In All My Dreams I Drown Part Two
Sep. 5th, 2014 06:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
butterflyslinkyAuthor: butterflyslinky
Characters: Spoony, Linkara, mentions of others
Rating: R
Word Count: 3571
Warning(s): Implications of noncon, child abuse and mental illness
; gaslighting; brainwashing; dubious science experiments.Summary: My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know what’s a dream…and what’s a nightmare.
Note: For the mix by
alien_snipe. Thanks to lady_sci_fi for beta-ing. “In All My Dreams, I Drown” is performed by Jessica Lowndes.File 29C Addendum
Subject is beginning to show signs of free will. Either the program is malfunctioning, or his mind is stronger than suspected.
The program has been rebooted and the subject’s memory has been wiped. He now lives a normal life in his subconscious under the control of an imagined lover.
Subject still shows signs of resistance. More extreme measures may be required.
Signed,
Dr. Linkara Lovhaug
*
My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.
My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.
My name is not Spoony. I am not thirty-three…
My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.
NO!
My name is…
NO!
My name…
NO!
“Your name is Spoony. You are thirty-three years old.”
It isn’t. It isn’t. I’m not Spoony anymore. I will not be Spoony anymore.
“Your name is Spoony. You are thirty-three years old.”
NO!
“Say it!”
No.
“Say it!”
NO!
“Your name is Spoony. You are thirty-three years old.
My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.
*
I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what’s really going on.
I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what’s in my head.
I don’t know anything. I don’t know! I don’t know!
It wants me to be someone. It wants me to remember things. It wants me to feel a certain way.
I can’t remember what it is. I just know it frightens me.
I know I hate it.
Whatever it is, I have to escape it.
It’s coming. It’s always coming. I keep running, but it’s always right behind me, like it’s a monster in a horror movie.
Maybe it is. Maybe this is just a nightmare. Or maybe I’m in a horror movie and I’m just waiting to get the axe.
I don’t care. I just know I have to escape.
I don’t know who I am. But I do know one thing.
I am not Spoony.
*
File 29C Addendum
Subject has shown more resistance than usual. The machine has been reprogrammed and the subject’s memory was erased.
Subject now lives as a model member of society. His emotions are at a flat zero. All flaws have been eradicated.
Subject is now fully unconscious once again, but it is uncertain how long that will last.
Signed,
Dr. Linkara Lovhaug
*
My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.
And I am insane.
I know I am. Everyone says I am. I wish that could change.
I know I did something bad, though I can’t remember what. I need help.
There’s a man called Linkara. He’s here to help me. He’s going to make me better.
He’s going to make sure I’m like everyone else. After all, insanity is believing in what everyone else says is false.
I hate him.
But I know he’s right. I know I’m the bad one. I know I’m the one who’s done wrong.
I try to live as a good man. But I can’t. Not when I’ve messed up so badly.
I don’t know what it was. I just know it was enough to make this happen. I know that they’re better than me…
They aren’t better than me, they’re all hypocrites, they don’t know what they’re talking about. I know I’m right, I know this is wrong, I know this is insane, I know, I know…
This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.
I’m getting better. I know I don’t deserve it. But I’ve been given a second chance, and I’ll take it.
They hate me. They’re trying to destroy me. They’re trying to make me into nothing. They aren’t perfect. They’re horrible. I won’t be one of them! I won’t! I won’t!
Linkara has done so much to make me better. He’s made everything right again.
I hate him.
I love him.
I want to kill him.
I want to protect him.
This is wrong!
I want to take him out of here.
I can destroy him. I can end this. I just have to fight. I just have to be strong.
He says I’m fascinating. That he wants to know everything about me. He wants to explore me. And I let him. I let him take care of me.
I HATE HIM! I HATE HIM!
He comforts me when I scream. He makes sure I don’t get hurt.
I will win! I will destroy him! I will kill him!
My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.
I won’t be Spoony. Not now. Not ever.
And he will pay.
*
Dr. Linkara Lovhaug: Personal Log
It’s not real.
It doesn’t have to be real.
It never had to be real. It just had to be nice.
And it is nice now. It’s perfectly nice.
He’s mine. All mine. Fully and completely.
And he’s never going to leave me. Not now, not ever.
I can mold him. I can change him.
I can control him. He’s mine, my pretty little toy. Everything I’ve ever wanted.
He doesn’t know much, but that’s okay. I don’t want him to know anything. I just want him to be nice and quiet and obedient.
That’s why I signed up for this experiment. That’s what I’ve been doing.
Making him into a perfectly blank slate, whatever I want him to be. Something for me to love that will love me back.
Maybe I’ve been a bit harsh. Maybe I’ve gone a bit crazy doing it. But it’s worked. He’s now completely empty. His thoughts, his dreams, his feelings, his everything belong to me.
I’ve created him. He’s perfect. He’s mine forever.
No one ever needs to know what I’ve done.
