he comes to bring me my wings
WHO: Dan Dreiberg and William Harley Blue
WHERE: A NYC asylum
DATE: May 19, 1936
WARNINGS: Secret sparkles?
SUMMARY: There is no better way to kill an afternoon than visiting an albino invalid in the nuthouse.
STATUS: Slightly mad
William Harley hadn't had a single visitor beyond staff in fifteen years.
Throughout his long sleep in the hospital, nobody came to claim him. There was nothing to identify him but his eyes, so he was simply the albino. A strange and rare thing anywhere, but the novelty faded from interest as the years stretched on with no change.
He awoke in 1933. Delirious and unsettled, there was no sense to be gotten from him. He spoke nonsense and made unreasonable demands. There was nothing that anyone could do for him, nothing that would satisfy him, no one that could understand him. They sent him away, hands tied. A mad one, everyone agreed. Who wouldn't be? Waking up so much older, alone, no name...
They pinned him with the first name they could catch him say: William Harley. He insisted it wasn't his, yet gave no alternative. There was no arguing by the time it was put to paper...
William Harley was waiting for the first visitor in fifteen years. He had been moved carefully, as he was every day, to a willow branch rocking chair beside the opposite end of the bed. It kept the sun off his legs, but he sacrificed the corner of sky he could see if he leaned forward where he lay.
He didn't tell anyone that Dan was coming; who would believe it? They would ask how he knew, and he would tell the truth. It would be problematic. Talking was always problematic with these people. The truth didn't matter here, only the routines. William--Blue, I am Blue--was hungry for the change. The book had sent goose pimples across his skin the first time he had watched it write; that offer to visit had filled him with an anxious excitement that he hadn't felt since...
He couldn't remember.
His directions were poor; Blue didn't truly know where he was. It didn't matter enough to know. It was all a dream. He would wake up where he belonged someday soon. Until then, there was the book, there was Dan, and there was the chance to hear a voice that was new and maybe even speak to ears that would listen rather than hear.
WHERE: A NYC asylum
DATE: May 19, 1936
WARNINGS: Secret sparkles?
SUMMARY: There is no better way to kill an afternoon than visiting an albino invalid in the nuthouse.
STATUS: Slightly mad
William Harley hadn't had a single visitor beyond staff in fifteen years.
Throughout his long sleep in the hospital, nobody came to claim him. There was nothing to identify him but his eyes, so he was simply the albino. A strange and rare thing anywhere, but the novelty faded from interest as the years stretched on with no change.
He awoke in 1933. Delirious and unsettled, there was no sense to be gotten from him. He spoke nonsense and made unreasonable demands. There was nothing that anyone could do for him, nothing that would satisfy him, no one that could understand him. They sent him away, hands tied. A mad one, everyone agreed. Who wouldn't be? Waking up so much older, alone, no name...
They pinned him with the first name they could catch him say: William Harley. He insisted it wasn't his, yet gave no alternative. There was no arguing by the time it was put to paper...
William Harley was waiting for the first visitor in fifteen years. He had been moved carefully, as he was every day, to a willow branch rocking chair beside the opposite end of the bed. It kept the sun off his legs, but he sacrificed the corner of sky he could see if he leaned forward where he lay.
He didn't tell anyone that Dan was coming; who would believe it? They would ask how he knew, and he would tell the truth. It would be problematic. Talking was always problematic with these people. The truth didn't matter here, only the routines. William--Blue, I am Blue--was hungry for the change. The book had sent goose pimples across his skin the first time he had watched it write; that offer to visit had filled him with an anxious excitement that he hadn't felt since...
He couldn't remember.
His directions were poor; Blue didn't truly know where he was. It didn't matter enough to know. It was all a dream. He would wake up where he belonged someday soon. Until then, there was the book, there was Dan, and there was the chance to hear a voice that was new and maybe even speak to ears that would listen rather than hear.