6. Hospital of Dreams


    (Ballad) *


    <hr>


    Prologue


    <blockquote>


    There is a quiet in the mind


    Beyond the realm of dreams,


    A hidden place that few can find


    That cancels out the screams


    Of children trapped within the clutch


    Of nightmares manifold,


    Dulling out their sense of touch,


    Until they are controlled.


    These mindless children at the mercy


    Of analyzing brains,


    They form a timeless controversy


    Over their dead remains.


    —Alistair


    </blockquote>


    Part 1


    So say''s the Grecian patron saint


    Of all forsaken children;


    And yet, the story that I spin


    Comes out of that deep cauldron


    Where death (and never life) begets


    The slumbers of the grave,


    Spinning new nightmares from the darkness,


    Which makes the sane to rave.


    It was a hospital of dreams,


    A psychiatric ward


    That housed the inmates'' bedlam woes,


    Wasting away, ignored.


    It now stands as a testament


    To inhumanity


    To fellow human sufferers,


    Each brick of masonry


    A concrete witness to the crimes


    Committed for the science


    Of saving lives, which are but lies


    Stuffed down their throats of silence!


    Yet in my time, there used to be


    A special section where


    Children like me would spend their days


    And nights in constant fear,


    For we were children left behind,


    Abandoned to our fates,


    No mother''s love to soothe our bonds


    That tie us down like inmates.


    Our days were spent beneath the scalpels


    Of cruel experimenters;


    Our nights were spent in darkened silence,


    Dreaming of our tormentors


    That caper past the edge of sight


    As demons in disguise,


    Filling our dreams with constant dread


    Of their inhuman eyes;


    And as the eldest of these children,


    Verging on my fifteenth year,


    The burdens of their agony


    Rest on my shoulders bare.


    On such a night, after my trial


    Was carried out on me,


    I''m led into the passageway


    Beyond the agony


    Of fellow inmates looking out


    From padded cells at me;


    I''m tired, can barely walk or keep


    My balance, even see;


    I''m but a little walking corpse


    Treading on weary feet,


    Treading my way towards confinement


    In padded walls of concrete.


    I''m led towards a padded door,


    Through which I pass myself in


    A padded soundless cell of peace


    To ease my mental strife in.


    The padded door now closes with


    A sudden muffled bang,


    Encasing me inside my coffin,


    Locked with a muffled clang.


    I lie myself upon the pads


    Beneath the dimming light


    Above my head, then close my eyes


    And dream of dreams tonight.


    Interlude 1


    <blockquote>


    There is a darkness to the light,


    Staining the soul in shadows,


    Where childhood innocence and might


    Encounter in deep hollows


    The greatest fear amid all fears,


    Beating within all hearts;


    And in the tracks of running tears,


    Tinged in their clearest parts,


    Is found the tainting influence


    Of thoughtful devilry,


    Accompanied by th'' effluence


    Of hateful blasphemy.


    —Alistair


    </blockquote>


    Part 2


    So say''s the Grecian patron saint


    Of tainted innocence;


    And now the world of shattered dreams


    Drives on my penitence.


    Into the footless depths of darkness,


    I find myself outside the


    Old palace of the Borderlands,


    A palace by the sea


    Where djinn are said to live and dine *


    Upon the sacrificial days;


    An after-haze of smokeless fire


    Still lingers in the byways


    Beyond the mirthless gates and walls


    That still surround the place.


    It is a world abandoned by


    An old ethereal race


    Of men that came before the current


    Days of our present day;


    Such were those days of sacrifice,


    I feel it all the way


    Down to the marrow of my bones,


    Wherein all fear resides—


    Down to the depths of human instinct


    Where this fearful patient hides—


    Down to the handle of my blade


    Where the slash of death provides


    Me with the courage on my quest


    To slay tormentors as my test,


    Whereon their blood decides


    The fate of all my bedlam mates,


    Adults and children both.


    So armed with vorpal blade in hand, **


    Ere trekking through this Borderland,


    I take upon my oath:


    "Great Alistair, please guide my blade


    Into the hearts of monsters,


    Those heartless demons with their scalpels,


    Those human-faced impostors!"


    And so I trek into the gates


    To execute my justice;


    I''ll show those monsters what it means


    To double-cross our trust is!


    The inner palace walls lie still


    To crumble into dust;


    The leafless garden trees lie mute


    Against the seaside thrust


    Of wind upon the distant banks


    That whisper of souls lost;


    Only the distant breaking waves


    Echo on the rocky crust


    That forms the beach adjacent to


    The palace of the djinn.


    I surge ahead along the path


    Towards the entrance in


    The expectation of attack


    Inside this wooded garden


    Before I gain the entrance door;


    Perhaps a hidden guard in


    One of the hiding places of


    This garden of the dead


    Is scouting me within the tress,


    Filling my thoughts with dread.


