NIMAH
I sit down in the clinicians chair, placing myself against the hard plastic tentatively. I’ve seen this room so many times. I’ve seen the white of the walls before, I see the statue of a brain, a pamflet, colours. Colours that I know aren’t really there. There are no blues in the room, bar from the letter box of sky. But sometimes, when I sit in this doctors room I see that slither of colour fall to the floor. It’s drags it’s self across the shining floors tainting it. Sometimes it burns through the plastic, creating an awful smell I can’t liken to anything in this reality. Often the plastic turns a dirtier colour and it looks like charred flesh. Then my own skin starts to fall off. It begins with small flakes of my arm, then it caves into my thigh, digging a hole into the reds inside of me, then reaching the whites of my bone marrow. The bugs crawl into the holes, causing small electrocutions inside of me. It always distracts me from the doctors face. I don’t know the actual face that attaches itself to the name of ‘doctor’. Since it changes so frequently I can never actually focus on the person behind it. He, she, they talk at me as my arms turn to ash. It pools at the leg of my chair, they don’t see it. I hear some words, swirling against the magenta in front of my eyes.
Time
It’s
She
Handle
Symptoms
Enough
Medication
Medication.
Medication, Pills. Ah shit, my heads swelling. He’s handing me a small bottle filled with purple tentacles. I can’t touch that, they’re twitching.
Tw-itch
T-witch
Twit-ch
No
No, i can’t do it.
SCHIZOPHRENIA
I hate this room. Arbitrary, boring slathers of dead tree cover the white of the plaster. Nothing of interest on them. I see Niamh glance over to the only portal into the outside. I make the small amount of blue fill the floors. It acts as an apt distraction, but I need to show her how disgusting this room is. I make the paint sear itself into the flooring, drawing burns across the ground. Then I fill her arms up with them too. I like to see the boils push themselves out of her skin, and the cuts open wide. I let the armoured animals make their home inside of her. I treat her to bursts of electricity, it reminds me I’m there. Always. Why why WHY is she talking to that? ‘Doctor’. Such a stain on this perfect reality I make for her. She has me, she doesn’t need him. I think he’s a him but a him may as well be a her as far as I care. I block her eyesight with pink, pulled from her old scars.
Wait.
That BASTARD said medication. She doesn’t need that no. She only needs me, I make her have those beautiful marks on her body, I cover her face with blood to make her a masterpiece!
I can’t lose
her
Manipulating the world around her keeps her ready for me. ME. I MAKE THE TENTACLES I MAKE THE SUCTION CUPS I MAKE THE FUCKING WORLD
It’s all for her, my love. Mine.
BUG 