It's a good job Kev isn't in today.

I could stop there. It would suffice. It says everything I feel about him and this day. So, perhaps I will.

Except... reading that line, it says nothing at all. Perception is a fickle beast. Cousin to Fate and Time, it ensures no two people see something in quite the same way. To one, thanks to Time's playfulness and Perception's deceitful nature, a day can pass quickly. Each hour can feel as if half of its minutes have been cast aside in its haste to pass the day's baton onto to next. To another, it can drag as if they're wading through the mire of their life, with every wrong decision and failed relationship threatening to suck them under.

Is it a good day, and we don't want Kev to either spoil or enjoy it? Is it a day of tribulation that we would prefer Kev didn't have to endure?

You say 'potato' and I say 'spud'. One man's treasure is another's junk he keeps tripping over in the hall and tells himself he needs to move it, but never does.

So, is today a treasure, or is it the obstacle I've stubbed my toe on three times this week? And how long can one week actually last?

So many questions and so little time. Or so much, depending on how Perception and Time are feeling today.

So.

Kev.

Or Kevuuun, as Percy likes to call him, emphasising the incorrect final vowel as if enjoying its bitter taste. I can imagine he would like that. Percy leaves a similarly unpleasant taste whenever he speaks to you. Or is near you. Or does neither, but you catch him watching you from the corner of your eye and wish your peripheral vision wasn't so good.

I get on with most of my fellow patients. Why wouldn't you, when you're incarcerated in an asylum, and are seen as the orderlies' toys? There is no place and little space for abrasive natures. Percy and his cohorts are ever eager to jump on any sign of discord. They like to needle those involved to the point where sparks of ire are fed until they explode in fiery fist fights. It then gives them reason to needle more literally. To use their favoured tasers or equally loved clubs.

I've yet to join those clubs. I don't like the subscription costs.

Anywho-be-do.

Kevuuuuuuuuuuuun. I get on with most in the asylum. Him, I don't. He's a shit. Am I being unkind? I am not. I'm, if anything, being kind!

It started when he arrived. I'd like to say it was a Thursday. I'd like to say that because I'm fond of Thursdays and that would have made some part of his arrival pleasant. As he actually turned up on a Tuesday, and they're just filler non-days, he didn't even have that going for him. As usual, Connors brought him in. As he was coherent and behaving (Kev, rather than Connors), there were no shackles around his wrist, giving the look of The Ghost of Sanity Passed, or straitjacket forcing him self-embrace. They were chatting. Laughing. Kev was being welcomed.

"You'll like it here," Connors told him. "You'll be better in no time, and back with your family before you know it."

There was Time again. 'No time,' in here, could mean a few days or a remaining for so long, there is no longer any concept of time. Each day is grounded in hogs, and they merge together in a blur of repetition.

"Thank you, Doctor," Kev gushed, taking his saviour's hand and shaking it energetically.

Connors left, then. Kevun turned to the room and held his arms wide.

"I'm here!" he said loudly.

Only two people, other than I, noticed. I always watch the new arrivals. Some need consoling. Some are beyond that and need the help of drugs and a relaxing stay in Room 101. Others wander aimlessly, not knowing how to deal with their new situation, particularly if it's enforced rather than voluntary. Mucus Mickey was looking for a tissue refill, so just happened to look in that direction, and Stampy (or Phil, as his mother probably called him) was staring into space. he did that often, sure he could see the protons of the air dancing. I suppose Phil didn't initially see anything, as his focus between him and the addition to our numbers. Kevun's... I mean Kevin's... proclamation interrupted his concentration.

Oops!

Stampy stood. He smiled. I stood too.

I knew that smile and didn't like it. It wasn't noticeably twisted or full of spite. No, it was calm. Welcoming. Warm. The thing was, Stampy never smiled. Not once, even when he was in a good mood, as he generally was. His mouth only defied gravity to turn upwards at each end when he was pissed.

Luckily, I reached Stampy before he reached Kev.

"Hey, Stampy," I said. "How's that dance going? Have they got it down, yet?"

The air was always dancing, and he was the choreographer. There was never a time when that question wasn't relevant to him.

"Hey!"

I turned to Kev, an eyebrow raised questioningly. He'd only just arrived, so didn't know the way things worked, or the way they stumbled along pretending to work and hoping no one noticed. He would be given time to learn, and I'd help him as much as I could, as was my way. Walking in and announcing his entrance to the world, which the Recreation Room would become, was not going to bring people fawning before him. If anything, it would create a circle of exclusion around him that none would cross.

