(no subject)
Maybe all of that nonsense with the Thing hadn't been such a good idea, after all.... But all he wants to do is sleep. The sideroom is dark and quiet and he lies down, asleep almost instantly in the cocooning silence.
Hadn't there been silence? No, silence was a memory, and a vague one at that. His ears had been filled with screams for too long. Screams and the neverending taunts and imprecations and orders from the guards, the ceaseless drone of impersonal medical observation....
The endless sounds and words and music in his own head.
Voices fade in and out. Reality slides into a wobbling, choking, drowning semi-consciousness. The word 'seizure' had been mentioned enough times during these drownings to form an association.
Lucidity.
But can it really be called lucidity when dark is day and light is night? The screams and moans blend with the inner sounds and become a terrifyingly beautiful chorus of words in no language that anyone has ever spoken, and his head will fly apart, it will burst into a million pieces because the sound is too huge, and they can't hear it.
No, that isn't right. Of course they couldn't hear it, it was an hallucination.
Another seizure. Pain and lights and hmmm, interesting, and a dark place hardly larger than the shatterproof cube and still pain, but for some reason they mustn't see, mustn't know--and it's gone. Apart from the tests. Always the tests, they seem intent on taking a part of everything, with no anaesthetic, intent on bleeding him dry.
Day is still dark and night is still light.
Hadn't there been silence? No, silence was a memory, and a vague one at that. His ears had been filled with screams for too long. Screams and the neverending taunts and imprecations and orders from the guards, the ceaseless drone of impersonal medical observation....
The endless sounds and words and music in his own head.
Voices fade in and out. Reality slides into a wobbling, choking, drowning semi-consciousness. The word 'seizure' had been mentioned enough times during these drownings to form an association.
Lucidity.
But can it really be called lucidity when dark is day and light is night? The screams and moans blend with the inner sounds and become a terrifyingly beautiful chorus of words in no language that anyone has ever spoken, and his head will fly apart, it will burst into a million pieces because the sound is too huge, and they can't hear it.
No, that isn't right. Of course they couldn't hear it, it was an hallucination.
Another seizure. Pain and lights and hmmm, interesting, and a dark place hardly larger than the shatterproof cube and still pain, but for some reason they mustn't see, mustn't know--and it's gone. Apart from the tests. Always the tests, they seem intent on taking a part of everything, with no anaesthetic, intent on bleeding him dry.
Day is still dark and night is still light.