Keep Art Alive :: Photo by Sacrificium
“Laugh and the world laughs with you,
cry and you cry alone,
it’s something they’ll try to tell you,
when they’re dishing out the pills.”
They told her it was all in her distorted memories, like scars or shrapnel, the stories were all a part of what kept her alive. Alice wonders though, why the stories feel so close sometimes, how they have voices, each one different, with precise and recognizable tones. She hears them call her name when she tries to sleep, her mouth gone dry, the pills making each limb feel paper thin, translucent, helium filled. Can she float, Alice wonders, up and out of this self-admitted prison? Are the bars part of her “distorted memory“, too?
The man in the white pleated jacket brings her a rabbit doll, tattered ears drooping, one eye in badly need of a mend. But who is it that left the tall top hat in the corner, on the table by the window? Why did he leave her here alone? The pills are blue this time, they sit there waiting in a paper cup next to another paper cup filled with lukewarm tap water. Alice knows the way this goes, you swallow hard, close your eyes until it hits the back of your throat, smile pretty and let your eyes glaze over. It has been this way for as long as she can remember, for as long as she can recall.
How long has she been in this room? Is she still even Alice at all?