Post by Casey Jo Porter on Aug 14, 2011 23:41:57 GMT -5
I do not know say the Great Bells of Bow
Here comes a Candle to light you to Bed
[/i]Casey sat on the floor in the middle of an unfamiliar hallway. It was well after lights out, but she found it hard to care. Her legs were pulled up against her chest, her chin resting on her knees. The hallway lights were dimmed, though not completely shut off. Something about it not being safe to leave the hallway in darkness. Someone might trip or get violent. She had been having that dream again. Even now, wide awake, sitting on the cold tile floor, she felt like she was still in the dream.
The room is dark, oppressively dark. A metallic taste hangs in the air, clogging her throat and nose. It's not altogether unpleasant, simply unfamiliar. Something, it sounds like paint, hits the wall beside her and splatters across her arm and face. It's warm for paint. Someone is screaming a name, it sounds like Rose. Casey feels like she has to respond to the voice, but her name isn't Rose. She isn't the one the woman wants. The screaming stops suddenly, and the air gets thicker, the same metallic tang seeming to coat her skin, hair, clothing, the inside of her mouth and lungs. Someone picks her up, carrying her out of the room. A door slams behind them, and a male voice whispers in her ear, a nursery rhyme that even now, after all these years, she could easily recite. She's heard it over and over again in her sleep.
Oranges and lemons say the Bells of St. Clement's
You owe me five farthings say the Bells of St. Martin's
When will you pay me? say the Bells of Old Bailey
When I grow rich say the Bells of Shoreditch
When will that be? say the Bells of Stepney
I do not know say the Great Bells of Bow
Here comes a Candle to light you to Bed
Here comes a Chopper to Chop off your Head
Chip chop chip chop - the Last Man's Dead.
You owe me five farthings say the Bells of St. Martin's
When will you pay me? say the Bells of Old Bailey
When I grow rich say the Bells of Shoreditch
When will that be? say the Bells of Stepney
I do not know say the Great Bells of Bow
Here comes a Candle to light you to Bed
Here comes a Chopper to Chop off your Head
Chip chop chip chop - the Last Man's Dead.
The voice whispers the words over and over again. Casey is crying, though she doesn't know why. His footsteps echo around them, a laugh is in his voice.
Casey had been having the same dream at least once a week for as long as she could remember. Every time she woke up, the last three lines of the nursery rhyme repeating themselves over and over in her head. Here comes a Candle to light you to Bed. Here comes a Chopper to Chop off your Head. Chip chop chip chop - the Last Man's Dead. She didn't remember ever hearing the rhyme before she began having the dream, but she didn't remember a lot of things. Wrapping her arms around her legs, Casey sighed, turning her head to rest her cheek on her knees. She would have liked to go back to bed, she was exhausted. Unfortunately, she knew that if she even tried she would have the same dream again and again until she finally gave up and stayed awake. She had given up already. However, she couldn't sit in the pitch black room, on her bed, without wanting to play violin or work on a sketch or read a book. She needed light to do all of those things, and she was honestly afraid that her roommate would kill her if she made a noise. Unfortunately, that was an honest concern. Patients were usually paired up much more successfully than Casey and her roommate. Rarely were low risk patients placed with high risk patients. Unfortunately, that's what happened with her. Casey hated conflict, and her roommate seemed to love it.
Footsteps echoed down the hall to her left. She panicked, but knew there was no hope for her. There was no where to run, to her right was a dead end. Across the hall was a locked door to a doctor's office, no doubt the destination of the approaching footsteps. Casey slid further down the hall, closer to the shadowed corner, but she knew that if it was a staff member, she was screwed. God, I can't believe I picked here to sit down. What the hell was I thinking? She had been thinking it was out of the way. She realized now that the dead end was too much of a risk. I'll keep that in mind for next time. She had yet to get in any major trouble, maybe she would get off easy. She turned her head to face the approaching individual, still hoping against hope it was a fellow patient.
Footsteps echoed down the hall to her left. She panicked, but knew there was no hope for her. There was no where to run, to her right was a dead end. Across the hall was a locked door to a doctor's office, no doubt the destination of the approaching footsteps. Casey slid further down the hall, closer to the shadowed corner, but she knew that if it was a staff member, she was screwed. God, I can't believe I picked here to sit down. What the hell was I thinking? She had been thinking it was out of the way. She realized now that the dead end was too much of a risk. I'll keep that in mind for next time. She had yet to get in any major trouble, maybe she would get off easy. She turned her head to face the approaching individual, still hoping against hope it was a fellow patient.
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Here comes a Chopper to Chop off your Head
Chip chop chip chop - the Last Man's Dead.
[/color]Chip chop chip chop - the Last Man's Dead.
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[/color] Open to doctors and patients alike
words seven five seven
outfit we'll just say gray sweatpants and a purple hoodie
notes I don't know how I feel about this, I think it's sort of a mess. Ah well, my writer's block will end soon... I refuse logical thread titles!
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