The deer's eyes discerned chrome light as he awoke from his slumber. The familiar clang of metal, the electric hum-buzz, alerted him to his duty. He slowly blinked, making a point to stare at the cold, metal floor of his chamber, pretending not to hear the wrenching creaks of the cell door.

"Moony, it's time for work."

Say my real name. After all these years, even I still remember.

"Don't pretend you can't hear me. You have a job to do".

He stirred, only to prevent the scientist thrusting him up by the antler in impatience. He felt the grotesque familiarity of wet flesh against the metal rods comprising his bones, squishing unnaturally against each other as he lifted himself up onto his plastic hooves.

The scientist, holding a bundle of soft, colourful blankets that would soon find its way onto the deer's back, patted the animal's side twice to hurry him up.

Like a dog! he thought despondently.

Moony moved slightly faster, keeping his head bowed before risking a glance at the mirror. He knew and despised that false visage, forcing him to stare with button eyes at his distorted self, while prying monsters who couldn't see two inches in front of their own noses stared back.


"Moony, Moony! Guess what I learnt today!"

"Read us a bedtime story Moony!"

"Can't we play one game with him? Pleaseeee?"

The little orphans crowded around their favourite Night-Time toy, whose presence did not make them want to sleep as much as wanting to play with him. He smiled down at the little children (I was trying to anyway), gawking up at him with wonder and excitement. This part wasn't so bad.

"Alright, settle down, children. Leave Moony alone, he'll read you a story after you get ready for bed. Remember, 20:00, no later, or Leith Pierre will be very unhappy with you".

The children giggled, although some seemed to hear the hidden threat in the scientist's voice as they trailed off uneasily, glancing at her with the air of a child facing punishment.

The scientist left (only physically, of course), the monotonous creak of floorboard becoming fainter (state-of-the-art facilities). This left Moony to put the children to bed. As expected, they were busy brushing their teeth at their designated areas. They had practised this routine since when they had first arrived at the Playtime Co. orphanage. Truely, few could remember a time before that. After the children had taken their respective tablets, they settled down in bed with their toys, all too eager to listen to Moony's story, whatever it may be about.

"What story are you going to tell us?" said one girl with a Candy Cat plushie.

"It better not be about princesses again," added a slightly older boy with a Bron toy, making a typical face of disgust at the prospect.

"Be quiet, Joey, Moony gets to decide", replied another girl with short black hair, clutching a PJ doll.

He smiled at the children warmly. Moony did enjoy hearing their childish conversations, ignorant with bliss to the world around them (I hope they stay that way). He wandered down the long hall which separated the sets of bunk-beds either side of him. When he awoke, a certain influx of semantic knowledge flooded his head. Typically, bedtime stories was one of the tropes. But perhaps tonight, he will tell a new one.

"Tonight's story will be one you haven't heard before little ones", he spoke in a soft paternal voice (Is it my voice?). With this cue, the clay the children had moulded themselves around his antlers began to grow luminous from the battery inside him. Despite seeing it every night, the children still looked in astonishment at the glowing colours created by the clay, in the shapes of stars, butterflies, and flowers.

"Once upon a time, there was an owl named Henry. Henry loved to play with his friends and watch the stars. But there was just one problem: Henry couldn't fly".

"An owl that can't fly? That's bananas!" Kevin cut in.

"Shhh!" went the room.

Moony paced around the cramped space as he usually did when telling a story. "Henry couldn't fly because his wings were torn off by a big, nasty vulture. All his friends made fun of him because he couldn't reach them in the big branches of a tree, and couldn't play fun games with them. Henry could no longer stand to passively accept his fate. He knew he would never fly again, but that didn't mean there was nothing he could do'.

Something rushed through his head, eyes blazing with newfound knowledge as the story rushed like wind, forming a well-trodden path with its trails. His breath hitched and a new tone formed in his chords.

That's right. Accept it. (Please help me)

"He tried to get his friends to help him into the air, but in the end they only hurt him again. He tried to take to running on the ground, but his little legs weren't made for such chases. He tried to get some humans to heal his wings. But no one helped. The little owl was on the verge of giving up. He climbed into his tree and looked at the stars. A rustling beside him alerted him to another animal… It was the vulture. The same vulture that had caused his destruction. But Henry wasn't scared.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Freedom" said the vulture.

"You took mine away", I replied.

"I never took that away" he said nonchalantly.

"Yes you did, you took my wings".

"You are such a child, Scott".

"You don't understand I cannot run I cannot hide I cannot fly and it is all your fault"
(I arched my back and bared my hidden fangs
I will find you eventually and you will be lost to memories fade surprisingly quickly who are you I do misrepresent myself get out of my head and it doesn't stop those missing eyes those clockface hands we've lost ourselves without deserving you are going to die here now

Distorted vocals are submerged in screaming. Buttons meet iron lenses.