Log Number Two:
Entered on Friday, August 19th, 2011.
The patient has shown an exceedingly large amount of behavior alteration in temporary solitary confinement.
He cries constantly and paws at the walls.
Since he had continued to slaughter inmates and hurt himself with his own claws, we had them removed a few hours ago.
As for the bandages on his forearms, those are to cover up and hopefully heal his attempted suicide wounds. Yet another reason why we had him declawed.
Normally, he has no visible pupil within his eyes, but today.
I see one, bright as day in the midst of the red.
He's continuing to cry even as I'm writing this, I do not know the source of his pain. ...He actually spoke to me today. He speaks, yes. But his voice is very deep, and slightly raspy, as if he hasn't talked for a long time.
He told me of his life, and he has just agreed to speak of it again now, so that I may pass it on to any of you who read this:
'I was born into a normal litter of three. I was the biggest and the strongest next to my two brothers. They looked up to me, and always came to me if someone hurt them or upset them. And putting those assholes in their places was what started my psychotic rage. I wouldn't just tell them off... I'd...I'd kill them. I'd make them suffer before ending it though, I'll rip their fur apart, slash their eyes, tear their joints... And it felt good. Not only had I gotten revenge on for those who teased my family, but also I had satisfied my constant need for blood, torture, and death.
I have a twisted mind, you may say. But it's just something I cannot help. My parents knew I was different, and I was disowned by them once they found out what I had been doing to the other pups around the neighborhood. They tossed me away like trash, I didn't care though. I just moved on and took care of myself.
Now, I continued killing, but not as constantly as I was used to. I soon developed a taste for flesh and blood. So, as disgusting and vile as it sounds, I not only tortured and killed my victims, but I devoured them as well.
It was the only way I could stay alive. It's hard to find food on the streets; and there are several strays who are viciously territorial about who digs in "their" trash.
I only plucked one or two victims a week, I hid their bodies behind dumpsters and ate a little bit at a time, needing to savor as much as I could in order to have enough to live on.
I was never picked up by any human, they ran away at the sight of me. By then, I had my torn ear--" *wiggles right ear* 'and my eyes, which had developed this red color, and I don't even know how it happened. But people ran from me like they would from a slasher in a horror film.'
He stopped talking then, and he has now curled up in the center of his cell. He looks so pitiful, and helpess, and I cannot help but have sympathy for him. He's had a rough life, and he cannot control what he has become now...
I'll end this log here.
And I shall update more on his status soon.