The ones that ruled run to their hiding spots like a rabbit running from a fox, or is it the other way around? The elephant is scared of the mouse because of its stature not because of its potential in reality. So who really is the elephant and the mouse. Some would say the leaders are the elephants that would stomp their way to the top unafraid of consequences. While I myself think of the leaders as the circus ringmasters always prepared to control the brutes of elephants until an elephant sees a mouse.

The circus, a sight to see. Acrobats, clowns, and balloons everywhere. Whoever thought about this idea of turning colors and jokes into entertainment? I relate to the clowns more often than not, the jesters that mess everything up. The women and men that are idiots for a reason; we do not have that in our society, all our jesters are here on the ground; the people we communicate and interact with, they are the ones that have built this world only to tear it down. We dance around like we know what we are doing but really we are prancing an illusion of confidence and security, telling people we are fine when we are really the flowers that stop working on the clown's costume.

***

That circus is the first memory I have of my father. He would always say that the best act was the one with the most ecstasy. Where he is now, I could not tell you. I have a lot of time to myself these days…the doctors leave me alone for hours. They observe me day and night trying to figure out what I'm procrastinating over, but I observe them too. The side glances when I walk, the way they hesitate when I look at them through the glass, the way they shudder when I talk, but most of all the way I puzzle their minds with my riddles and questions. Dr. Wise, he eats me alive with his stares and irks me when he smirks with his crocodile teeth, yellow and piercing. He deserves the worst punishment.

“Metztli, what are you thinking today?” the standard question before he pokes my brain for my genius.

“For thou never knew what shall be in my brain. What if thou never is anything in the brain?” confusion spread around his face. What a smart doctor he is.

“Now Metztli, please talk normally. We know you can.” He is talking about his voices inside his head. If only he knew.

“You are no fun, you're not even going to try and entertain me? Geez, maybe I'm being difficult because I have no answer to your questions.” I cackle with anticipation.

“You aren’t difficult. In fact, you are quite corporative with our observations.”

“I DESPISE YOUR OBSERVATIONS! You have me in a glass box for being looked at and talked to but never touched! I’m that fancy china your grandmother puts in the cabinet and tells the grandchildren about how it got passed down to her and was never to be touched with greasy fingers!” I am angry now. He knows how I am infuriated with this. “You know you didn't hold up your end of our deal. You KNOW that this was not the plan.” He knows where I am going with this, I am going to have to switch gears.

“This is for your protection and others. You know that.” He inquires. I make a mocking face like the way a child would when they didn’t want to do something but had no excuse.

“I was supposed to help you...be your partner,” I say in almost a whisper. “NOT-YOUR -LAB RAT!” I am done with this conversation now. I turn away hoping he will leave me alone but he never does.

“Come on now, you know you have to answer the standard questions. I will not leave until you do.” I make a rumbling noise like a dog does when someone touches its bone. “What is your full name?”

“Metztli Liza Mitto.”

“Your favorite color?” I say nothing. He tilts his head waiting.

“Green” I quip.

“Where are you from?”

“Hell”

***

“Is there anything else to eat? I’m not feeling this mush and vitamins today!” as usual nobody responds. I’m completely alone now, everyone has gone home to their families to spend what time they have with them. Hell isn't where I am really from but that's what they have told me, my genetics “have come straight from hell and back” containing terrifying notions and despicable truths. I think now of my younger years, of my mother's sweet flower scent and my step dad's gun popping shots off in the distance. How they always protected me and taught me to never show my identity to anyone to take my abilities to the next level every chance I got; at least till they disappeared off the face of the earth; dropped dead. I was 5 years old. I was then sent to spend my next years of life with my oblivious dad, he never knew what was going on; his life came with ease. I remember when I broke the TV because I couldn’t control my emotions. I threw a vase at Fox News. He did not understand why. There was a reason me and mom lived out in the middle of nowhere, why my stepdad had hunted for our food instead of going to Food Lion. Every woman in my family has fallen by her brain, her pure and utter genius consuming her mind to trap her within dark walls. Ever heard of Tillie Klimek or Lyda Southard? Maybe, maybe not; they killed multiple people for no reason for the fun fact of losing their minds.

“Wake up! Wake up!” I sit up, it's my guard.

“What do you want? Oh no, wait I can guess.” A knowing smirk has already spread across my face. I come up to the glass and press my hand to the glass for him to press his hand as well.

“I’m going to get you out of here…” I turn around to smile at myself. He is so wrapped around my finger its unreal. Although he says I’m beautiful I haven’t seen a mirror in years.

“No, you are not. No possible way. You can’t even get into this room.” I tilt my head so he can see my eyes. The door suddenly opens and he steps in as a point. He pulls me in and kisses me deeply, his urgency revolting.

“We leave in 2 hours.” he leaves without another word.

***

The next hour and a half are grueling. I bounce on my toes counting the moments. The door opens with that sweet noise of air coming unexpectedly, he grabs me around the waist as my cackle rebounds off the walls.  

“You are finally getting out baby!” we run toward the door of the facility. Bounding in the newly cut grass, the bitter scent of the flowers and the annoying sound of bees buzzing are surprisingly pleasant my ears. “Come on, no time to waste. The car is waiting on the edge of the road” he says as my smile spreads even farther up my cheeks. The car is an old Chevrolet Monte Carlo, musty and gross but it’ll do. We hop in and start driving, where? I do not know.

“WAHOO!” I scream out the window with my fists pumping in the air. The air feels good as it rushes through my knotty hair, smoothing it down. The air takes me back to my fathers driving, how he would swerve on purpose jolting me around the back seat trying to get me to laugh. The late Sunday picnics after church, the cool air was always my reward for being patient in church and not laughing when they said God was good. The jam would cover my fingers as I picked wildflowers making the leaves stick to my fingers.  Then we would go home and the darkness would consume me and how the grave face my father would get when he looked at his phone when he realized who I was and why I was there. The images in my brain blinked in and out, killing my mood. What felt like hours passed.

“What's wrong? You were so happy and then you became suppressed.” My guard asked trying to get me to talk.

“I'm fine, my past just needs to be buried.” His confusion turns into understanding my thoughts.

“Tell me exactly what you are thinking” the look on my face must say everything I’m thinking because he then shuts up and looks more afraid than ever.

“I really am fine,” I say without another word. We finally pull up to a motel and park ready to walk in. He starts to pull out his bags. “Hey look at that car,” I say “Its a 2005 ford mustang!” I look at him with big puppy eyes “Can we steal it?” he looks at me like I'm crazy, maybe because I am, either way, I do not appreciate it.

“No, that's to high profile, someone will report it stolen before we even cross state lines.” He is officially pissing me off, I can do what I want when I want, I do NOT need him telling me what I can and can not do. I carefully start to slide the knife I have been hiding from my pant line.

“You know what?” I pull him for a kiss and try not to barf in my mouth. “I do not love you,” I say matter of factly. I slid the knife across his neck slowly so I can see the agony of the betrayal and his realization of him being used. “And I do not like being told what to do” as he falls to the ground. I jump in the Mustang, roar the engine and speed away faster than ever before. Heading for the only thing I have ever known.