Chapter 43
She floats in a fog of thick white, suspended in animation (cryogenics, they called it back then; not a viable science, not possible, science fiction [how they would stare now, at this; pass off things as impossibilities because monsters don't exist. {Look in the closet, look under the bed, look her in the eyes damn it and you tell her monsters don't exist?} Lying liars. Government labs trained monkeys it's in the food it's in the water]. Cryogenics: she studied this. Simon studied this? Maybe? Possibly? Everything is lost in the fog…). She exists independently of this place, mind outside of body, out-of-body experience (more science fiction, how she laughs at all the college professors with all their false knowledge). False, all false. Worship at the altars of gods made of gold and you wonder why it does not rain? She knows so much too much and monsters are real, and she prays for gold and ignorance (because gold is such a pretty color, will warm up this cold place, and ignorance, ignorance is bliss). Her bliss; she wants peace, serenity; forget: verb, means to not remember. Remember? She remembers too much and not enough; (the past is a problem) and the present is all too real. The future is not a problem, it is pro-blem-a-tic. {sound out big words, because they cause problems when they fail to leave the mouth}. Problem, problematic. Not the same. Most people cannot tell the difference (but she is not most people) and to her the reality is all too clear [comprehension is not the same as understanding, she both comprehends and understands this now]. Reality: reality is also a problem. Problems, problematic, everything is problematic and why won't anything make sense?! There are variables missing and numbers rearranged and letters misaligned in the great cosmic balance sheet (another tale of gold, but who cares? Who cares?). Karma, karma, oh why doth thy hate me? {Old English; language; dialect; confusing. Shakespeare and starcrossed lovers and Macbeth}. She understands the last one: washing of the hands to remove perceived blood stains. Psychological scars (Sigmund Freud you should not intervene in matters of the arts, stick to the sciences) and muddled brainpans. Scrub the hands until the skin is peeled away and you can see the true self underneath. Boil the water until it burns and then go to work; query: if the water turns the skin red, how would one see the blood and know when one is cleansed? Silly River, one is never clean. Blood stains forever, once it has hold it will never again release its grasp (until death do us part) and the devil on your shoulder will be there forever more {quoth the raven} and never never never leave. Oh, by their hands ye shall know them. Scripture, scripture is a problem. God is not real cannot be real because how can He let this place that must be from hell because no man could make it exist? He can't. Lies. Noah's ark is a problem, but the bible is not problematic. It is an error. Erroneous. But it can be fixed. Quantum state phenomenon. Neat numbers in tidy rows. If you clean up the outside, what does the inside matter? (Premise has been tried; social workers judge by appearance, rarely lift their heads from the papers: clean kids? Check. Neat yard? Check. Fresh paint? Check. Sullen answers? Can be attributed to teenage hostility. Bruises? Horseplay. Panicked eyes? Does not compute. Does not compute. Error. Error. Initiating shut down procedure…reboot. Clean clothes? Check). And so it goes. Humans are machines; nothing more, nothing less. {If you take them apart to see what makes them tick, will you see blood and bone or merely gleaming metal and rubber-coated wire [electrocution protocols were safely followed, all looks well-(appearances are everything)]. Still, dissection is bad. Bad River. Physics is better}. Physics, neuroscience, doctors. One is bad, the other badder…badder? Perhaps she means worse…(English can be confusing, Old English more so- one is a problem, the other problematic [doesn't take a genius to figure out which is which, simple deductions….{but then again, you he she they we us (whomever whoever whosoever is attempting the logic leaps) are (is?) missing vital information…}. Still. Logic is constant: pick a door, any door. Two sentences to match the number. One true, one false). No, both false. Everything is false; nothing is true, not any longer. Pick. Pick. Pick pick pick pick- people are drilling away at her again (she does not appreciate this, please stop?). What can they possibly accomplish? Really? Is this necessary? Is anyone listening? If so-
You are a problem.
Problematic.
You do not comprehend.
Or understand.
Me.
That is what you do not understand.
Or comprehend.
They are not the same.
Which you would know if you listened.
Which would happen if I spoke.
Which would happen if you stopped picking.
Picking me to shreds.
Destroying my logic.
Two doors.
One true.
One false.
Both false.
Logic.
Gone.
Because of you.
