"Man is free at the moment he wishes to be."
-Voltaire
. . .
Beauty is omitted in the mind of the demented. The true definition is lost in the fleeting cold air, filled with the stale and terrifying exhaled breath of a rightful sufferer. Harry's eyes had been coated with a blindness to any forms of beauty other than pain. But, he soon finds that that coating has melted away and a new world is proposed to him.

The soft crunch of dead leaves and tree branches breaking beneath his feet wafts into his ears as the corn field comes to an end, only to be accompanied by a darkened forest of abated brush. It emits something fierce and dangerous. The trees sway with a crackle, and  the atmosphere buzzes and after a while that's all that he can hear. He begins to think of one thing and one thing only. Money. His ticket out of the state.

He vaguely remembers hearing about the next town over within his conversations with Jackie. That is where he will find a new found avidity. He walks along with a haughty essence, determined. The moon comes out of hiding behind the clouds and peers upon him in a questioning gaze as if it is petrified of his every move. Its light surrounds him and his skin glows the darkest shade of blue.

His determination is put on hold as the sky grows lighter hours later. He lay himself upon the befouled soil. The early morning icy breeze clings to his skin. Small ice crystals form across the ground around him and even grazes his soft curls. As the sun pushes its way up from the horizon, Harry studies the pink, orange, and yellow colors that collide and mix in different patterns like paint. His eyes brighten and a hope that has been hidden for so long within him is finally released and a gold illuminates his body.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Feelings that have been unknown to him soak into his bones. They make him feel electrified and in a way, they are so strong that it is hard to breath. They begin to toy with every emotion within him and he seems to soften. But alas, he is reminded of his hard exterior and he snaps out of his emotional trance.

The icy crystals that had once covered the forest has melted into sparkling dew as the sun rises higher. A light, eerie mist branches up from the soil. The sun's rays turns it into a soft golden blanket.

As Harry sits up and lays his weight on his left arm to get up, pain shoots throughout his bicep and coarses through his body like a pebble interrupting water. He curses under his breath. His right hand reached up and gently caresses his wound. It stings bad and if he doesn't clean it and wrap it quick, he is at risk of getting an infection.

"Find a river, there should be one coming up," The demons tell him. His feet immediatly pick up and take him. The air quickly becomes humid and hot. As Harry continues, the humidity kisses his skin and pretty soon, the dried blood from his wound liquifies once more and drips slowly down his arm.

Hours go by until Harry finally hears the trickle of water. He meets a small, steep ravine covered by heavy brush. Harry peaks through the leaves of a bush and sure enough, water glistens below. Careful not to trip and fall, he makes his way to the stream. He kneels down, scoops water into his hands, and drinks.

He then looks at the dirtied sleeves of his white crew kneck. He reaches up and starts ripping a sleeve off. It's a tough shirt, though it finally gives and he dabs it in water. The water was cold and it stung his wound badly. The pain started to ease after a couple seconds and as he cleans the blood, Harry is reminded of the first time he was shot by a guard.

The ward was in bad spirits that day. A dark energy thickened the atmosphere and everybody found it hard to breath. It was normal for the asylum to feel like nothing but darkness and death, but this was by far the worst. Screams of the torture rang within everybody's ears and it drove the staff crazy. Their eyes became blood shot and sweat leaked across their faces.

Harry read all the patients because he knew trouble would arise. The strongest and sickest of the patients had only one thing they wished to do. Kill. During dinner, Harry sat on the far end of the table. In his peripheral, he could make out four of those patients. He clenched his fists and stared down at his plate. They didn't like Harry. They had made it clear many times before.

They didn't like his power. They desparately wanted him out and meals were the perfect time for that because they beared utensils. Forks were enough to do the job. So they sat there, eyes glued to Harry. Their fists grew a mix of pale white and red as they sqeezed their utensils hard. Finally, all four attacked.

The dining room rose into a panic, but Harry blocked it all out. His strength shined as he mercilessly beat all four. He didn't stop until he saw blood. Lots of it pouring from their sad little desperate bodies. The nuns and guards were on him but he continued and finally, as he was about to make that final blow to their heads to kill them all, he was shot twice in the back.

The pain was worth it, though. They took months to heal and they never crossed him again. No one did. Harry chuckles a little as he finishes cleaning the dried blood. He then grazes the hole with the tips of his fingers. He frowned as he realized how difficult the bullet removal was really going to be. He shot up from his position, retrieves a stick and a rock, and goes to work. He sharpens one side of the stick and when it is ready he proceeds to fish for the bullet. It takes longer than expected and the struggle of keeping quiet was more than he can handle but it was out. He takes the drenched piece of sleeve and ties it tightly around the wound. He drinks a couple more quick handfuls of water and rips off the other sleeve to make his shirt look even.

He gets up from his crouched position and looks at the demons. They all point southwest. He nods and continues. His feet hurt bad, but he's not one to complain. Complaining is for the weak and Harry is far from weak.

Not too much time goes by until the sun starts to set and the atmosphere turns from a peaceful heat to a lonely cold. Harry eventually finds an open area and decides to make camp there for the night. He spends a while hunting for broken branches and leaves and piles them. Taking two stones, Harry quickly creates a spark. As his fire grows, he stares into the red flames.

His hand reaches out and the milky smoke weaves throughout his strong fingers. His eyes study the fire and his lust for the flames deepens. The loud chirps of crickets eventually cause his eyes to grow heavy and a dream like haze wraps around his emerald green spectacles. Then comes an unruffled silence.
~
A/n
Here is chapter 3! I hope you all enjoyed!
-Isabelle<3