"Yes?" I asked politely.

"I'm here," he repeated. "And you've just stopped my first new fan. I don't appreciate that."

I smiled, then. My smile could mean a variety of things. Happiness, joy or humour. A random thought. A quiet fart. A loud belch from across the room . It generally didn't mean I was going to break a few bones and chow down on an ear (we don't bite ears, Stampmeister).

"Well, I apologise for that, but Stampy, here, will never be a fan of anything, I'm afraid. Sorry to piss on your bonfire."

"Don't worry," Kev said. "My bonfire is waterproof. And urine proof too. Now, let me meet my adoring public, please."

I laughed and turned away, leading Stampy with me. He looked perplexed, as if he'd partially heard Kev, and was trying to process the conversation. Apart from his invisible performers, he had no interest in anything. The television could be blasting out at full volume, and he'd not look up. Jeremy had brought a huge pile of board games, and he showed no interest. Vanya, the poor woman who would do anything for a simple smile and nice word, though many of us gave them to her for free, had tried to lure him away for a sexually influenced compliment. I'd witnessed her persuasive skills before. Most of my fellow patients managed to decline, but many of the orderlies didn't wait for an invitation.

I felt for Vanya. She enjoyed the sex, I knew, but was taken advantage of. Any care or attempts at addressing her appetites and needs were damaged by those that were too quick to take the opportunities offered. There was a fine line one had to walk. If you were distant with her to try and avoid any advances, she took it as hate and broke down. If you complimented her, you were in love.

Stampy showed no interest in Vanya. After the bruises she incurred from trying to garner that interest, she left him alone.

So, Kevin's 'I'm here!' was pointless. There were so many other disruptions throughout each day, that he would have had to seriously increase the volume before notice was paid. Few had the lungs required.

His hand on my shoulder was rough and squeezed tightly enough to make me wince. He spun me around and his face was close to mine so fast, I flinched. I could smell his breath. Taste it. It reminded me of cold cappuccino. I couldn't help licking my lips and was disgusted with myself. I surely didn't desire a coffee that much!

"I said..." he began.

I could have done many things. Headbutted him, for example. Cried havoc and let slip the toss of a very specific coin. Brought my knee up sharply straight between his legs, welcoming his crushed bollocks to the family. I didn't get the chance to do anything. Kev's head was yanked back by Vanya, with the manoeuvre being incorporated into her leaping onto his back. With her new position and his face... erm... facing upwards, she had free access to his features.

There were many things I could have done. Biting his nose off and spitting it out at the oncoming orderly would not have been one of them.

Vanya screamed with glee and the blood spraying from her mouth was like mini giggles. Kev screamed, and the blood spraying from his face was like his ego escaping into the world. The orderly grabbed her and tried to pull her off him. He managed, but not before she dug her nails into his skin and raked his cheeks.

Just because she believed we'd rebuffed her didn't mean she wouldn't stand up for us, whether it was required or not.

Later, when Vanya was locked away, her nails cleaned of fleshy remnants, and Kev was sitting in a corner away from everyone, hiding his dressings, calm had returned to the Recreation Room. It was post medication time, so calm resembled a bus load of passengers, none of whom knew each other. Everyone would be staring into their mobile phones. As we didn't have such devices, my fellow residents tended to simply gaze in a similar direction. I joined them, on occasion, medicated or not. Sometimes, you just needed to switch off.

Kev avoided everyone for about a week, which was fine. We avoided him, too. He only kept his wounds covered for the first two days of that week, though. Why would someone do that? Why not allow them to heal properly? Because then they wouldn't be trophies. They couldn't be held up for everyone to gawk at. There'd be no pity, however deserved they might be. Kevuun wouldn't be noticed.

But, take the gauze and plasters and bandage off, and Kev becomes Kev! His ravaged features drew people in, first with side-eyed disgust and then with curiosity. A look because a smile became a chat.

I don't like to speak badly of the other patients, but they can fall for some shit sometimes. They didn't notice when he gave them all the waffle they could consume and then gossiped about them later. He wasn't making friends or fans, he was creating enemies. Not enemies of him, but of each other. He was never the one who spread a rumour. He wouldn't divulge a secret ever, would he? No, not him.

When my friends came to me and complained, it was never about Kev. It would be about the other poor saps being fooled by his unmistakeable charisma. I think they needed it, and he fed on that desire. It gave them a distraction from their own worries. They could forget their delusions when given snippets of everyone else's.

