figment
by savemesanfransicope
The walls are barren, empty. There are no windows, no sunlight. What is sunlight, what does it feel like? He can't remember, no, he doesn't know. There's no memory of sunshine, what it is even. Is it even real? Did he make it up, like the scratches? The deep indents on the wall. He makes them everyday, with torn fingernails (or that's what they used to be, it's some oddly molded skin now) or else, he thinks he does, but when he awakens they're gone. Smoothed over completely by some invisible hand he doesn't see.
Danny, a voice calls. It's sad and quiet, yet so similar to his own. He wets his lips, and wonders if he spoken his name, if he's calling himself like the doctor's say. He tries to repeat it, to say something, anything, but he can't get a syllable. He hasn't spoken in so long, he's forgotten how. Is it the tongue that makes the words or the lips? He forms a word, simple and short, 'Hi,' but the sound doesn't come.
Hello Danny.
Maybe it's his imagination. He doesn't hear anything, nothing at all. It's just him mind playing simple tricks, one after the other, trying to drag him down, trying to get him to admit he's crazy.
Why don't you talk anymore, Danny? The air around him shifts, a soft wind hits his face, not unlike those paper fans his sister (a name, uncommon, but popular among story tale characters. Aurora, no, like that though), used to play with when she was younger. It's light, and soft, but strange. The door, if you could even call it that, remains locked at all times from the outside. Danny's not even sure how they open it. The doctors come to him. He wakes up and they're there. He knows they slip things to him, through liquids and food. They're worried he'll run, given the chance. Danny doesn't know if he'd bolt. He used to think of running, but now it seemed so fruitless. Nothing would come of it, they'd catch him before he could turn a hallway, if there were even hallways in this place. Or corners for that matter, but it seemed unlikely, 'no place to hide,' being the usual asylum motto.
They'd find you, the voice deadpans, slightly louder. Danny can hear the frown in the tone. He knows it can read his mind, maybe it not so many words, but it has a knack for guessing along the lines of what he's thinking, and sticking a giant pin into it. They'd hurt you Danny. They hurt you very badly.
The word 'enough' forms on Danny's lips, because that's as much as can hear, but he doesn't say it. He rolls over on the thin mattress, taking the thin blanket with him. 'No comfort when you're enemy number one, eh?' he wants to snort, but doesn't even bother trying to convey the message. Beside him, Danny watches as the mattress deepens as an invisible weight is added. He tries to turn his attention away, tries to ignore the evidence, but he can't. They can't see it, even when it's right in front of them, the evidence, the sounds. They don't see, don't hear.
'Are you even real?' Is the question that bubbles in his throat, sitting like a lump, choking him, 'Do you even exist? Did I just make you up, like they said?'
He feels limbs around his body, and every so slightly he can see the cloth around his form being pushed down. But there's no other evidence of anyone else. Is anyone even touching him? Is anyone even there?
I'm here Danny, I'm always here.