They said he was a psychopath. Psycho! How could someone like him be a psychopath? He was the epitome of good mental health! He had to be, but the people in the white coats were dragging him through the whitewash halls of what they called an "asylum". This place was no asylum; he could never feel any sense of safety in a place where he was treated like a crazed animal. They thought he was deranged, but he knew better.
    He was superior to them in every way. He found it hysterical when the people in the white coats glanced at him, concern or fear or some other negative emotion crawling through their irises. He laughed when they told him he was to be put to death. He laughed when they were dragging him through the hallway. He laughed as he was sat down in the metal chair. He giggled as barbed wire was wrapped tightly around his torso and shoulders, piercing through the thick fabric of the straight jacked. He laughed when the headpiece was wrapped around his forehead.
    He was tickled at the thought that these people working at an asylum were going to kill him. His eyes twitched and his body wriggled with excitement. The barbed wire penetrating further into the straight jacket.
    Then the electricity was turned on, and he cackled. The loud hum of lightning drowning out the laughter. His body twitched and turned as sparks enveloped his body. His face was turning white with all the laughing he was doing, or maybe it was just the life being sucked out of him by the electric chair.
    When the people in the white coats turned the electricity off, not a sound came from inside the room. The laughter was gone, replaced suddenly by an intense and overwhelming silence. The tension was gone, however. The psychotic creature had been sent back to the place he came from, never to return to the world of the living again.