What a dangerous game to play, Kevuun. Not only would you make those around you suspicious of each other, but there was also the risk of them inheriting the problems of their former friends. Their illnesses, coupled with the steady intake of medication, made them amenable. Susceptible. Supple to bend, yet easy to break.

I had to do something. I had to step in and either tell him to stop or warn the others. Percy had other plans. It appeared that I was going to be destined to have my approaches hampered, something I was somewhat thankful for.

"Kevuuuuun," he said, striding across the room in his best I'm in charge and you are shit on the sole of my shoe manner. "I've been watching you."

"Of course you have," Kev said, grinning. "I wondered how long it would take you to come closer and touch my magnificence."

"From what I hear, there's nothing magnificent about it. And I ain't touching nothing, pervert."

"Of course. I understand, you must say that. Appearances and all that. Don't worry, it's our little secret."

Percy laughed. It was a high pitched squeak that suited the pinched features making him look at if he was permanently sucking on a lemon.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" he asked. "You're a fucking patient. A steaming pile of slop with a side helping of crazy. There's nothing magnificent about you. I wouldn't scraping you off the sole of my shoe. I'd just throw 'em in the bin where you belong."

He was always so eloquent with his insults. Percy's ego was as immense as our opinion of him was meagre. I imagined he was so incensed at Kev because there wasn't enough room for two such over-inflated self-images. He would think, as his opponent did, we all laid prone before him. He wouldn't want to share us.

Kevuun stared at Percy. He had a smile that couldn't decide if it was genuine. It finally settled on forced and his teeth gritted behind the thinly pressed lips. His fist was up and swinging at Percy before the orderly had time to realise his current victim was now his attacker

He ducked, or tried to. He would never be fast enough for the slowest of us residents. If my good friend Mucus Mickey had been foolish enough to take a swipe at little Percy, he'd have been able to pause, unwrap a new roll of toilet paper. He'd then have time to pick apart the stuck down end, which always tears no matter how careful he is, tear off a few sheets and wipe that ever dripping snozzle. When he finally got around to continuing his punch, Percy would still have been in motion. It wasn't that he was slow, though that had to be part of it, but he also had no respect for anyone other than the mighty Dr. Connors. He thought he was tougher, smarter and faster than almost everyone.

He was wrong on each.

Kev's punch connected with Percy's forehead. There was plenty of the every-shiny carapace to hit, as his hairline tended to recede a little with every nasty comment or act. The rumour going around, which was not started by me... probably..., was that it was embarrassed to be a part of him, so was gradually escaping, follicle by follicle.

The punch must have been made with some force, more than I'd have expected. Percy's head snapped sideways, and his body followed. His feet left the ground and all of him travelled back, landing on a table. Unfortunately, the table was occupied by Robert and Beacon, best friends since they arrived within a week of one another. They were the epitome of nice to everyone. Mostly. If someone interrupted one of their many games of dominoes, they transformed into whirlwinds of rage, destroying furniture and breaking bones while they had their revenge. The, in an instant, they were back to their usual friendly selves.

Needless to say, no one interrupted dominoes.

Percy wouldn't have either, under normal circumstances. He didn't have much choice, however. His body collided with the table. The dominoes scattered. Robert and Beacon, as if a full moon had risen above them, released their inner beasts.

Everyone followed the example of the dominoes and scattered. They didn't need to, though. Robert and Beacon knew exactly who had stopped their game.

Robert picked Percy up with one great hand and brought him up to his face. I couldn't see what was happening from my angle, but the scream told me it wasn't pleasant. A few seconds later, Percy was discarded. Robert threw him away like an empty chocolate bar wrapper. Some orderlies ran to him, but my attention was on Beacon and Kev.

"I... I... I..." stammered Kevuun as he back away from the approaching behemoth.

There was no time for him to finish the sentence. Beacon grabbed Kev and pulled him forward, while simultaneously ramming a fist into the middle of his face. Beacon's roar of fury smothered any sounds of a crunching skull, thankfully, but they couldn't cover the spray of blood.

One punch. That was it.

Beacon let his victim go and Kevin fell to the floor. His face was... imploded. The concavity wasn't what made me want to vomit, though those nearby were affected by the image, as demonstrated by the sounds of retching and splashing. It wasn't the piece of tongue that had been partially bitten off and was hanging by a thread of flesh from his mouth.

No. It was the eyes. They still appeared to be full of the life and promise he espoused. They were not red from the crushing of the blood vessels. They didn't dangle from the sockets, looking down at the damaged tongue. They were alive, even though the rest of him was obviously dead.

So.

It's a good job Kev isn't in today.

For all of us.