Because of the drilling.
Because you don't listen.
Blame.
Share the blame.
Not my burden.
Blame the doctors.
Blame them for drilling.
They destroyed the logic.
The doors.
The gold colors.
Fake gold, not real. Prayers go unanswered.
But still.
It's pretty.
And warm.
I'm not.
I'm ugly.
Cold.
Can blame the doctors for that too.
Blame neuroscience.
Makes them cut.
The doctors.
They cut.
Because of neuroscience.
It's wrong.
Bad.
Badder.
Worse?
Neuroscience.
And doctors.
Not the Blue Hands.
They're worst.
Worst than worse neuroscience than bad doctors.
The worst.
End of line.
Period.
Worst.
Blame them too.
Blame them all.
Blame everything.
But not Simon.
Not his fault.
Not.
He's not Blue.
Hands are white.
Bad, but not badder.
Not baddest.
Worse, worst.
Not neuroscience either.
Only surgeon.
Helps people.
Reattaches legs.
Once.
Not a habit.
Got a hamster.
Named Simon too.
Not bad either.
Or badder baddest worse worst.
Little mind.
Big world.
Scary world.
Hurtful world.
Safer here, in the fog.
Quieter.
Can still feel them drilling.
The doctors.
But Simon's not a doctor.
Wait.
Is.
Is a doctor.
Doctors are neuroscientists.
Have needles.
Drill holes.
Hurt.
Break logic.
And doors.
Hamsters? No, unrelated.
Simon is a doctor.
Simon is…
Error.
Error.
Does not compute.
Shut down.
Shut down.
Reboot.
Reboot in progress.
"She figured it out; she was fighting the drug. Her mind is very strong, stronger than the rest. I've never seen anything like it. She'll be perfect for our project."
"Did we manage to extract the information?"
"Yes."
10%.
"You say she fought the drug?"
"Yes. Like I said, her mind is very strong. That's why-"
"We don't care about that. Our job is results."
"Which I gave you. She gave me the information before- well, she gave me the information."
"Before? Before what, doctor?"
25%.
"Well, Subject Tam managed to, well, she realized I was not her brother."
"You assured us that the drug would make that impossible."
"Highly unlikely. A one in a million chance. One in ten million. But she was the exception."
50%.
"Do you know what we are paying you for, doctor?"
"Well, um, you are-"
"We are paying you for results. We are paying you to extract that information without alerting her to the fact that you are not really her brother."
"Um, I can, I can fix this."
"I hope you can."
69%.
"We can erase that memory. Make it so that she doesn't remember. Smudge the lines, if you will."
"Are you sure?"
"Oh yes. It's a simple technique really. We just give her twenty cc's of-"
"We know what the procedure entails. We are asking if you will be able to actually manage to carry it out."
"Oh. Ha ha, good one."
"Do we look like we are joking?"
82%.
"So the procedure: can you accomplish it?"
"We're working on it already. When Subject Tam awakes, all she'll remember is exactly what we want her to."
93%.
"So Simon Tam?"
"All she'll know is she told him everything and then woke up back here. It will be just one more big blur in a sea of blurs."
"And she won't find that suspicious?"
"No. Her brain is strong; adaptable. She'll fill in the blanks herself. And the human brain is usually quickest to jump to the negative."
98%.
"Very good."
"Absolutely. We'll have her ready for re-conditioning in about twenty-four hours."
99%.
"And Simon Tam will no longer be the hero."
"Exactly."
99.5%.
"And you do all this while they're asleep?"
"She's not asleep."
100%.
Reboot complete.
Computers.
People are computers.
Metal.
On the insides.
And wires.
Electrocution.
Avoid lightning.
Appearances.
They're everything.
White hands.
Blue Hands.
Dictate order.
Heirarchy.
Blue at the top.
White below.
I'm at the bottom.
Don't have a color.
Not yet.
But soon.
Will have.
Future tense.
Time is irrelevant.
Linear.
Blue?
Or white?
My hands.
Blue or white.
Two options.
Two doors.
Both false.
Because of logic.
Blame.
Irrelevant.
Ground already covered.
Go in circles.
Circles are pretty.
Better than squares.
Or stars.
They have points.
Points hurt.
Poke.
Poke.
Poke.
Drilling.
