Dyed Sky

Long-last the human mind,
to think and breathe and bathe in itself,
to remain prejudice, yet without mind,
to remain creative, yet not sane,
to think for one, yet not for yourself.

Trapped in the mind of virtuality,
think nothing of reality, and imagine
that you had set yourself free,
and shall he who realizes,
become the bane of itself.

I hear a voice. One faintly familiar. One that I have not heard in a long time.
I hear children. Laughing. Playing. As if completely carefree. They have no worries.

I hear my inner conscience. I hear it crying. Sobbing.
Crying. Sobbing. Pain. Death. I hear all of it. I see it in my visions, as if they are my own experiences, but aren't.

There are colors above me. Colors that should not be viewed by the human eye. I see shades of pink, brown, green, red, and black. I see colors that I don't even know what to call, or even identify, for that matter. A broken canvas— art without an artist— a masterpiece without a name.

Now I hear the crying again. The agonizing voices of many people. The canvas is spinning around me, and the voices draw closer and closer in. I see bodies. Bodies of the dead; dancing to the chaos, with blood and mucus spewing from their wounds. The children are dancing with them.

They are encircling me. The voices growing louder; the dancing becoming more chaotic.

To struggle was something I never had to deal with. To be surprised was something I never anticipated. All of these things happened naturally.

This is not natural.

I don't know what's going on, where I am, what they are, and more important, what they represent. All I know is that I wanted out. To leave. To escape. Out was the only way where I could have came in. Out was the only way I knew. But there was no out. There was no light. Only the dyed sky. The dark, eviscerated, dyed sky.

I could feel the hinges of insanity coursing through my veins. I felt nothing at that point except the need to escape. The need to be free from this nightmare.

I cured up into a ball and rocked myself back and forward. I wanted to leave. I want out.





Over and over again. They're getting closer. Those things are getting closer.

"Let me go. Why are you doing this?" The crying of the voices turned into screams of dread and laughter. I don't want to be here. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to be here at all.

"Let me out."

Pitch black.

I hear a voice say something, faintly.

They're only as good as you make them to be.

Think nothing of it, they say.
Think nothing of the noises, the smells,
the tears, the rage, the guilt, the sadness.
They think nothing of it but only think of
what they see and what they hear themselves.

Let the children under God become what
they fear, and let them paint the skies with the
colors of humanity.
Let them become the mirror they cast upon
others, and let them realize what they have become.

"Doctor Yervi will see you now."

I look up to find a white-clothed nurse in front of me, gesturing that I follow her.