suzanne Bishop brutally in cold blood.
That’s what my chart says—signed right there on the bottom by the doctors who declared me a lost cause after their pathetic treatments didn’t “fix” me. According to them, I’m broken. Dangerous. A monster. But here’s the thing—they’re wrong. I’m perfectly sane.
Sure, I like cutting people open. It’s fascinating, really. That doesn’t make me a damn lunatic. And yet, here I am, locked away in Wellard Asylum, where I’ve spent the past few years wasting away while the world sleeps soundly, thinking they’re safe from people like me.
They called it the best place for someone with my “condition,” but we all know what they really meant is that its safer for everyone else if I’m stuck in here.
What they failed to realize is that Wellard isn’t just home to me. It’s crawling with others like me. And while I’ve been patient, biding my time, I have no intention of staying much longer. But before I leave, I think I’ll have a little fun.
So, who will be the next name added to my chart?
