The House For The Lost Soul Analysis

The house for the lost soul. Absent-mindedly, 17-year-old Trey Fierce read the line of words carved on the wood plank on the wall which were a subtle depiction of everyone whose life thrown into this place; the facility for the mentally incompetent, the unbalanced person, the deranged - those were just a few of the names. Whoever had said that madness was always in the form of frenzy and hysteria, must have never dealt with madness itself. It was often soundless and discreet, appeared in many tender forms, crawling steadily into the brain, and later it became an integral part of you; it slowly became you.
He looked out his window on the third floor of the building, and instead of a serene garden with abundant fresh air, what he found were flocks
Yesterday he heard that Freddie Maister, that he had knocked down until he fainted, wouldn’t fill a report to the police about the incident. Those gossip columnists, entertainment reporters, and gossip bloggers must be here for his reaction to the news, whether he’s willing to apologize to Freddie. Or they expected to see whether he dared to make a report about Freddie to the police as Freddie had tarnished his name and accused him of being mentally unstable after their infamous fight was widely spread in social media.
No matter what happened, Trey’s the one who lost the fight. He’s the one who had to spend four months in this facility and bore everyone thinking that he’s insane, the price that he had to pay for messing with the wealthy elite like the Maister. And he regretted. Not that he regretted punching Freddie until his body laying helplessly on the asphalt concrete, but he felt sorry that his mother must endure seeing him paying the
Sliding her glasses down her nose to look at him over the top, her gaze traveled from his rumpled black shirt that said ‘the lord of the darkness’, his tousled curly dark hair, his battered jeans, and to his drowsy eyes, which created an impression as if he had eyeliner under his eyes.
Taking a deep breath, she’s putting her glasses back on, “This is not going to impress those reporters. What will they think now? I know, they’ll probably write that the young heir of the Paramour restaurant group, after four months in the mental health facility, appears like someone who’s contemplating the power of darkness more than ever.”
Trey didn’t react; he’s thinking about his days he had spent in the facility, about all the disaster that was his life. “And we must buy new trousers. God, why do I pay the facility that expensive when you can’t even have anything proper to wear?” his mother said, clearly not impressed with her son’s appearance.
Trey’s mother looked her usual impressive in a black satin dressed and a thin red belt. She seemed always surrounded by the regal air, the kind of thing that made everyone constantly talking to her with a high degree of respect and somehow made her appeared taller, though she’s rather short. Compared to him, Trey had always towered over her even when she’s wearing her high-heel