Lost Hand: the new boy
World: master's home world
Characters: Nell, Master
Context: an asylum, obviously. see The Chasm and What They Found
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That morning the noise abated early, so she thought she would go down to breakfast with the others.
Normally, she couldn't risk it. People were dangerous in the morning, when their dreams were still close and they hadn't yet agreed which world was real.
Not that it was ever safe --- not really. Outside they kept the differences hidden away, but here in the place where they kept them, there was no concealing the fractured nature of things. Most of the inmates could never fully wake up, and even if they did they could not move, could not speak, could not shut out the screaming from their ears (and the screaming was worse here).
That new boy, for instance --- where was his ghost? The one with the shock of white hair and the weasel eyes. They kept him only as an empty husk, but some part of him was always dreaming --- held captive or disbursed --- pinned to a fissure that blurred the edges of the world. He was one of the dangerous ones. Behind the weasels his eyes were black, and they didn't have his age right. He was old --- so very old --- but his body was still frozen and so small. What was he looking for, behind the walls? Who whispered to him from the other side? Where was his ghost?
She would have to write a note for him, today. Not in the morning --- people were dangerous in the morning --- and certainly not at night when everything leaked. Some other time she would have to give it (some kind established hour, when the faces of the clocks were true), to the boy who stood in for him.
Oh, but they didn't like it when she gave notes. That's right. It would have to be in secret, then: she didn't want them thinking she was dangerous. That wouldn't be too difficult. She suspected he was no stranger to secrets.
~'.'~|=|:~O~:|=|~'.'~
Characters: Nell, Master
Context: an asylum, obviously. see The Chasm and What They Found
~'.'~|=|:~O~:|=|~'.'~
That morning the noise abated early, so she thought she would go down to breakfast with the others.
Normally, she couldn't risk it. People were dangerous in the morning, when their dreams were still close and they hadn't yet agreed which world was real.
Not that it was ever safe --- not really. Outside they kept the differences hidden away, but here in the place where they kept them, there was no concealing the fractured nature of things. Most of the inmates could never fully wake up, and even if they did they could not move, could not speak, could not shut out the screaming from their ears (and the screaming was worse here).
That new boy, for instance --- where was his ghost? The one with the shock of white hair and the weasel eyes. They kept him only as an empty husk, but some part of him was always dreaming --- held captive or disbursed --- pinned to a fissure that blurred the edges of the world. He was one of the dangerous ones. Behind the weasels his eyes were black, and they didn't have his age right. He was old --- so very old --- but his body was still frozen and so small. What was he looking for, behind the walls? Who whispered to him from the other side? Where was his ghost?
She would have to write a note for him, today. Not in the morning --- people were dangerous in the morning --- and certainly not at night when everything leaked. Some other time she would have to give it (some kind established hour, when the faces of the clocks were true), to the boy who stood in for him.
Oh, but they didn't like it when she gave notes. That's right. It would have to be in secret, then: she didn't want them thinking she was dangerous. That wouldn't be too difficult. She suspected he was no stranger to secrets.
~'.'~|=|:~O~:|=|~'.'~