Participants:
| Scene Title | Figments |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | A dream of the future shows someone a very dark possibility for himself. |
| Date | April 08, 2011 |
In Dreams
A light flickers on the ceiling above. The bulbs need to be replaced again, though no one is in a hurry to do so. Kendall hunches over a table in the center of the room, looking up to a long mirror against the otherwise blank wall. It's a reminder of all those movies— though his hair is cut shorter, face a little longer, jaw set and blue eyes looking back with added age.
A rustling of handcuffs under the table reminds him of how closely he's confined. He could get up and pace around, even if his hands are given very little freedom, but he doesn't feel like it.
As his leg shifts, there's an extra weight on his ankle.
"Got yourself into quite a pickle, haven't you?" a soft familiar voice can be heard beside him. Valerie looks no older, blonde hair spilling around her shoulders and partially covered with a cute hat. She's clad in a dress of greens and whites, as she stands not too far off, unrestrained. "Too bad you can't reset to last save."
He doesn't have much time to answer when the door suddenly slams open, admiting a man in a suit, with a pair of simple glasses situated on his nose, and a clipboard in his hands. "Kendall Cunningham— I hope you're comfortable." The door closes firmly behind him, the sound of an auto-lock from the outside clicking.
Kendall pulls his leg away from the table with a clanking sound, frowning at the leg binding. "Yeah, too bad… I didn't do anything to deserve this." mope. He looks over at Valerie and sighs. "Don't suppose there's a prison break in my near future, huh?"
"There's no need. Melissa Pierce is vouching for you and posting your bail," the man answers rather than the girl still standing off to the side. The man doesn't even look at her, dismissing her completely. "Though we have quite a bit of paperwork before we can release you into her custody."
A few sheets of paper are pulled off of the clipboard and placed on the table in front of him, along with a pen.
"There's a few conditions for your parole you will need to abide, including a required daily dose of Negoxan, which the state will provide for you." The paperwork lists his ability in detail beyond even what he knows he admited to.
The blonde girl moves closer, as if trying ro read over his shoulder, and she looks worried and concerned.
"Wait… what? Why? What did I do?" Kendall squints closely at her, then it suddenly dawns on him that maybe the man doesn't see her. Right. That kind of thing is going on. As a result, the man is frowned at as the next subject of his scrutiny. "Shouldn't the state be spending its money on other things, like getting the country out of the Recession?" he narrows his eyes as he looks at the paper, and blinks as he reads it. Huh… that's weird, he can do that stuff? "And I suppose if I refuse I'll be in here until I die, draining more tax dollars, yadda yadda yadda?" glower.
"We've been through this, Kendall," the man says, with a kind of grandfatherly patience that seems to be hanging by a thread. "You're not stable— perhaps in a few years, a psychologist will clear you to handle your ability again, but for now…"
The eyes covered by spectacles look upward, toward the blonde girl that's standing over Kendall's shoulder. "Your using your ability right now— remember what we talked about last time— when I asked who she was?"
"A figment of my imagination." Kendall replies flatly. "And I don't have mental problems." well that -is- debatable. "Just what exactly is it about me that's unstable? Can you answer me this?"
A figment of his imagination that doesn't disappear. In fact, Kendall feels a hand touch his shoulder from behind, squeezing there, a phantom memory— because as he glances up in defiance he can't see her reflection in the mirror. "He's just a crazy old man, Kendall," she says in soft tones.
A crazy old man who reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small recording device, which he clicks with a finger.
There's a soft buzzing sound of a recording that starts to play, with breathing. "Valerie— she got sick…" his own voice plays back, sounds of hiccuping and tears. The hand on his shoulder loosens, then lets go. "We tried to help her, but nothing we could do worked. She died."
"And yet you still see her all the time?"
That was the old man's voice, and the recording is clicked off.
"Just the last four days you've been here, you've passed out eight times of nosebleeds from overuse of your ability, so much that it has affected your memory— your ability is causing you brain damage, Mister Cunningham."
"I see dead people." Kendall mutters. "So she's haunting me, that's all. Surely there's some sort of power that does that…." astral projection? Well that is what Valerie does, kinda. "I don't believe you, saying whatever you want just to get me to sign this restriction of freedom."
"The alternative is a state institution, Mister Cunningham," the man says, putting the recording device back into his pocket and placing a pen down next to the pieces of paper again, pushing them closer. "I'll give you some time to consider your options," he says, as he backs away toward the door.
"I'm not going to leave you," Valerie says, moving around so that she's more in his sight— though her complexion is paler than before, skin around the eyes darker. Suddenly she's looking how she did, laying in that bed…
Waiting to die.
The projection smiles weakly, "I'm fine," she says, that brave sound to her voice, insisting she's okay— It reminds him, briefly, of what she said many times between blood-filled coughs. Almost unheard, the door to the room opens and closes, leaving the young man alone.
A warmth crops up on Kendall's upper lip, a small drip heard. Eyes can't help but look down. There's blood on the table in front of him, a single drop. The same eyes look up, to the mirror.
Blood dripping from his nose.
Kendall lifts his hand up to rub at his nose, wiping the blood away. Perversely, he smears it over the paper, but not where he signed it. Actually, he draws a hand with a middle finger in it.
Then he wakes up, in the middle of the night. He stares upwards, disoriented. Wait, what? What was… a dream? Ugh. Then he starts freaking out. Why did he dream that Valerie died and he was sent to the looney bin?!