Red Faces

Disease motivates these characters to plague us with opposite attraction, surely their lives must be purposeless, they are deemed mutations of personalities which ought not exist, fools in disguises embarrassing themselves, hideous masks are pitiful interpretation of a hateful scheme; these are obvious however the intention is not. What place do undesirable people seek? Obviously where they are least desired. This world is a broken machine malfunctioning each moment of nonexistence; continuation of such is self defeating.

Blood is an eternal trait bound by crystals; circulation is forever. Multitudes of misunderstanding is mental pollution manifested into miserable conditions. We desired an earth without worlds. We desired a timeless path to recover expected loss and searched inside an ice cube for frozen moments suspended by inanimate objects. This exceeds our premonition; naivete paired for possession of two people who became inopportune for us to do the same. I suspect they are no longer physically with us however their involvement is our existence; their uninvolved presence is their children. Our sincere wish is to see our enemies in pleasant form; our secondary wish is never to see them again.

"She has Sickle Cell."

"What must we do?"

"Blood transfusion."

Braid's tears amaze me; I was previously unaware of her sensitivity. The pediatrician hugs her lightly, he is wearing a grey wool sweater, sparks stray her dreadlocks for erectile function while the child placed upon a brown examination mat fascinates electricity. Our techno troop is amazed by a strength defying weapons and physical feats.

"Will our blood interfere with her regulatory functions?"

"Honestly I'm not sure. I've never done anything like this before."

"We are a match."

"Yeah but you two are not exactly....."

"What?"

"I'll be damned to ever see either of you in a hospital."

"We will be damned to see our child in a hospital."

"I understand how you feel but I don't understand how you feel."

"I don't understand."

"We are her parents."

"I understand that."

"We do not want her to be in pain."

"Do you feel pain?"

"Yes."

"We both suffered wounds; we will suffer more I'm sure."

"Does she know?"

"We do not wish for her to be scrutinized."

"You can wish all you want but you can't hide what you are. I knew when you walked into the door; you don't look like other people do."

"Your perception is keen; others let us pass."

"Not for long they won't."

"What do you mean?"

"I've been around for a while; I've seen a lot of people."

"Such will concern us later."

"How do we flow through her veins?"

"A machine will do it."

"Is it sanitary?"

"There's a new one at the city hospital."

"That will be fine."

"Let's get started; I don't want anybody to see us."

Rolf carries Avitas with folded arms underneath her hind legs; she is entertained by a stethoscope. My mind wanders inside white vessels carrying volumes of genie matter.

"She said you would do that."

A beeping thing is monotone friendliness while tubes reach out for handshakes.

"Your veins are very evident."

"I used to shoot shit."

"What is that?"

This child approaches while I least suspect which thwarts my incognito for secretiveness; I deserve it. Her question is reasonable for an unreasonable world. I am concerned not because my actions were influentually unhealthy; I am concerned for her to experience that which is unreasonable.

"Morphine, I used to get it from hospitals."

"What does it do?"

"Numbs the body."

"Oh."

Somehow she knows why and her unhappiness is ours. I touch the area of greenish blue indentation for reminiscent pain; no other child ever asked. Brad and Cindy stare at waiting room walls, Rolf lays on my shoulder, the doctor is out of sight, a box of tissues is missing; Braid is heard throughout the building yelling profanities, we all laugh.

"It's finished."

"I feel faint."

"I feel tired."

"That was a lot of blood."

"Really....."

"She probably doesn't even have a trace of the ailment left."

"How will we know for sure?"

"Well for one thing the child will be active, eat healthy, resist medication, and breathe clearly."

"Is she doing that now?"

"I don't know. Your friend took her away."

"Braid?"

"Yes."

"I wonder where they went."

"She better bring her back."

Rolf and I sit across from Lucid; we are in trouble. Brad and Cindy are cooing with madness for the little one who is somewhere being preened for uncanny wittiness by Cinnamon coyness. Boo Boo enters through the porch, her charming demeanor is no power for a crystal ball; she directly shares a few imperative parenthood phrases, we are unimpressed.

"I'm back."

We are confidence for Braid, she assumes responsibility over every action in her midst of personality however we miss our child and her evil guardian.

"I see there are two more."

"Oliver will despise you."

"He is concerned about you and yours."

"I don't know how much more he can take."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

"Those two are not like your other children; they are different."

"They are our epiphany."

"What of the other children?"

"They are our intellect."

"I understand."

"I've never believed you understood anything we do until now."

"They are different."

"I don't understand."

"Neither of them look as you do."

"They will."

"How so?"

"Mortal....."

My discretion decided to accept a vial of morphine in exchange for my health; her compassion decided to accept a bottle of liquor for her health. We are both fucked.

"What is it?"

"You will not be here to see them."

"What will become of me."

"You're going to commit suicide and so will Opie."

"How does she know what that means......Braid??"

"I told her what that woman said."

"Why?"

"She understands it better than we do."

"If I vomit will you lean me to the right so I can spray it all over Thad."

"Absolutely."

"How do you feel?"

"Like a bloated dead body without the pleasure of being sacred."

"That's an excellent description."

"How do you feel?"

"Sadness is no comfort; sorrow bids me ignorance for unrecognizable behavior."

"Brilliant."

"If I do would you be angry with me?"

"For Opie.....yes."

"Would you miss me?"

"I don't know you."