Spoiler! :
Now. The searing white walls blinded me, as I dragged a calloused, bitten hand through my matted hair. I scratched the scar that ran down my face like a red tear, brushing the dishevelled black eye patch. I scowled, my mouth turned up in a malicious taunt.
The white padded walls pressed in on me, suffocating me with soft white cusions. I shivered involuntarily. The bars were painted white, and as I gazed through them, I noticed a man curled up on the floor, muttering jibberish.
"Ahhhh... And then...then-!" He burst into manic laughter. I flinced at the sound. "The numbers ... what do they mean!?" The man began to shout. He jumped up, curling his fists around the bars. "What. Do. The. Damn. Numbers. Mean!" He shook them, screaming and hollering as he did. "Ten! Sixty Five! Two ... Three ..." He stopped, as the guards advanced on him. He blanched and backed away. They slowly raised the guns, the tiny red dot marked on his chest. He moaned and backed further away, until he couldn't be seen. The red dot was the only thing visible. I crawled up to the bars, watching with sick fasination. The guns cracked in unison, and there was a scream, before he slumped, half of his body still undiscovered in shadow.
A syringe with a feather tip stuck from his neck, the other, I presumed, crushed underneath him. Like a fly. I chuckled. I clapped my hand over my mouth as the guards walked by.
A man, a rather small man, dressed in a pristine, green costume with white trimmings and a black belt and shining boots, dropped a bag carelessly on the floor, pleading with the guard. Now. The thought attacked me again like a viper. Steal the bag. Find out what's in it. The petite mans face turned slightly, revealing a neatly plucked orange beard, and bright green eyes that gazed at the guard intently. The sentinel, who were called Angels in the Institute, shook his head. The dimunutive orange haired figure shouted, his tinkling voice ringing through the cells, reverberating through the Institute, and the maniacs, the crazy people began to howl. The clamour cut through the mans shouts, relentlessly tearing it to ribbons, before finally drowning it.
My thoughts drifted. Why was I here? The thoughts tormented me endlessly, regardless of time. Day. Night. Torture. I gave a small moan, and the man shifted uneasily. Here because I was captured. Captain Clarke the Pirate who saw Leprechauns. I swear I saw one. A small figure at the prow of my boat. He had stolen everything, but, I mean, everyone sees Leprechauns, don't they?
I was brought back to reality when the idea washed over me again. Steal it. I crept towards the bag. I fixed my sights on it. I could feel the adrenaline pulsing through my body like a powerful current underneath a calm river. My rough hands closed around the neck of the bag. I pulled it through the bars. The coins, or what I suspected to be coins, jumped around inside the bag like excited children, shattering the now silent Institute. The small man whirled around, clutching at my hand, prising it off. But I was no longer interested in the bag. The man's face terrorised me. It was the same face.
The Leprechaun.
Then I did something no Pirate should ever do.
I screamed.
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