|compos mentis|season three|legacy|missing scene|
You can't be insane if you question your sanity, isn't that what they say? The insane don't question themselves, right? They know for sure of their sanity.
I've always questioned mine. No better time to do so than now, surrounded by white walls, padded for my protection and free completely of shadows of any kind. All this white light could drive a man mad.
Even clouds cast shadows--don't they think that those of us in here might want a place to hide? Monsters. They're just monsters, that's all. Locking me away in here. I'm fine. Really, I am. A couple aspirin and a coffee is all I need. I'm sure the caffeine would scare the footsteps away.
Cold, it's cold in here. Oh damn. Crazy people are always cold. Shivering and such nonsense. Better not let MacKenzie see. Ever since I started explaining about the zombies in the corner he's been upping my dosage. And more drugs are the last thing I need.
Maybe I really am going insane, and it's just that I still have enough sanity left to realize it. Maybe tomorrow I'll be sitting in the corner telling my right hand how sane and well adjusted I am. I bet the hand would even agree with me. That would be just my luck.
Oh no, they're back--those dead things. I slipped backwards along the bright white floor, seeking the small illusion of protection the wall behind me provided. There's nowhere for me to go--they put me in here to protect me from myself and inadvertently delivered me right to them. I'm right where they want me.
Cornered and alone.
The drugs they gave me didn't take them away. They only trapped me inside the dark world where they walked. Walked and walked, their footsteps echoing through me, their gruesome faces staring down and into me. They wanted something from me, wanted revenge--wanted death. I wasn't sure whose, mine or theirs.
I couldn't give them either. Not in here, not trapped inside this light, with only one three inch thick glass window connecting me to the outside, pointing to the dark cold hallways on the other side of that damn door.
I always promised myself I would never let this happen. I would never be like Nick. But now I was so much worse. He only saw giant aliens. I saw zombie Goa'ulds.
I knew, somewhere inside the last working part of me, that what I was seeing wasn't real. That the footsteps were in my head. But my resolve that they were figments of my shattering mind was dwindling, and they were becoming every bit as real as the padding in the walls that kept me here.
They just stood there. They were only three feet away, watching me with those dead black eyes. They made horrible noises too, and even pressing my hands against my ears couldn't block them out.
I miss my team--but they're the last people on any world that I want to see. Not now, not until later, until I'm better. I don't think I could handle having them here now, while I'm barefoot and can't control what I say.
Even if they were here I couldn't warn them. None of them would believe me. They hadn't believed me about the alternate world or that I had apparently gotten myself transmitted into the body of a dying old man. And those things I knew were true, I can't convince myself of any of this, I wouldn't stand a chance explaining what was happening to me to them.
Best they stay away till I get my bearings, until those monsters let me out of here and the ones in my mind disappear. Because they are just in my mind. It doesn't matter that they look and sound real, they aren't. They can't be. Well, maybe they're a little real. Just somewhat real.
Great, now I'm sounding insane even to myself. Maybe I should just give myself into it, go nuts, have a little sing along with the living dead stalking around in my little box of a room.
No, no, no. Nope, not going to happen. I'm not going to let myself go crazy- -because this mind is the only thing I've ever had going for me, and I'm not going to give it up now.
I pushed my hands into my eyes, trying to get away from the blinding, sickening, whiteness of this horrible place. Who came up with the idea of putting the mentally ill in this kind of room, anyway? They might as well have just stapled up yellow wallpaper.
I hear the footsteps again, these are harder, and the zombies are already here, staring at me unmoving. The handle on the door moved, and I backed up further. These footsteps were definitely real, they belonged to the other set of monsters that won't let me alone.
MacKenzie entered the room, two large expressionless men all in white flanking him as he stepped closer. I never realized how much I took color for granted until this moment.
One of the men pulled out a syringe, and I could hear my voice calmly informing the men that I didn't need anymore. Like the other times, they simply looked at me pityingly and moved closer still.
The big ones grabbed my arms as MacKenzie shook his head, and I was pinned half against the wall and half against the floor. I think they were talking to me, but my eyes were locked on the other people in the room, the decaying Goa'uld hosts, and nothing they said reached me.
The needle plunged into my arm, and the whole padded cell tilted, the dead men blurring out of focus as I was sent spiraling to the floor. I tried to find something to hold onto, but everywhere I put my hands was flat. MacKenzie put a hand on my forehead, and told me to calm down, to sleep--as though closing my eyes would keep them away.