    And yet I keep my courage true


    Beneath the gibbous moonlight,


    Advancing with the fate of death


    Upon my blade of starlight,


    And as I reach the steps upon


    The threshold of the door,


    A score of djinn emerge out of


    A haze of smokeless vapor;


    I grip my blade in both my hands


    And take a ready stance,


    Preparing on attacking them


    Before they have a chance!


    I lunge and flail my blade about


    To cut them down to size,


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.And yet I only slice the air


    To my disbelieving eyes;


    So now they circle ''round about me,


    Fearless of my attacks,


    And ere I take another swipe,


    They bid me to relax.


    I stay my blade but keep my guard


    In silence; so they say,


    "What is the meaning of your presence?


    What brings your feet this way?"


    And on their words of inquiry,


    A darkness overflows


    My spirit in a spreading pool


    Of bloody vitriol on those


    Who torture all my fellow inmates,


    Experimenting on them;


    I say, "I''m here to seek revenge


    On doctors, all of them,


    Who drug my fellow inmates with


    The side effect of phlegm!" ***


    "A pact with us will get it done,


    If only for a price,"


    They say, and in my heart I know


    That ''price'' means sacrifice.


    "What price of sacrifice must I


    Do, if must I accept?"


    I say in my defense; they say,


    "A sacrifice we''ve kept


    In blood within our dining halls


    Is all we''ll intercept.


    "The blood of anyone will do,


    As long as it is human;


    But we do favor blood from those


    Who have a high acumen


    For the sciences of life and death


    And everything inhuman."


    And so I smile a wicked smile


    That stretches out my lips,


    Because th'' asylum''s full of those


    Who love to torture (heaven knows!)


    Patients with their scalpel tips.


    "I''ll gladly shed the blood of those


    Who torture day and night,


    Sating their twisted torture-binge!"


    I say, impassioned with revenge.


    "I''ll kill them all tonight!"


    So in consenting to their whims,


    I drift into the darkness,


    Returning softly to my bed,


    Revengeful, even heartless.


    Interlude 2


    <blockquote>


    Into the depths of utter darkness


    Exists a touch of virtue;


    Although the world may seem so heartless,


    It need not ever hurt you.


    If you can redefine your station


    And your state of self therein,


    You''ll find yourself without frustration


    Over the Hell within,


    Because the mind''s a battlefield:


    It takes as well as gives.


    Be not afraid, nor hide, nor yield


    To the world''s bloody knives.


    —Alistair


    </blockquote>


    Part 3


    So say''s the Grecian patron saint


    Upon this monster-slayer;


    And so I take upon myself


    This bladed cross of prayer,


    And with the backing of the djinn,


    I wake my soul to action,


    Projecting out my soul from body


    In sharp but brief extraction,


    Leaving my mortal body there


    Within the cell unmoving,


    From which I see the silver chord


    Body and soul still linking.


    I turn my sights towards the wrongs


    That beckons to be righted,


    And with my vorpal blade in hand,


    I stalk out so excited


    That I now feel myself to smile


    At future retributions,


    Those callous doctors unaware


    Of their own executions!


    To help me in this vengeful venture,


    The djinn lock all the doors


    That lead to exits to outside,


    Trapping the staff indoors.


    I stalk along the corridors


    And look through every door,


    Looking about for my tormentors


    On each and every floor.


    The first I spot''s an orderly


    Of elderly appearance;


    At first I think of killing her


    For her role''s adherence


    To carry out the doctors'' orders,


    But then her disappearance


    Would cause the guards to call in backup,


    Endangering my plan,


    Even when no one can see me


    With the help of djinn who can


    Conceal my presence from this earth;


    Ah well, this aging crone''s not worth


    The risking of the program.


    But just as I''m about to pass


    Her by without her killed,


    I whirl around with blade in hand,


    Slicing open her thyroid gland


    From which blood sprayed and spilled,


    Staining the walls and floor with gore.


    I know the actions that


    I take are kind of twisted, yes;


    Then again, you know what?


    Within this awesome killing spree,


    I do not give a damn!


    And so I go through corridors,


    Continuing the program


    Of splaying guts onto the floors


    And decorating walls


    With the flying sprays of blood


    Within this maze of halls.


    I slash and cut through orderlies


    And massacre the guards,


    Filling this asylum with their screams,


    Making nightmares out of their worst dreams,


    Gutting this house of cards.


    With orderlies and guards now dead,


    The surge of vengeance grows,


    Because those evil doctors are


    The ones that do not have a prayer—


    The ones I will impose


    My harshest retributions on


    Their unrepentant souls;


    So help me God, so help me djinn,


    I''ll send them to the ghouls!


    And so I stalk the whole asylum


    In search of only doctors,


    But in my search I cannot find


    Any of those damn monsters!


