One by One, the job is done.
Needles.
Many many needles.
They're everywhere.
My forehead, my eyes, my arms.
In and out they go, performing functions only known to the doctors.
And to me.
They hurt.
They try to numb the pain, but it hurts.
Hurtshurtshurtshurts.
Inside.
Deep inside my very being, it hurts.
The changes brought by the needles, they hurt too.
The changes made to the very core of who I am.
The pretty leaves.
Falling…
Falling…
Falling…
They land.
I am changing. I can feel it.
I scream.
Two by Two, Hands of Blue
The gloved hands reach out.
They're the color of cold.
They do things.
Things that shouldn't be talked of.
Things only whispered of by the air ventilation ducts and the flutter of leaves.
The hands are the color of the hospital.
The color of my brother.
I twitch, strain against what's holding me down, against this unnatural sleep.
Brother.
Brother.
The hands reach out, all needles, assurances.
The hands are wrong.
The hands are bad.
The hands are blue.
Hands of blue.
Always in twos.
Always smiling.
Smiling.
On the inside, they're laughing.
They love me.
They hate me.
I will make them scream.
Three by three, they set you free
There's new medicine.
They think I don't know.
They think I can't tell the difference.
But the dreams.
The dreams are worse.
The fish are in the leaves now.
The fish are dying.
It's my forest.
My leaves.
There shouldn't be fish.
But they're there.
They put them there.
The blue hands put the fish there.
The fish shouldn't be there.
Like the hands, the fish are wrong.
It hurts.
It just hurts.
But somewhere, deep in my mind, I know it'll get better.
The fish will turn into birds, and the birds will fly away.
If the birds fly away, I'll be alone again.
I poke the fish.
It doesn't move, just opens and closes its mouth like that's the right thing to do.
I decide that the fish are nice after all.
Four by four, sleep no more.
The needles are gone.
The hands are back.
But there are no needles.
There are no dreams.
They took away my forest.
They took away my fish-birds.
They took it all away.
They tell me to wake up.
I won't wake up.
I won't.
I won't.
I won't.
Brother will come.
Brother will give me back my fish.
It'll be the forest, just brother and me.
I won't let them take that way from me.
Not the dream.
Not the dream.
They don't let me dream.
It's the school again.
Let me dream.
LET ME DREAM.
Five by five, they've arrived.
Here.
Herehereherehere.
The birds are here.
MY birds are here.
That means the needles are here.
The pain is here.
The emptiness is back.
The cuts are back.
But the school isn't.
The birds.
The birds aren't like the fish.
They don't stay with me.
They don't listen.
They're loud.
My fish shouldn't be loud.
This is my place.
It should be quiet.
The fish were right.
The birds are wrong.
The birds pay no attention to.
The birds are wrong.
Kill the birds.
Kill them.
That way, they won't fly away.
Six by six, learn their tricks.
They brought them today.
They're proud of me.
Just like the fish were.
Just like the birds were.
Just like brother was.
Is.
Brother is.
They think that I'm asleep.
Paralyzed.
My birds think otherwise.
The feathers are pretty.
The thoughts are pretty.
I know things.
It's nice to know things.
Too bad the birds didn't know things.
Or the fish.
Brother did.
The fish didn't.
Brothers are better than fish.
I'm better than fish too.
I'm better than the visitors, too.
The visitors are mean.
I know what they think.
They don't think of birds.
They don't think of fish.
Or of brothers.
Or of drugs.
Or needles.
Or medicine.
They think of power.
That's all they think of.
I want to be asleep again.
I want my birds back.
The blue birds.
All still.
I want them back.
Seven by seven, turn it up to eleven.
They decided to up the dose, they said.
They decided to make more cuts, they did.
They decided to take my birds, they did.
More cuts.
More knowledge.
Knowledge is power.
Even this type of power.
Isn't this what I wanted?
Knowledge.
I think it is.
But not this way.
Not this way.
Not without my birds.
Not without my fish.
Not without my brother.
Brother.
Brotherbrotherbrotherbrother .
BROTHER!
There's more screaming.
In all probability, it's mine.
Eight by eight, don't question fate.
Why?
Why do they want to do this?
Why?
Why?
Why aren't there any birds?
I want my birds.
I want my fish.
I want my forest.
I want my brother.
Forget the birds.
The fish.
The forest.
Those aren't real.
Or they are.
They're real.
Brother's realer.
More real.
I want brother.
He doesn't stick me full of needles.
He doesn't make me scream.
Brother's nice.
The blue hands aren't.
The needles aren't.
The fish weren't.
The bird's weren't.
They won't let me move.
They won't let me write.
They won't let me think.
Not the birds.
The hands.
The blue hands.
All they make me do is scream.
Inside my head.
Where nothing but the left over feathers can hear.
Nine by nine, all in time.
It should be over.
I can see.
They can see.
It should be over.
The people can see.
The blue hands can't.
So it isn't over.
It will never be over.
Long after I'm gone.
After the birds.
After the fish.
After the feathers.
It'll still be there.
The pain that only I can feel.
I'll never find it, in this realm or the next.
Ten by ten, leave the men.
The men.
They're bad men.
Wrong men.
Leave the men.
Kill the men.
Like the birds.
Kill the men.
Men are bad.
Humans are bad.
Reavers are bad.
Everything – Bad.
Everything – Wrong.
But maybe not.
The school.
That's wrong.
But something's right.
Very right.
My brother's voice.
Brother.
Brotherbrotherbrother.
The needles are gone.
The bad games are gone.
Brother's here.
With me.
Brother.
Brotherbrotherbrother.
Simon.
Simon.
He's here.
They're gone.
The bad men are gone.
The birds are gone.
The fish are gone.
The feathers are gone.
The forest…
The forest remains.
Brother and the forest.
I'm lost.
Lost.
Maybe with brother, I'll find peace.
Find serenity.
Serenity.