November 1986

He walked into the kitchen and faced a corner he didn't frequent. It was the one where the calendar hung. Another year had gone by and he realized he hadn't paid it any attention. It had passed while he was FUCKING TRAPPED IN THIS FUCKING BODY making toast, coffee, and taking cold showers.

He heard music. He didn't remember going to the record player, but that didn't mean it wasn't his hands that had taken the album, removed the vinyl from its sleeve, and adjusted the needle. It only meant he had more blank spaces in his memory. It was hard to record memories when you weren't the one creating them.

It had become easier NO to give in NO to his puppeteer.

His feet turned and he shuffled across the room and stood in his AH I SEE YOU RECOGNIZED YOUR MISTAKE usual corner.

This is all NOT AGAIN fine. And you are NO I'M FUCKING NOT happy.

He felt his father inside his head; looking out through his eyes, controlling when he blinked and swallowed, and implanting feelings that weren't his own. When the old man wanted to, when he pushed hard enough, he could send his son to a dark corner of his mind where there wasn't any sight or feeling, where he was completely detached from his body and his conscious mind flickered like a dying flame. Doing so often enough caused damage, however, and his father was careful to only damage him when he deemed it necessary.

FIGHT IT FIGHT IT FIGHT IT

The darkness THAT'S IT FIGHT IT HE'S NOT PAYING ATTENTION HE ALREADY MESSED UP AND LEFT YOU IN THE WRONG CORNER didn't come. He felt for the corner of his mind THAT'S IT and found FUCKING YES KEEP AT IT an edge where the fabric of the curse had DON'T LOSE IT FUCKING KEEP HOLD OF IT delaminated and the KEEP HOLD OF IT top layer, just the slightest fragment of the edge, had lost its adhesion.

MOVE

FUCKING MOVE

His index finger twitched.

The room went dark and he was sent to the corner of his mind where he wasn't sure if he was alive or dead.