a dream is a wish your heart makes | mind broadcast
Sitting together in an otherwise empty room are you and another boy and a girl. Well, not quite empty - a sketchbook is laid out on the ground between the three of you, and crayons scattered on the white, white, floor. You stay back, watching the the girl chatter and the boy stutter replies as they scribble haphazardly on the paper.
Red flowers. Yellow birds. A blue, blue sky.
All things that none of you have ever seen before, but you can imagine them.
You think you can imagine them.
Finally you hear someone calling your name, and you stand, say goodbye to them both - the girl smiles and runs up to you to wrap her arms around your shoulders in a hug, but the boy just smiles nervously and stays seated, watching you from underneath long bangs. You nod firmly and leave, walk out of the pure, brightly lit room and down an expansive, equally white hallway. The lights dim as you continue, until your surroundings are pitch black and the only thing you can see is a bright light in the distance. It doesn't bother you. It's familiar, and so is the voice of a woman coming from the shadows as you enter the small circle of light and await further instruction.
I would like to run a test on you.
These words, again - they're familiar. But you swallow and feel the weight of a heavy metal ring around your neck, familiar but never comfortable.
If you pass, you may be able to save them all. Even that girl.
You know who she's talking about (in that voice, all smooth silk and soft hair). You would do anything to help her, to save her from the madness in her mind.
If you fail, you will probably die.
You would do anything.
I don't need your answer immediately -
"I don't need a test." (anything.) "Give it to me."
And you're in the room again, kneeling on the ground with a blue crayon in your hands. There's red on the floor, too, and when you rub your face your fingers come away stained with color. The girl sits beside you, knees pulled up to her chest and head bowed as she sobs.
I'm afraid of the outside, too. But I -
- I wish I could see real flowers.
You reach for her hand, to try and quell her tears. Her hands are red, too. The other boy sits silently in a circle of white, white floor, the only clean place in the once empty room. You glance at him and he manages a nervous smile, fingers toying with a green crayon.
The girl smiles at you, too, but her eyes are empty and her teeth are far too sharp.
This will sting.
This time her voice is sing-song and cheerful, her steps crisp and clear against the white, white, floor. She walks behind you, brushes her fingertips along your neck oh-so-gently, and then you feel the pain coursing up and down your spine, curling around your neck, lights flashing so bright that they blind.
Then you can see nothing but darkness, and yet you feel someone standing behind you.
I suppose I should welcome my new pet dog.
He (it) has a voice just as smooth and just as soft as hers and you shudder as nails scrape against your neck - and suddenly you realize that the familiar collar is no longer there. The person (the thing) behind you laughs, and even as the black turns to soft grass, swaying flowers and a cloudless sky, somewhere the girl's voice echoes:
"I wish I could see real flowers."
You look up at the blue, blue sky and see nothing but red.
Red flowers. Yellow birds. A blue, blue sky.
All things that none of you have ever seen before, but you can imagine them.
You think you can imagine them.
Finally you hear someone calling your name, and you stand, say goodbye to them both - the girl smiles and runs up to you to wrap her arms around your shoulders in a hug, but the boy just smiles nervously and stays seated, watching you from underneath long bangs. You nod firmly and leave, walk out of the pure, brightly lit room and down an expansive, equally white hallway. The lights dim as you continue, until your surroundings are pitch black and the only thing you can see is a bright light in the distance. It doesn't bother you. It's familiar, and so is the voice of a woman coming from the shadows as you enter the small circle of light and await further instruction.
I would like to run a test on you.
These words, again - they're familiar. But you swallow and feel the weight of a heavy metal ring around your neck, familiar but never comfortable.
If you pass, you may be able to save them all. Even that girl.
You know who she's talking about (in that voice, all smooth silk and soft hair). You would do anything to help her, to save her from the madness in her mind.
If you fail, you will probably die.
You would do anything.
I don't need your answer immediately -
"I don't need a test." (anything.) "Give it to me."
And you're in the room again, kneeling on the ground with a blue crayon in your hands. There's red on the floor, too, and when you rub your face your fingers come away stained with color. The girl sits beside you, knees pulled up to her chest and head bowed as she sobs.
I'm afraid of the outside, too. But I -
- I wish I could see real flowers.
You reach for her hand, to try and quell her tears. Her hands are red, too. The other boy sits silently in a circle of white, white floor, the only clean place in the once empty room. You glance at him and he manages a nervous smile, fingers toying with a green crayon.
The girl smiles at you, too, but her eyes are empty and her teeth are far too sharp.
This will sting.
This time her voice is sing-song and cheerful, her steps crisp and clear against the white, white, floor. She walks behind you, brushes her fingertips along your neck oh-so-gently, and then you feel the pain coursing up and down your spine, curling around your neck, lights flashing so bright that they blind.
Then you can see nothing but darkness, and yet you feel someone standing behind you.
I suppose I should welcome my new pet dog.
He (it) has a voice just as smooth and just as soft as hers and you shudder as nails scrape against your neck - and suddenly you realize that the familiar collar is no longer there. The person (the thing) behind you laughs, and even as the black turns to soft grass, swaying flowers and a cloudless sky, somewhere the girl's voice echoes:
"I wish I could see real flowers."
You look up at the blue, blue sky and see nothing but red.