One sheep, two sheep, why do we count sheep? Why not cats or... mice? Why are mice afraid of cats? Is it because cats are bigger than mice? Then why are elephants afraid of mice, when elephants are so much bigger than both cats and mice? Does Elain know that she forgets to turn the lights off in the attic?
“Now, now, Eduardo, I need time to process all that intelligence of yours.” Lately the voices have been awfully chatty, chattier than on the regular. Over a period of time you start to notice that mental soundness isn't the top priority of people here in the Kingstown slums. Alcoholics, prostitutes, thieves, beggars, people who really should be in a mental institution – you name them and we've surely got them, but they are usually never as bad as the posh ones say, apart from the murderers and the rapists, they are pretty much bad whether rich or poor. Seven, eight, nine, ten.
“Huh? What's that Margaret dearest? I know “They” watch us. “They” can be anywhere and anyone, keep you wits about yourselves my friends.” I've known “They” were after me for a while now, it's why I wear this mask everywhere and paint the lower half of my face, and it's also why I erased myself from the system, which is surprisingly not that hard to do in all honesty.
“Hm? No, Lucille, you can't erase yourself from the system, because you weren't on it in the first place. Are you stupid? Of course you are.” Sometimes I miss the stern faces of those nice young men in the clean white coats who once came to take me to “heal,” somehow Lucille wasn't around back then, and I remember... I remember a voice. There were little flowers too. I'm only twenty-six and I'm already running a business here in the slums, can you believe it? I can't either. There's also an illegal deal happening in the slums and I promised to resolve it, but it always seems to slip my mind, much like a lot of things. Seven, eight, nine, ten.
“I'm normal. I'm fine! Why are you looking at me like that? I like your hair.