A gurgle of gulped medications gargles in my grey matter. I see a mirror when I stare at the pages. These treatments poke fun at me, but I like it. I think I am in love with pill-cups and mouthfuls of water. Who needs a woman?
I think it's time, time to confront the doctor and ask for regular meetings with my sister, I'll bribe him with my money, if he won't. A part of me knows he'll say no, cocksuckers just work that way, sucking the life out of everything. I'm sure he'll be on my side when he reads a new piece of material, it needs a catchy title, think about it. Everything has an audience.
A doosh-doosh-doosh of the door alerts. I've been here too long, I just need something to make me keep going, or else what's the point. Jess, I'm coming for you honey, I'm still here. Killing Davis and going mental on everyone else, the other day, may have fucked-up my chances.
I grab my paperwork, time to go to war with the world with words.
"Open cell fifteen, over." Greg croaks down a walkie-talkie. The door slides to the side. Let weekly brain fumbling blast-off. "Turn around, Kyle, and put your hands behind your back. The usual routine." His tone is monotonous, I'd get bored saying the same thing day-in and out too.
His claws come out when the cuffs come out, he snatches my hands and jerks them into place as he locks them together.
"Aaaaahhhhhh! Fuck sake, easy does-it, you fucking dick-splodge, they're attached to me, you know. Man, if you rip my work, I'll... Jesus Christ." Settle down, settle down, count to a bazillion.
"Kyle, c'mon. It's a big day today." He turns me by the shoulders and points me down the hallway, walking behind me.
I wonder what he means by a big day.
"A big day? Is it cause' I killed that racist Nazi? Shit, I should be getting a handshake or hand-job for that."
He forwards me in the back with three fingers. I can't respond, need good behaviour to get what I want.
Ellen and Jake are huddled at the bottom of the staircase, talking. As soon as they notice, looks are broken and thrown away. Something's going on.
Unclipped and free to sit, I flick my work.
"Got another story, perhaps for that magazine. I like this one. I call it, A Murder of Crows."
"Swell, can I have a quick browse? We have a lot to get through today."
I part with my slog. What is going on? Greg stands solidified in the corner and the doctor hasn't asked him to leave.
---
Peer pressure and wayward ways, we were called the 'Front yard boys.' There was Jimmy "Pecker" Peck, he was our leader. The toughest kid in school but the weakest in his household, every time we met up he'd always have a fresh cut or shining sable eye. He was always the first into conflict and last to leave our gang when the streetlights flicked on. Troy "Peeps" Epson, he was the brains of our operation, he let us copy his homework which he handed in on time and received full marks, specky-eyed glasses were thick as a plank of wood, in the middle they were secured together with black electrical tape. Don't let the thick rimmed glasses fool you; he takes them off every time we fight for school yard territory or rep.
Stevie "Ste" Banks, he was the fastest runner in our school and always excelled in every gym lesson we had. He was the only black kid in school, so he hung around with all of us so no one got the wrong impression to make fun of his colour when the adults weren't around. And, for the nineteen thirties Idaho, it was rather a big deal for some eyes.
And then there was me. Derek "Mazie" Maze, second in command to Pecker, we were that must of best friends we finished off each other's sentences and usually saw eye to eye when it came to having fun and causing mayhem.
In a lined formation, we four already bored on a gloriously saffron morning of the best day of the week, Saturday. We walk down the dust alley at the back of our neighbourhood, we hung out there, telling jokes, looking at saucy magazines one of us had stolen from our big brothers, or let Peeps come up with a great way to cause havoc in our town without getting caught.
"God, I'm already bored and it's barely even weekend, tell me if this is what getting old means then life can keep it, cause' I never want to be bored." Pecker spat, chucking dust rocks at trash cans.
Peeps lay on the grass opposite the trash cans. I sat racking my brains, trying to figure out how not to waste this perfect day with my friends. Ste dribbles a half-crushed coca cola can with his feet.
I pipe up. "Peeps what's on your mind buddy?" With his hands placed behind his head, he stares up at circling birds.
"Did you know when birds hatch from their eggs they imprint on the first bird or creature they see."
"That's it!" I leap from the trash can. "I've always wanted a pet but my mom is allergic to cats and dogs and money is kind'a tight but she always said I could have a bird."
With his arms opened in an order to us all. "Well, let's go get Mazie a pet bird." Pecker urges.
We all arrive at the Gershwin Tree, the biggest tree in all the state. My dad used to tell me the story of the Gershwin Tree before bed. Legend has it the tree only homes crows, crows help deliver souls to the other side once they had passed. Hundreds of crow's flocks around the area where we stand; the tree is a shrine for them all. It feeds and homes them. Caws and flapped wings are all you can hear. More than a dozen birds keeping watchful eyes on us from the floor as they forage in the ground for worms.
"You want it Mazie, go fetch." Pecker commands with a pointed finger.
Is it a bad time to reveal this is a bad idea?
"Yeah Mazie, good luck teaching a stupid bird anything buddy, why not get a grass snake their probably hundreds in this field to feed this murder." Ste amps his smirks comment at me.
