Monday, February 6, 2012

This was a bad idea.

A very, VERY BAD IDEA.

The voices. In tandem, in cacophony. Singing the praises only they know how to sing.

Would you like to help us, Mr. Blake?
Peter was a good kid
It's us or the cell. Frankly, I don't see the choice here.
I wonder what happened to him
Oh don't worry. We've done this literally hundreds of times. It won't hurt a bit.
Mom, where's Peter?
A room, big, brown. Full of children listening to the professor. Another room, smaller, white, only ten or so people in this one. Another room, bigger, smells like formaldehyde.
Remember, remember, the fifth of November
Remember that smell? That sweet, awful smell?

The compound seems to have some minor side effects. While the results are generally what we expected, it seems that the compound has a tendency to cause disruptions in neurons in the frontal lobe in these quantities. The cells become unable to make connections on their own.

A voice over the intercom, I can't register what it says. I hear my name, and the doctors seem happy.

3 comments:

  1. God fucking damnit. Not doing an entire post about this. I remember last night in its entirety. I remember the whispering, but I don't remember writing anything beyond that second line. I'm going to talk to Chelsea tonight, and figure out what happened.

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  2. .......the docs are definitely fucking with your head. are you sure it's safe to have Chelsea around you?

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