*
My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.
And I am about to die.
I know this world is real. I know, because it hurts so much, both mentally and physically.
I am lying on a hard cot, hooked up to life support, and there’s something attached to my head. Something that shows my dreams in perfect color and resolution.
The man I’ve come to know as Linkara in my dreams is sitting beside me. He looks down at me with sad, empty eyes.
“Your name is Spoony,” he says.
“I know.”
“You are thirty-three years old.”
“I know.”
He takes a breath. “Do you know what’s happened to you?”
“No.”
He nods. “You were picked up homeless in Chicago. You were originally going to be jailed for prostitution, but then a team of scientists asked if you’d rather do a psychological experiment instead. You agreed. You were then put into a medical coma and hooked up to this machine. It shows your thoughts, but it also allows other people to manipulate your subconscious and harvest the energy given off by your emotions. You were first put into a dream world where you hated everything, and your hatred was the fuel source. Unfortunately, the psychological strain proved too much and the experiment was stopped.”
“So why am I still here?”
“When I came to shut down the machine, you were too far immersed in the dream world. If I had tried to pull you out, it could have destroyed your mind entirely. So I instead decided to ease you out of it. I changed the worlds you were in, erased your memory where necessary, and let you fight your way through the dreams. And you did. Admirably.”
I think for a moment. “In a few of those dreams, we were lovers.”
“Yes?”
“That wasn’t at all real?”
He smirks. “There was some physical stimulation. It probably carried over into your dreams.”
I understand. “I hate you.”
“I know.”
We’re quiet for a minute. “So what now?” I ask.
“Now, you’re going back to sleep.”
“No.” I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want to dream, I don’t want him to be able to manipulate me and mold me and make me into what he thinks I should be.
He looks down. “You don’t get a choice,” he says. “Because this time…when I say sleep…I mean forever.”
I can’t sleep forever, I can’t sleep another minute, I have a life to live and lovers to meet and worlds to see and…
And I know I can’t. I know that the machines all around are what are keeping me alive. The moment they’re turned off, I’m done.
“Please,” I say. “Isn’t there another way?”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I wish I could save you…but I can’t. And it will be easier if you sleep.”
“I can’t.”
He looks at me a moment, then leans in and kisses my mouth gently. “You can,” he says.
He walks over and presses a few buttons. I can’t breathe, I can’t see, I can’t think…
But he’s there, and he’s holding my hand, and I remember that in the dream, I did love him at least once.
So maybe it’s okay.
My name is Spoony. I am thirty-three years old.
And I am no longer dreaming.
*
File 29C Addendum
Subject was declared dead at 02100 hours. He briefly regained consciousness, during which time he expressed anger and sadness at his fate.
He never once knew his real name, or where he really came from. Everything he remembered came from the dreams or from information he was given before his passing.
His emotions in the last few days harnessed enough energy to power to entire building, along with a few neighboring homes. It is interesting to note that positive emotions generated nearly twice as much energy as the negative ones.
Given these results, I must declare the Spoony experiment a complete success and I urge that the machine be kept and used for further experiments in mind control and renewable energy.
The body of the subject will be disposed of discreetly and with dignity. All records of his existence have already been erased.
Signed,
Dr. Linkara Lovhaug.
*
My name is Spoony I am thirty-three years old. My name is Spoony I am thirty-three years old. My name is Spoony I am thirty-three years old.
My name is…
Heartbeat. My heart is beating.
I can breathe again. I can still feel his hand on mine. I don’t seem to be hooked to the machines anymore.
My eyes are open. I can see him, and he’s still with me. We’re in a different room now, one not surrounded by wires and machines and sound.
“Linkara?”
“You made it,” he says. “You’re alive.”
“But…I thought…”
He smiles. “I put you back to sleep,” he explains. “A dreamless sleep that time. Then I wrote my report, sent it to Washington, and brought you back here. You no longer exist. As far as everyone else is concerned, you’re dead.”
“But…why?”
“It was the only way I could save you,” he says. “The only way I could keep you.”
I pull my hand away from his. “So what are you going to do to me now?” I ask.
He gets up and goes to a corner. He pulls out something large, something covered in a blanket, and wheels it over by the bed.
“I had time to study the blueprints,” he says. “Time to build my own machine.” He pulls the cloth away. “Don’t worry. You won’t always be in here…just when you need reminding of who I want you to be.”
“But…”
I can’t move and he’s over me, hooking me up to the machine. I scream, but there’s no one to hear me, no one to save me…
“Good night, Spoony.”
Part One
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 9/6/14 06:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 9/6/14 01:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 9/6/14 11:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 9/6/14 01:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 9/7/14 09:55 pm (UTC)Seriously, well-done. Writing style works very nicely with the topic and emotion. The ending? Awesome little twist.
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Date: 9/7/14 10:17 pm (UTC)Thank you. And I couldn't just end it with him dead, could I?