One or two birds are fine to be around but when I am climbing up a prison full of these murders my thoughts will begin to race. One - two steps; I am standing in the shadow of the godlike conifer tree. The calls of the birds echo deep within my soul, a wild fear takes hold of my breaths. I reach my hands up, take hold of a furry terracotta branch, and begin to hoist myself upwards. Every level of the colossal tree no less than five birds flees their homes from this unwary invader.
"Hurry up you wussy!" The hollered yells egg me onwards and upwards. "Just pick one already!"
Deep within the confines of overlapping corbeau branches sits a nest; the sunlight peers in ever so slightly to look upon the secret bird which tweets away chirpily to itself. I creep closer, hanging on for dear life.
"Hey there little guy." I introduce my head, blocking out the rays of light. The tweeter stands shocked, facing away from me, his left eye glued to my motion. I hesitate for a sec before I unwittingly take which is not mine. My hands clamp around the body of the chirper whilst it squiggles his or her jerking head.
"Hey he's got one, hurry bring it on down here!" Heckles make my mind made up.
I clamber down the maze of shedding bark and cobwebs with one hand, as I reach the last few meters there is a three-meter drop blocking my freedom from this cell of bird droppings and screeches from beyond the grave.
"Just Jump it, don't be a wimp now Mazie, you're so close." I can see in Peckers eyes that was an order. I take in a few breathes before I take a leap into gravity but just as I take flight downwards a blur of atrous feathers clouds my judgement and senses, I plunge down, wafting my arms in a frenzy of defence against my attacker from the sky.
"Mazie, are you okay? Damn bird tried to peck out your eyes." Ste picks me up to my feet as I shake off the bad landing. "Look..." Peeps sputters crouching in the grass, his unblinking eyes fixed into his cupped hands.
"What is it, Peeps?" The boss ponders. We all gather around him and from up here we all see a lifeless crow chick, my mind musters and flutters into one thousand pieces.
"What have I done?" I confess my soul. "It was an accident Mazie, don't worry about it, death happens" Pecker assures me with his arm slumped over my shoulders. "Let's split guys."
Peeps places the chick back on the fingers of grass gently and shuffles away. I stay staring at the bird; I have done a bad deed. The flaps of wings still circle, an immense fuliginous crow lands on an empty branch, the weight of the bird almost snaps the trees arm. The bird doesn't break eye contact with me I can see her flammeous eyes burn through me. She begins to screech within her caw, it almost bloodies the ear. The clouds curdle and the suns candle is blown away, a storm is coming. I back away slowly, still in shock. The Backyard Boys have walked on ahead. I cannot escape this ringing of the bird's cries. I run.
Ravishing my bed sheets, my mind has too much guilt to rest my soul for the night. I squeeze my eyes tight, hoping the discomfort would keep my eyes closed until daylight. I am too warm under my covers and too cold outside of them. All I can daydream about is the chick dying by my foolish actions, I shouldn't have done that.
A thud at my window makes me shoot to an upright position, my eyes widened to the possibility of fear. Clicks and taps at my window make me question to investigate or hide under my covers.
I sluggishly tiptoe from my bed to the window; the curtains hide my glass knocker-upper. Shall I gradually open them or with a swift wrist shift them both aside? I stick with the latter. I promptly push the curtains aside. Sitting upon my windowsill sit the crow from earlier, my heart sinks to the depths of despair and my thoughts lead only to revenge upon me. I attempt to frighten off my terror, roaring and throwing plastic soldiers and socks at my window to make the bird take off. I look in her eyes and with her black eyes, she glances into my blackened soul.
I give up.
The bird delves to the centre of the window and turns around, she begins to caw out into the twinkle night sky. I look over the bird into the distance and see the night blur darker. I squint in scrutiny, what is that? The rumble of noise soon becomes apparent; hundreds of crows are coming for me. I stand in stagger; you cannot run from whatever the sky provides.
The claps of tinkered talons chip on my rooftop, creeks from the shabby ceiling and wood walls elongate through my ears as fingers of noise. All of the crows must be working together to unwrap the head of my house. The top corner comes away from my bedroom. I am opened to the elements of raining crows. The mother bird enters my bedroom from the gaping hole, perched on my chest-of-drawers next to my comics and figurines.
"I know why you're here." I caw at the crow, she talks back.
An army of wings and black beaks swoop down and clasp on to my pyjamas. They lift me up into the air, through the bird made break. They carry me in through the clouds over the rooftops of my friend's homes. I can see the Gershwin Tree in the foreground.
I took her chick from their home and killed it, they kidnapped me to suffer the same fate. This is my own entire heedless fault.
---
Here we go. Bring the praise on. Dr. McKay, wash me in your words.
"All this writing is just gibberish, Doc." I waggle my head-bulb in my hands. A shame so small comes naturally to humans.
