For a time, it laughed. For a long, long time. For a year and seven months, it simply sat in a corner and laughed. Shrilly. Cuttingly. It laughed. Without break or pause for breath. It laughed and laughed and laughed. It laughed as if the world had ended and it thought it was so damn funny to find itself still breathing that it simply had to laugh.
And then, suddenly, it stopped laughing. And it began to scream. Clawing at the walls, clawing at the floor, clawing at itself, ripping apart every bit of world closest to itself, it screamed and screamed and screamed. For seven days, it screamed. It screamed because there were no words, there was no thought, no meaning for this; there was simply emotion, and it could do. Nothing. But. Scream.
And then, suddenly, it stopped screaming. And it began to sob. Broken, jagged sobs that cut the ear to hear. Drained