Sound of Mind: Adventures in Schizophrenia

Sound of Mind

adventures in schizophrenia

Published by Professor Mustard at Smashwords

Copyright 2011 Professor Mustard

Smashwords Edition License Notes:

This free ebook may be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, provided it appears in its entirety without

alteration, and the reader is not charged to access it.

Discover these other titles by Professor Mustard at Smashwords.com:

Seducing Medusa, A Hole without Walls, Tree Womb, Prison of the Gods - Your Mind is the Key, & Agent For Hope

Chapter 1 Happy Eirthday

The breeze blowing her hair back rustles leaves across the lake, like tiny sail boats skimming. We possess the other. She in agony for release, tears running, her voice a ripple, in sobs the wind moans the words, Come Home…home…. home.. Her fruit frozen on the branches, taken in wait, in need of ripening. Like magnets, so near, the pull is irresistible. I will return home finally, I will answer the call. The tunnel, swirling, opens to take me, I am near, almost… almost there…

Please God take me, take me now, please! Now!

My name is Jason. I am ‘it’. My Eirthday, the day I return to the Earth’s womb, was two days ago. I am long overdue. Hesitate any longer and I will not only kill myself, but my Mother Earth will die in labor as well. Now.. the nocturnal clock is ticking. I am running out of time. The hardest part is before me, I can not let them win. Nothing here exists.

I sigh in relief. Almost there. At last! My graduation is at hand! I will be returning home and soon the Happy Eirthday celebration will begin!

In my limited field of vision the shades, shape shifters, my shadows, circle closer. I do not need to see them to know they are there, I can feel their presence. Each wears a face of my own. The sterile one, face gleaming in lotion, his antiseptic smell surrounds the room. His mouth blooms in a cabbage hole, stretching out his cheeks in a smile, Happy Eirthday! he moans grinning, the smell of hospital comes out his holes.

However (time to boogie-woogie? No!!) soon I will be free of this prison of flesh, to oblivion and beyond, no doubt.

I forget my physical location. I have not been really paying attention to the outside. They turn me back on. I remember the strapping of me to this table. I suppose the surgery will begin soon. How much longer are they going to have me wait, I want to be born!

Just then, on cue, they send in a visitor, a man who wears his scratchy looking wool brown sweater like it was his hair grown from out his chest. He, very hopeful look, he asks me, like he is trying to bait a mouse with cheese, a very deep question. The trap is set.

Do you know what level you are on?

I open my eyes and sigh. Why won’t they just shut up and transplant me? These stupid questions, what are they out of their tree? A lesson in patience, I look at the caveman, remembering, play along; don’t kill the messenger.

He is wearing a brown wool mammoth sweater overtop his necktie. His face is pink and puffy with a balding spot on his head and, bearing a hesitant smile, he cradles the clipboard and pen a little too lovingly.

What level am I on? It must end soon! My turn as the broken joke must end soon! Am I even on the first level? Oh, this game of life is killing me!

The man snaps his pen back into his clipboard and turns to go.

Zero I say, my voice cracking from dehydration, Level Zero. The man stops and turns facing me.

Oh? You’re talking now, good! Very good! He says smugly, What floor level are you on? The ground floor, the first floor, the second? He spreads his hands out as if searching the air for an answer.

The tree of Life is growing, On my family tree I was the highest, standing on the shoulders of my Father, but now my son is on my back. It is his turn to grow now.

For a moment the tree sways and I feel the passing of the wind. I breathe it in and exhale it out, filling all, savoring each breath.

What is your name? the balding man asks, pushing his advance, taking the charade a step further. With his prime directive, he attacks my subconscious. I mustn’t let him break me.

He exposes his teeth with a smile that does not touch his eyes.

The Jason. The name they give to the one who is it. One of the magic spells, a power word, casting outside the laws of Nature. To pronounce it conjures up the image of the sun in my mind, the giant ball of energy that turns the power on, trapping me in this body, my illusion. They use my own mind’s energy to imprison my tree spirit in this vile bag of skin. Every time they utter the spell I enclose my true form in flesh.

I must change my label. I will no longer answer to ‘it’. Feeling shadows and darkness of night, I turn off the power switch and with a sly smile I announce to the man, speaker for the trees, I announce, My Name is Fuck!

No, that is not your name. The man says. I see sweat on his forehead as he forces a smile, now really solar beaming. He looks jittery and his face is turning red. I wonder if he is about to blow. He is rushing through his dialogue. What a second rate actor! Where did they dig him up? Your real name is Jason. He pauses for a cue, I sigh and give him the nod he seeks, and he continues, Well Jason you are at the Hospital. Would you like us to remove a restraint? We can, you know, if you promise to behave.

If I have to wait much longer I will go crazy. I sigh crying, before telling myself once more, be patient, play along. They must think my movie has great potential, with all of this time they are devoting in me. I will put up a good show for the audience. Before they dissect me I will scream a little, good, and squirm some too. Man what a relief to see home plate after so long. It feels good. I am coming home.

While being chopped up I will whistle the ‘bridge’ war song, I decide. That will give me a higher rating.

The man begins undoing a strap. He is preparing to sever my arm. Here we go, time to put up a good show. I cry silently. I am in fear of crossing over. I want to run and hide, but the more pain the better the show. It is only the body that will die, soon I will be free of these anchors, this tomb. I am a tree. Last stretch, I will go out in style. Need a hand? I ask breaking a grin. Where is his saw?

The man stops and looks at me shaking his head, You had us all scared, he says. I make a Godzilla face.

His clipboard, I can not get a good angle to see his script. I guess I will have to wait (oh hum a lum a hum). Wait until they chop me up and plant me in dozens of Eirthday graves, my seed to fertilize the soil. I catch a faint whisper of a wink from the brown sweater man, I nod. I will go along with it.

Redrum! REDRUM! I say in my most agonized voice.

Scrap me, it does not matter. The last leg of the journey is here. Relief washes over me. I am returning to my mother the Earth. Almost to myself I say, Happy Eirthday.

The man stops and turns, his brows deepening, Yes it was Earthday just a few days ago. Let me call in the staff and see about letting you out of the Time Out (Was I in a Football game) room.

You got it coach! Eirthday. The day you return to your Mother the Earth. The day you take root. I am long overdue.

Chapter 2 My Mind Is Executed

Oh sweet Einstein! This is it, soon a crowd of them will charge in with swords and axes and chop me to pieces.