"It's not gibberish, it's scattered creative writing. It's voiced on your stage, it's your voice, don't think for one second it's gobbledygook, talent comes in many shades. Fill the seats yourself and dance in the spotlight. I've read every word and been present in every story. There is an undercurrent to most of your stories, you write yourself as an outlander who has lost everything with the hopes of being like everyone else, love, friends and family, all of it. From your words, I can see you write more about your emotions when it comes to adoration, and I pull from that, there's hope still in you. So, keep writing, captivate them all and I will be in your corner fighting for you."
"Thanks doc, you know, I've kind of looked at you as a father figure, over the years. I appreciate everything. I might I just say, I'd like to apologise for my actions the other day, I shouldn't have shouted at you and blamed you for me coming to group therapy."
"Thank Kyle, but shouldn't you be apologising for murdering Davis?" He firms-up his lips, his chin sticks out like a horn, he plays it well.
"Why'n the fuck would I do that? Are you telling me you haven't thought about doing it? You're black, I helped your race, you're welcome." Folding my arms, everyone's dumping on me today.
"Kyle, all I'm trying to say..." I shoot up to take a stand. "I know what you're fucking saying. Hey, if you're gonna' shit on me, take me back to my cell." Composure, Kyle. "Can I see my sister? Listen, before you answer, if you don't allow me, I will never write another fucking word for you nor will stop the monsters coming for you." Without hesitation, Greg shackles my hands behind my back with vivified suspicious minor force in mind; he is rushing for some reason; the chain leads droop down my backsides crack where they cuff-up my wrists to my ankles.
"A petty overreaction to a question, Doc; I just asked if I could see my sister now. I have done everything you have asked of me and more. I've shown this world words as if they were colours and they have painted their own petrified perfect picture of me. I know from all my stories I have made money, which you have soul control over. So please, for my millions of my Pounds, Euros and Dollars, can I see my sister now?"
He throws our session notes onto his desk before chucking himself into a deep seeded thought on his fancy leather chair of relaxation and protection, his hands clasped and his fingers crossing one another. Within these seconds, an overruling double-cross comes into play within my mind.
"We as medical professionals cannot allow you two to be in contact with one another, you have both done so well here. But, it has come to light that you were the one who coerced your own sister into sinister murders, and she is almost healed from her childhood trauma, and when that time comes, she will be free to leave this place to start a brand-new life away from you and your deceased father, whom you killed yourself. Kyle, you will never be free from your demons, you won't allow them to leave you. So, in the essence of your wordplay, just like your monsters, you will never exit this asylum, this is the best place for you."
I try and thrust myself for him; a scowl of immense strength liquefies through me. Greg chokes my arms backwards.
"I am going to open up Hell, just for you, you dumb fucking fuck. Manipulate me, will you? I promise you, bars will bend, you motherfucking backstabber."
"Kyle, please, think of it this way. We have done so many exercises together and we have gained so much traction for your recovery. Everything we have achieved and talked about was to plainly to get you back on the tip of the arrows head." This is the psycho he hides.
All my systems shut down; the only thing running is the caged boy by the stems of chains in my brain.
"It was all fake, wasn't it? I know I have sold stories but all you told me was wasn't even fucking real. I'm only making progress in the eyes of this hospital. You said they loved me, you said they could to forgive. All I see now is my penning paper and you gaining leadership over my work, over my passion and you get to reap all the benefits."
He flutters his work onto his table top and sits forward, elbow to knees, pillaring his face.
"I wasn't going to tell any of my patients this, a few of the staff already know. I'm leaving. The board of directors believe I have done such a swell job of running this hut-of-hurt they want me to go back to my Mecca and run a real hospital, for real people who matter. This will be the last time we will be having one of our chats. I'll be leaving in a couple of weeks. It's like you told me once, even nice people have bad agendas."
The smirk of a pledge of duty cuts me down. I have been so dumb.
"Goodnight Kyle." He musters through his brave moustache.
It's the longest walk I have ever taken back to my cell, back to my four walls of a home and a flickering light, back to what I was back before. Let us brew a plot to pull off the greatest of all fearful heists this planet has ever seen. I will go willingly, for now.
He has seized control of my spasm spaced power; normal people should not wield such a skill. Power begets power here in our breathed instances. He had become more reputable within a burst of a bubble but straight from his rib, he had discarded his oath to heal heads and find truths in enigmas and became a specialist in stealing a reprobate's limelight. I did the right thing though, didn't I? He asked me to air my attitude on paper and create a world in which I could live in, and in return, he'd help me bypass my rage to find my own personal faith.
Liar, liar, this man has been set on fire. Write Kyle, keep going, you can do it, you have the ability to achieve everything from your disability. My colourful dreams have been washed down stream. What do I do now? I am tearing my thoughts in two, doctor, just for you. Split my night, will you? Your half would never out shadow mine. Dying will be a lovely memory for the both of us, as I am coming for revenge. It's time to take my brain back from you, Doctor. Malefic and magnificent at it, I have infamy from inside my family to inside this infirmary. With a pinch of salt, a revolting rotting revolving revolt on top of your corpse, yes, of course, I am off course pulling out all stops to knock your block off, but you have made me wise in the ways of burying the hatchet... In your fucking head.
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