"Wake up, ****!" Greg's rough voice tears through my sleep and a foot thuds against my ribs making my lips curl up in cruel happiness.

I pull against my chains and use them to sit up. My wrists are as raw and bloody as they have been since the first week back in September.

"Here's your water," Greg says with disgust. He slams the water down causing a large portion of it to slosh out of the blue plastic cup.

Greedily, I drink it up, thankful that he didn't dump it on me like he did the other day. I was wet and shivering until the water finally dried, and then I was thirsty all day, even with the other cup I got.

The water feels amazing. I wasn't allowed to drink water for a few days because I wasn't a good girl.

A lot of people think that without water you just get a fuzzy tongue and chapped lips.

That's not true.

My lips are chapped and cracked, bleeding in a couple areas. My whole mouth feels fuzzy, like there is a layer of cloth covering every surface. My tongue is swollen and hurts to move. There is a bone in the roof of my mouth, behind my front teeth, that sticks out and is incredibly painful, especially when my tongue touches it. I am constantly confused and fuzzy and tired. I have a pounding headache that won't go away. My throat hurts and it is incredibly painful to swallow. Not that I have anything to swallow. Even my eyes hurt from the lack of fluids.

In short, not enough water sucks.

But it's okay because I should have behaved better if I really wanted water.

Normally, I am allowed to have water every day, but I need to work on not speaking, laughing, or smiling.

Greg cuffs my left wrist and ankle to the metal ball that reminds me of the prisoners from the olden days. Then, he informs the chains that are attached to the walls.

I drag the metal behind me as I follow Greg to the medical room. I plop down on the bench and Father watched as Dr. Volto administers the shot.

The shot sends pain racing through me and I almost blackout because of it.

Father and Dr.Volto then proceed to question me.

It's mostly normal questions like, "Do you love your father?" Of course.

"Would you kill for your father?" Always.

"What do you remember if your life before you came here?" Mother and Marie were mean. Kids at school were mean. I killed my family, except Father because I am Father's killer.

"Are you happy with your life?" Why wouldn't I be?

"Do you have murderous thoughts toward anyone?" Yup! Greg, of course.

The boringly normal questions make me sleepy (or maybe that's the lack of water...) and soon I have to fight to stay awake.

Sarah and Star help me as best as they can.

Sarah hasn't been speaking to me much, recently. For some reason, she is all sad and depressed and broken. What a weirdo.

Star has turned darker and fills my brain with thoughts of killing people and torturing them.

They tell me that we are forgetting something. Someone.

We are not remembering somebody.

However, no matter how hard we try, we can't seem to think of who we are forgetting, or even why we need to remember them.

I don't really care or see why it is important, but Sarah insists that it important. Since Sarah rarely talks, I do my best to listen when she does.

I tune back into the conversation as Dr.Volto asks, "Are you ready to kill the fourteen men for your father?"

I smile viciously, "Always."

I would do anything for Father.

Killing a few strangers will be easy. Fun, even.

***

"Good girl. Now take the sword and come over here," Father instructs curtly.

I smile adoringly up at him and do as he says.

Father is the best role model I could ever have.

The sword is a weapon I have not used before and beautifully crafted for one purpose. To kill. A one and a half broadsword, it's steel blade gleams and emeralds decorate the engraved pommel.

Father said we must use the sword to kill the boys. He said it would be poetic and beautiful. Whatever that's supposed to mean.

We have been training and getting used to the sword for the last couple of days. We were rescued in the end of September and now it is the beginning of February. We receive a meal every day and two glasses of water a day. They even let us out of the room once a day to get a bit of exercise and, if we are really good, we get to spend a few hours without any chains. Once a week, to make sure we are healthy, Father gives us an injection.

I walk over to where Father and Greg are.

I have come to hate Greg.

He says the strangest things, mean things, mean words, and hits us when we are chained up, along with other mean things.

"You two are going to fight. Right now. To the death," Father decides with a cruel glint in his dark brown eyes.

"Okitay!" I chirp.

We swing the sword a bit as Greg pulls out a gun and a switchblade.

Greg doesn't waste any time and immediately starts to fire the gun.

Moving like lightning, we dodge the first two bullets and slice the third with the sword. He fires again and we catch the bullet with our teeth, merely plucking it out of the air.

Greg pales and we grin, still holding the bullet in between our teeth.

Quickly, he empties the clip, but he is too scared and his shots run wild.

We slowly walk closer as he fired wildly.

Our grin grows wider with every shot.

Joker is jealous of our smile.

Soon, his gun is clicking and we are right in front of him.

He tried to stab us with his gun, but he is too terrified to do any damage.

We swing the sword and, in one swift blow, chop the top of his head off.

His brain and blood make a mess.

We laugh, "Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear. Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair. Fuzzy Wuzzy wasn't very fuzzy, was he?"

The little rhyme isn't even that funny, but to us it is hilarious. We laugh and shout it as loud as we can.

"FUZZY WUZZY WAS A BEAR! FUZZY WUZZY HAD NO HAIR! FUZZY WUZZY WASN'T VERY FUZZY, WAS HE?!" We yell in between the peals of laughter that rack our body and explode out of us.

We can't stop laughing.

Not even when our stomach aches from the laughter.

Not even when our throat is sore from being over used.

Not even when our tears have run out.

Not even when Father is yelling at us to stop.

Not even when Greg's corpse is dragged out.

Not even when a trip of unfamiliar people come to clean up the mess of his blood, brain, and gore.

We have finally lost our sanity.

And it is freeing.