It is easy to forget just how hot the desert actually is until you're trapped outside indefinitely. My head couldn't help but rest against the cool, exterior walls of the prison, chilling my scales into a temporary bliss. It is great to not be completely trapped inside, forced to listen to Green ramble about the "pettiness of human containment cells" and how the full force of all five heads could wear down at the bars that confined them. This was, without delay or fail, promptly followed with Blue chiming in that they no longer had five heads at their disposal, probably accompanied with a glance in my direction. Blue always had that sort of cold passive aggressiveness towards us at times, but as of late, it's been far more obvious what point he was trying to make. I am the black sheep of Hiram McDaniels now. Ever since the Opera House "failure" as Green puts it, they haven't spoken more than three words to me. They still tell me things, though. There are times where I can hear their voices as clear as the daylight sky; they scratch and claw at me from inside my own head.
Purple is our enemy.
Purple hates us, and we hate him too.
As the sun begins to set along the desert dunes, my eyes pick out the lights overhead, coming out of hiding in the dark. I always thought myself like those odd, little dots. They are many, but at the same time, they are considered to be one. Sometimes, all of the lights ar overwhelming and almost impossible to pick out individually. Other times, each little light is seen on its own, without any judgement based around its peers. There are times where the others - I mean, the rest of me - are just so loud. Simply impossible to tune out no matter what I do or think. They're out in front of my ears, they're inside of my head, they're inescapable. But then there are times like this. where everything is eerily quiet, with the exception for sharp whispers to keep hushed and the occasional mention of Purple and the December Auction. They know now. They know now and I can only await my fate with them. With myself. It's torture.
Purple abandoned us.
He's so useless. He can't do anything right.
With only a sudden, loud yell behind me as a warning, my head slams back against the bars in my window, and precious, violet scales continuing to deteriorate against grating bars that divide me from, well, the rest of me. The lump on the back of my head strikes a headache up again, aggrivated that it's being disturbed yet again. Despite a wall between us, I still move with the rest jump to the other end of the cell. I can hear Green yelling at some guard or sheriff or the sort. "Some unimportant, lesser being," as he would've said, if not for that human's presence. Green was always one of the more aggressive of us, but never for the right reasons. It didn't take long for one of the humans to say something to get him quiet again. What it was? I couldn't really hear over the voices, which swarmed back in like raging wasps.
Purple is vile scum.
When we get out of here, we will kill him.
He is dead to us.
Nudging some sand away, I spat a small flame into a pile of wood near me. Cecil had left me some here last night to help me stay warm. He also left me a small radio so I would at least have something to do. It's hard to understand why he's so nice to me after everything I caused him. He'll drop by from time to time, ask me how things are going or bring me some morsels to snack on. Despite all of these things I have, however, there are still nights where I want nothing more than to bury myself into the sands and be left to starve. I am Violet, but I am also Hiram McDaniels. Hiram McDaniels is in prison for attempted assassinations of the mayor, but Violet is not. I never wanted to be Frank Chen, or work with that creepy old woman, or kill the mayor. Even just being mayor wasn't my idea. But I'm only ever seen as Hiram McDaniels, five headed criminal and assassination conspirator. Does one part of you have to define the rest of you? Or, should I ask if the rest of you has to define one part? We are one, sure, but we are five at the same time. Why do their actions have to trap me? Why do their voices have to dig so far deep inside of my head?
Why can't I just be free?
A shaky sigh escapes my lips as I look back up at those strange lights invading the night sky. Maybe they get to be seen as their own beings sometimes. Glancing back towards the other heads, I could feel them beginning to fall asleep for the night. My neck stretched forward and with my head, I turned the radio on. "And now, the weather," a familiar voice soothed me, taking me into just what he promised. I listened quietly, taking my vision back to the skies overhead. I can't change the fact that they hate Purple. But I am not Purple. I am Violet. Courageous, unstoppable Violet. As the weather came to a close, my eyes begin to flutter, and then close.
The voices in my head took a vow of silence for the night.