Punk Hazard
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this is something me and netsui cooked up. hope you guys like it
He opened the door and stepped into the room. It was noisy, which was only natural in an insane asylum. Inside of the room, a proctor was trying to calm the room down.
Kids with issues come here and stay as long as they need to. When they get better, they leave. The asylum reminded Tyson of a college campus with no classes, or a glorified prison. Everyday, the kids would be given a chance to socialize with each other, which often led to fights. Tyson wondered for a while why they allowed a place full of insane deliquents to socialize knowing they would fight. Then he came up with two conclusions: Not everyone was insane and cutting them off from some social activity might make them worse. After being allowed to socialize for a few hours, they were given lunch then sent to some form of peer mediation where they had to discuss their "conditions". Afterwards, they were sent to their rooms for the rest of the day. Tyson hated his room because it was too plain.
"Mr. Banks! Care to explain why you are late, again?"
Tyson looked up. He had been scratching on the side of his chair with his key. His dad gave it to him before they left him at the asylum. "This is your house key. Let this be a reminder your step-mom and I love you and you're ALWAYS welcome back home," his dad had said. Tyson didn't bear any ill-will towards his dad or step-mom, he understood why he was in the asylum. He loved his stepmom as if she were his biological mother. His real mother died a few weeks after he was born after a battle with cancer. His step-mom was the only mom he knew.
"Mr. Bank, I believe I asked you a question," the proctor said.
By this time, the whole room was looking at him.
"I bet he was jerkin'!" some kid yelled out.
A couple people chuckled.
"Settle down, kids," the proctor said.
Tyson wracked his brain, looking for a better excuse than hanging out under a stairway looking for girls to chat with.
"No excuses Mr. Banks? Do you need isolation?"
"Isolation?" Tyson said, confused. Of his three weeks at the asylum, this was his first time hearing of isolation. Tyson let out a deep sigh. "I was under a stairwell asleep." The proctor sighed. "I guess since you 'fessed up and actually arrived, I'll let it slide. Now, let's talk about our progress with our issues..." That was what they called what was wrong with the kids there. Tyson didn't hate the place, but he was eager to leave.
About a half hour later, a bell rang. Over some speakers, a gruff voice said, "Everyone report to the hall!" It was the director. As everyone stood and began to file out, the proctor stopped Tyson.
"Mr. Banks, you never talk in here. You've been here for 3 weeks, if you don't do anything, it must be dreadful for you."
"I'm pretty sure it's dreadful for the REAL insane people," Tyson said sharply. He quickly left.
As he did, he overheard two kids talking. One was a fairly tall girl with blonde hair. She wore the standard female uniform of a white shirt and a blue skirt. The other was a short boy with glasses. He wore the male uniform, which was the same except with blue pants.
"I heard she got isolation for throwing food," the girl whispered.
"No way. She's been gone way too long. Somethings not right in this place," the boy whispered back.
The girl was about to say something when she noticed Tyson listening. He was leaning against the wall, acting as though he wasn't listening, but he was bad at it.
"Let's get out of here, let's talk in private," the girl said. The boy nodded and they started off. He didn't know why, but Tyson knew he needed to know what they were talking about. Perhaps the reason was the same reason he was in the asylum. Whatever it was, it sparked a mixture of emotion, of anger and intense curiosity. He waited until they were a safe distance away. He tucked his hands into his pockets and lowered his head. He started following them slowly. They went down a stairwell. Not wanting to lose them, he sped up. He walked down the stairs, but they disappeared. The last thing he remembered before collapsing was the sound of heavy footsteps behind him and thunk on the back of his head.
He opened the door and stepped into the room. It was noisy, which was only natural in an insane asylum. Inside of the room, a proctor was trying to calm the room down.
Kids with issues come here and stay as long as they need to. When they get better, they leave. The asylum reminded Tyson of a college campus with no classes, or a glorified prison. Everyday, the kids would be given a chance to socialize with each other, which often led to fights. Tyson wondered for a while why they allowed a place full of insane deliquents to socialize knowing they would fight. Then he came up with two conclusions: Not everyone was insane and cutting them off from some social activity might make them worse. After being allowed to socialize for a few hours, they were given lunch then sent to some form of peer mediation where they had to discuss their "conditions". Afterwards, they were sent to their rooms for the rest of the day. Tyson hated his room because it was too plain.
"Mr. Banks! Care to explain why you are late, again?"
Tyson looked up. He had been scratching on the side of his chair with his key. His dad gave it to him before they left him at the asylum. "This is your house key. Let this be a reminder your step-mom and I love you and you're ALWAYS welcome back home," his dad had said. Tyson didn't bear any ill-will towards his dad or step-mom, he understood why he was in the asylum. He loved his stepmom as if she were his biological mother. His real mother died a few weeks after he was born after a battle with cancer. His step-mom was the only mom he knew.
"Mr. Bank, I believe I asked you a question," the proctor said.
By this time, the whole room was looking at him.
"I bet he was jerkin'!" some kid yelled out.
A couple people chuckled.
"Settle down, kids," the proctor said.
Tyson wracked his brain, looking for a better excuse than hanging out under a stairway looking for girls to chat with.
"No excuses Mr. Banks? Do you need isolation?"
"Isolation?" Tyson said, confused. Of his three weeks at the asylum, this was his first time hearing of isolation. Tyson let out a deep sigh. "I was under a stairwell asleep." The proctor sighed. "I guess since you 'fessed up and actually arrived, I'll let it slide. Now, let's talk about our progress with our issues..." That was what they called what was wrong with the kids there. Tyson didn't hate the place, but he was eager to leave.
About a half hour later, a bell rang. Over some speakers, a gruff voice said, "Everyone report to the hall!" It was the director. As everyone stood and began to file out, the proctor stopped Tyson.
"Mr. Banks, you never talk in here. You've been here for 3 weeks, if you don't do anything, it must be dreadful for you."
"I'm pretty sure it's dreadful for the REAL insane people," Tyson said sharply. He quickly left.
As he did, he overheard two kids talking. One was a fairly tall girl with blonde hair. She wore the standard female uniform of a white shirt and a blue skirt. The other was a short boy with glasses. He wore the male uniform, which was the same except with blue pants.
"I heard she got isolation for throwing food," the girl whispered.
"No way. She's been gone way too long. Somethings not right in this place," the boy whispered back.
The girl was about to say something when she noticed Tyson listening. He was leaning against the wall, acting as though he wasn't listening, but he was bad at it.
"Let's get out of here, let's talk in private," the girl said. The boy nodded and they started off. He didn't know why, but Tyson knew he needed to know what they were talking about. Perhaps the reason was the same reason he was in the asylum. Whatever it was, it sparked a mixture of emotion, of anger and intense curiosity. He waited until they were a safe distance away. He tucked his hands into his pockets and lowered his head. He started following them slowly. They went down a stairwell. Not wanting to lose them, he sped up. He walked down the stairs, but they disappeared. The last thing he remembered before collapsing was the sound of heavy footsteps behind him and thunk on the back of his head.
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