I was starting to fear the real footsteps even more than the ones I imagined.
|The End|
You can't be insane if you question your sanity, isn't that what they say? The insane don't question themselves, right? They know for sure of their sanity.
I've always questioned mine. No better time to do so than now, surrounded by white walls, padded for my protection and free completely of shadows of any kind. All this white light could drive a man mad.
Even clouds cast shadows--don't they think that those of us in here might want a place to hide? Monsters. They're just monsters, that's all. Locking me away in here. I'm fine. Really, I am. A couple aspirin and a coffee is all I need. I'm sure the caffeine would scare the footsteps away.
Cold, it's cold in here. Oh damn. Crazy people are always cold. Shivering and such nonsense. Better not let MacKenzie see. Ever since I started explaining about the zombies in the corner he's been upping my dosage. And more drugs are the last thing I need.
Maybe I really am going insane, and it's just that I still have enough sanity left to realize it. Maybe tomorrow I'll be sitting in the corner telling my right hand how sane and well adjusted I am. I bet the hand would even agree with me. That would be just my luck.
Oh no, they're back--those dead things. I slipped backwards along the bright white floor, seeking the small illusion of protection the wall behind me provided. There's nowhere for me to go--they put me in here to protect me from myself and inadvertently delivered me right to them. I'm right where they want me.
Cornered and alone.
The drugs they gave me didn't take them away. They only trapped me inside the dark world where they walked. Walked and walked, their footsteps echoing through me, their gruesome faces staring down and into me. They wanted something from me, wanted revenge--wanted death. I wasn't sure whose, mine or theirs.
I couldn't give them either. Not in here, not trapped inside this light, with only one three inch thick glass window connecting me to the outside, pointing to the dark cold hallways on the other side of that damn door.
I always promised myself I would never let this happen. I would never be like Nick. But now I was so much worse. He only saw giant aliens. I saw zombie Goa'ulds.
I knew, somewhere inside the last working part of me, that what I was seeing wasn't real. That the footsteps were in my head. But my resolve that they were figments of my shattering mind was dwindling, and they were becoming every bit as real as the padding in the walls that kept me here.
They just stood there. They were only three feet away, watching me with those dead black eyes. They made horrible noises too, and even pressing my hands against my ears couldn't block them out.
I miss my team--but they're the last people on any world that I want to see. Not now, not until later, until I'm better. I don't think I could handle having them here now, while I'm barefoot and can't control what I say.
Even if they were here I couldn't warn them. None of them would believe me. They hadn't believed me about the alternate world or that I had apparently gotten myself transmitted into the body of a dying old man. And those things I knew were true, I can't convince myself of any of this, I wouldn't stand a chance explaining what was happening to me to them.
Best they stay away till I get my bearings, until those monsters let me out of here and the ones in my mind disappear. Because they are just in my mind. It doesn't matter that they look and sound real, they aren't. They can't be. Well, maybe they're a little real. Just somewhat real.
Great, now I'm sounding insane even to myself. Maybe I should just give myself into it, go nuts, have a little sing along with the living dead stalking around in my little box of a room.
No, no, no. Nope, not going to happen. I'm not going to let myself go crazy- -because this mind is the only thing I've ever had going for me, and I'm not going to give it up now.
I pushed my hands into my eyes, trying to get away from the blinding, sickening, whiteness of this horrible place. Who came up with the idea of putting the mentally ill in this kind of room, anyway? They might as well have just stapled up yellow wallpaper.
I hear the footsteps again, these are harder, and the zombies are already here, staring at me unmoving. The handle on the door moved, and I backed up further. These footsteps were definitely real, they belonged to the other set of monsters that won't let me alone.
MacKenzie entered the room, two large expressionless men all in white flanking him as he stepped closer. I never realized how much I took color for granted until this moment.
One of the men pulled out a syringe, and I could hear my voice calmly informing the men that I didn't need anymore. Like the other times, they simply looked at me pityingly and moved closer still.
The big ones grabbed my arms as MacKenzie shook his head, and I was pinned half against the wall and half against the floor. I think they were talking to me, but my eyes were locked on the other people in the room, the decaying Goa'uld hosts, and nothing they said reached me.
The needle plunged into my arm, and the whole padded cell tilted, the dead men blurring out of focus as I was sent spiraling to the floor. I tried to find something to hold onto, but everywhere I put my hands was flat. MacKenzie put a hand on my forehead, and told me to calm down, to sleep--as though closing my eyes would keep them away.
I was starting to fear the real footsteps even more than the ones I imagined.
|The End|