Into me.
Doctors.
Simon.
Simon's a doctor.
Bad.
Betrayer.
Can remember.
Can't remember.
That's the point.
Can remember what I can't.
Broken logic.
Circles.
Doors.
True false.
Blurs.
Everything.
Simon.
Hospital.
Codes.
All blurs.
Simon brought the drills.
Simon brought the doctors.
Blood is thicker than water.
Medicine is thicker than blood.
Only explanation.
Slave trader.
Sold her.
Because of medicine.
Deciding factor.
Not blood.
Not water.
Medicine.
Bad medicine.
And drills.
Hurts.
So much.
Because of Simon.
Blame game has another participant.
Simon.
Bad Simon.
Simple Simon was more fun to say.
Bad Simon hurts her mouth.
Makes a change from her head.
But still.
Hurts.
Simon shouldn't hurt.
Should help.
But the medicine won't let him.
Phylodroxin. Hydrozopam.
Thicker than blood.
Than water.
Medicine.
Blood.
Water.
Three options.
Logic only covers two.
True door.
False door.
Both are false.
But there are only two.
Not three.
Bad things come in threes.
School.
Program.
Experiment.
Vegetable Farm.
Three.
Not two.
Two is better.
Safer.
Even number.
White, Blue.
Two by two.
Hands of Blue.
Not safer.
But better.
Not as bad.
Lesser of two evils.
Has a place.
For girl.
Heirarchy.
More circles.
Blue.
White.
Two doors.
Doors are false.
Third option?
Three is bad.
But better.
Won't be Blue.
Or white.
Neither.
Either.
And or.
Want third.
Have third.
Macbeth.
Red.
Third option.
Not Blue.
Not white.
But red.
Two doors.
Both false.
Circles are pretty.
Appearances.
They matter.
Make up groups.
Blue or white?
Want to be red.
Red is brighter.
Prettier.
Not as pretty as gold.
Or Simon-color.
Wait.
Simon is bad.
Betrayer.
Can't be pretty.
Forget the checklist.
Bad on inside.
She knows.
Knows everything.
Gold is pretty.
Prettier than red.
Or blue.
Or white.
She wants to be red.
Red she will be.
Future again.
Time.
Blue White Red.
Colors of independence.
Shackles here.
Shackles are silver.
So metaphors.
Metaphors bind words.
Metaphor of metaphors.
Caught in a loop.
More circles.
They're drilling again.
Drilling.
Hurts.
Hurtshurtshurtshurtshurts.
Make it stop.
No more pain.
Logic is snapping under pressure.
Two doors.
Blue. White.
One true.
Blue is an honest color.
Hurts.
Freezes.
Doesn't lie.
Orders.
Inspire terror.
Frozen inside and out.
But honest.
One false
White is a false color.
Make her see things.
Things not real.
Illusions.
Don't inspire fear.
Inspire hatred.
Cause pain.
So does blue.
But pain in the head.
Not the arms shoulders face.
Not real.
False.
False logic.
Logistics.
All false.
Both false.
None true.
There's a third option.
Three.
Bad number.
Better than two.
Three.
Third.
After one and two.
First and second.
Bronze medal.
Better than silver.
Silver hurts.
Pinches.
Better than gold.
Gold is pretty.
But not real.
Lies.
All of it.
Bronze is better.
Doesn't lie.
Doesn't hurt.
Third door.
By their hands ye shall know them.
Blue hands.
White hands.
Not hers.
No blue.
No white.
Bad colors.
Hurtful colors.
Can't be gold.
Or silver.
Red.
She'll be red.
Red hands.
Third door.
Better option.
Not blue.
Not white.
But red.
It's a pretty color.
Help: the italics conversation? Yeah: Underline is Blue Hands. Normal italics is random doctor pretending to be Simon. Bold is government official checking in on their project.
A/N: First off, I (River?) does not mean offense to anyone who believes in god/is a social worker/anything else. Was for rambling purposes only. Secondly: No, I have no idea what I wrote. That was as much a my stream-of-consciousness as River. So the writing style is weird. But I think it suits River. I probably won't have it like this again though...And editing it in Doc Manager (making the lines have no spaces) took almost as long as writing it, I kid you not. So yes. Hate it, PM me. Like it, review.
