I'm what people would call a lost cause; a piece of trash, a weirdo, a horrendous life form, and every other atrocious term you could possibly conjure. I guess parents really do know what's in store for their child[ren]'s future; if you could call migrating from one mental hospital to another a future, of course. 

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           I was buried under heaps of blankets, on the hard- object they dared refer to as mattress when I felt it. The cold air was replaced by a warm one; warm to the point that sweat began to trickle under my ears,nose; on my forehead, the bridge of my nose-everywhere

The figure walked closer to me after I removed the soft,heavy material from my body, and extended out an arm. Not an it, but a he.

"You don't seem to want to be here." His husky, deep, yet gentle voice spoke in a quiet manner; however, I heard it loud and clear.

"Since when is what I want and what is done the same?" I look up at him and am instantly lost in his silver colored eyes with a tint of blue in them.

"Aren't you cautious as to who I am?" He inquires.

"You don't look like a serial killer."