Laceration_577
Legacy Name: Laceration_577

seven.

bits of wool, string and fabric were strewn across his marred floor. the carpet that had been placed down had been ripped up by himself and now lay in a pile in one corner. the original floorboards had deep scratches down them from pencils and blades from sharpeners and anything else the boy could get his hands on.
the textured face of a broken doll lay in front of him, it's wide button eyes gleaming in the dull candlelight he'd created.
all of his toys were in hundreds of pieces, causing piles of destruction across the room. he'd been left to fend for about four months now. it had only taken him a day or two to find the utensils in the kitchen and use them to slice and break anything he could find. it left him out of luck when it came to food, since he'd smeared most of it along the walls downstairs, and his bones jutted out awkwardly from his skin where malnutrition lied. he survived mainly on any rats or bugs he found, and little bones littered the kitchen floor downstairs. they were attracted to the crumbs he'd left.
the boy didn't think much about why he'd been left. he didn't really think much about his current situation at all, save from "how would i go about cutting this up?" or "i need some more dollies to play with." otherwise, he was reasonably dead to the world around him, and it wouldn't be until around two years later until he found the need to leave and come face-to-face with other people. and then people became his passion, became his dollies.

fifteen.

he was in a jail cell. the same one he'd been in for fourteen days now. it was really begin to bore him. they took his knives and blades so he had nothing to do but sit and sometimes look at the bible they'd given him. he'd never learnt to read, so it didn't make any sense to him, but after a while he'd found some fun in tearing the pages out and chewing them up. they'd told him he'd be in here "for a long time" if they got their way. he had to go to court on friday, which was four days and three hours, but since he was underage he didn't think he'd get more than a few years and some mandatory therapy.
he'd been offered a shower three times, and each time he had refused and caused a scene if they tried to force him there. dirt was under his fingernails. grime lined his gums and his whole body was discolored from sweat and blood. most of the other inmates and even the wardens were frightened of him. he had seven scars of his face alone, one from the edge of his scalp all the way down to his chin. he'd grown bored with other people for short periods of time and the only thing to cut had been himself. but he had to cut. it was just something he had to do- like needing to go to the bathroom or eat food. cutting was what kept him going. and in here, he couldn't cut. he couldn't slice and slash and carve. and that was hurting him inside. he would cut the hurt out if only he could get a blade.
letting out a strangled cry, he bashed his head into the concrete wall in front of him, once, twice and another time until it was too hard and he fell to one side, slumping on the floor.
four days and three hours.