    Then presently I ask the djinn


    Where all those doctors are,


    And in return they said to me,


    "Most of them are very far


    "Away within their homes tonight,


    Except for three nearby


    Hiding inside their office rooms;


    We''ll kill the ones within their homes,


    While you kill those close by."


    And so I stalk the corridors


    And search in every room,


    Itching to use my vorpal blade


    To bring about their doom.


    The first I come across is but


    A youth in doctor''s clothes,


    Checking each patient''s data folder,


    Perhaps an intern to an older


    Doctor with more skill (who knows).


    But young or old, I do not care;


    I want to make a kill


    Upon the first of this trifecta,


    Commencing this revenge-perfecta


    To get my glory''s fill.


    And so I sneak in through the door


    While he has his back turned,


    Re-shelving all the folders on


    The back shelf, unconcerned


    With anybody lurking through


    The shadows with a mind


    For murder on my vorpal blade,


    Stalking closer behind.


    And so I creep on tiptoed feet,


    As silent as a phantom,


    Raising my blade up in the air,


    Invisible and bantam ****


    Within my phantom cloak the djinn


    Enrobed me in tonight,


    Biding my time to see him flinch


    And turn around in fright!


    Flinching he begins to turn around,


    And now I plunge the blade


    Right through his fleshy clavicle,


    From which the blood now sprayed


    With screams accompanied with groans,


    Dropping him with his arms splayed!


    A spreading pool of blood collects


    Upon the office floor,


    Filling the air with an iron taste


    As I stalk out the door.


    And so I stalk the corridors


    And search in every room,


    Itching to use my vorpal blade


    To bring about more doom.


    The second one is middle-aged


    And practiced with a scalpel,


    Now armed with many scalpels in


    His pockets—hands as well.


    But he''s no match for someone he


    Can''t see or even touch;


    Nothing he does will make much difference


    With my blade inside my clutch.


    And so I tip-toe forward now


    So phantom-like, unseen,


    That I become way too excited—


    So much so it''s obscene!


    I cackle, and the echo sounds


    Within the silent hall,


    Scaring the man to turn his head


    And nearly take a fall.


    But as he rallies from his fears,


    He says in bitter words,


    "You think you''ll get away with this,


    Treating us all like herds?


    You animals deserve to die


    And jelly up like curds!"


    Enraged at him, I lash out twice


    And splatter all his guts


    Out of his stomach where he stands


    In shock from painless cuts!


    The blood and guts now splatter on


    The floor in his surprise,


    And now he falls upon his knees


    With tears upon his eyes,


    Putting his guts back in his belly


    As he slowly—slowly—dies . . .


    He fades away in murmuring


    Some incoherent words;


    The pool of blood, now spreading fast,


    Coagulate like curds.


    And with the guts now lying there


    Bringing up such a stink,


    I say some words upon the air,


    "I''m faster than you think."


    And so I stalk the corridors


    And search in every room,


    Itching to use my vorpal blade


    To bring a final doom.


    The very last I need to kill


    Takes quite some time to look for,


    As though the doctor knew his time


    Was shorter on the first floor.


    And so I stalked through all the rooms


    Inside the first floor where


    I found him on his knees now mourning


    The young assistant killed there,


    The youngest doctor I dispatched


    Before this final nightmare.


    I walk to him still crying there


    To end his suffering,


    Because it enters in my brain


    That I took everything


    That matters to him more than life—


    His son, the young assistant,


    I killed for his remote connection


    With his own father''s vile profession,


    Now dead and nonexistent.


    But as I walk to him, he looks


    In my direction with


    The eyes of someone who can see


    The ghostly kin and kith.


    He says with tears within his eyes,


    "You took my son away!


    He had no part in all of this!"


    And so I pause and say,


    "May God have mercy on your soul,


    Because I never will."


    And then I slash across his throat,


    Making my final kill.


    So with that final killing stroke,


    My curse is rectified


    Upon the blood of bleeding monsters


    Who by my blade have died.


    And so I walk back to my cell


    Wherein I''m slumbering,


    Glancing upon my fellow inmates


    I freed from everything


    That terrified with demon eyes


    And fooled us with a thousand lies—


    I did the proper thing!


    And so I enter in my cell


    And lay within my body


    To slumber off the sleep of death,


    For death I now embody.


    Epilogue


    <blockquote>


    Become the knife of vengeance laid


    Upon the sinner''s soul,


    Because true justice needs a blade


    That steals back what he stole.


    For through the blood of sacrifice


    That purifies the spirit,


    It balances the fatal price


    Of those who try to shear it.


    For you''re the shadow of each dream


    That brings on sudden death!


    You are the one that makes them scream


    Upon their dying breath!


    —Alistair


    </blockquote>


    <hr>


    FINISH