The Braying

Like most of my other stuff, this is my overgeneralized take on a subject, and trying to explain the absolute best and worst conditions that can possibly derive from such a nightmarish situation such as this. It is not meant to be true, accurate, or absolute, I do not support any of the actions or ideas in this story. It's just a romanticized perspective on insanity and is meant to challenge current ideas and to help change paradigms.

Suggested musical soundtrack: Palestrina, Allegri, Haydn (trumpet concerto is very nice). Lycia or Gary Numan (Exile/Pure era). Nothing upbeat though, as it will ruin the mood I have tried to create.

NOTE. Digimon is copyright Bandai 1999-2008

THE BRAYING (L'HIVER À L'INTERIÉUR)

(17,587 words)

Mechanical traffic made the night, like most others in the city, noisy. Jean Destrees lived close to the main road, a street of four lanes, always polluted with vehicles of many sorts. Teenagers still in highshcool frequently drove their vehicles along the path at high speeds, boasting the machines' power to those around them, others who found indifference. Oh, it was so late in the evening to be doing that now. Some people were trying to sleep.

Jean hated cars and refused to use them unless it was necessary. The young man found no dilemma with that, for he not frequently had a place to go that required a vehicle`s usage. He did not work part time, attend college, or socialize with friends. The only time Jean exited his flat was upon the discovery that his food stocks were diminishing. Currency was provided by his parents, two other beings that lived elsewhere.

They paid for everything, food and shelter and the price of fuel. They paid for those walls. The money was insignificant, for they had too much for their son to be comfortable with. Their wealth sickened him; it was evil.

As well, those walls were evil, and yes, they were dirty. All that money his mother gave him, all that money his father allowed the female to toss out on their polluted son, it tainted Jean`s mind with mockery. It tainted them as well - the walls - with the notion of confinement.

Those walls were evil and dirty. Jean cleaned them constantly, using a method that produced no sanitation, violently throwing random matter against them. In this fashion, he was able to mask the sound of their hollow screaming. They became less clean each day as he threw things at it and applied coats of his life in various locations. Something inside the refrigerator would rot and become inedible, or he would induce bleeding to drip paint; in these two manners, he was able to maintain sanity until the walls became too loud and further trash and blood was needed.

That stain on the wall would remind him for his time spent there that he was alive and that the place was tainted. It was, in all being, a prison. Jean could not afford a place like that himself, with money he earned himself honestly. Why not? No, he could not find a reason to.

"You just die in a few years anyway." He told his current female. Together, they were preparing to depart.

"Yeah, well you should make the best of what time you got." She countered, having heard the phrase many times before. She had been warned by his friends, all two of them, that his mouth spat such things frequently.

It did not matter to her; she knew he was rich.

"What if I don't want to?" He moved from the lavatory entrance to the kitchen where he had last set a glass of ginger ale. "You think anyone cares about someone who died at an early age 400 years ago?"

She stopped herself from asking "What the hell does that mean?" and honestly tried to understand his blabbering. She knew it would be over soon, and his mindset would transfer to something else and he would whine about a different subject. If it was not his apathy for life, it was how poisoned he was, or how loud the walls were. However, the young lady was wondering if she could translate his rambling into something that resembled sanity.

"If I die right now, by my own hand or by another means, no one will care in 400 years." He said, donning his jacket. The garment was green and ugly, the color of a certain portion of wall above the sofa.

"What's your point?" Now, the two were exiting the main area, stepping through the doorway and striding towards the transportation machine.

"People think it's such a tragedy. Like no one is expected to die..." He opened the door of the passenger seat, and entered; she would be driving. "Then someone dies and they're so sad. Then everyone forgets about it. It's a cycle."

"Come on, Jean, forget about that shit. I'm sick of it."

"Good for you."

Driving commenced minus further conversation. She merged the machine alongside the traffic of vehicles going anywhere and proceeded north towards the Den. Their goal, the Den, was a simulacrum of Jean's current home, and his mentality saw the structure as a perfect being. The deity of a narcotic facility sullied its occupants while they worshipped it with currency.

Jean could not be happier there.

She manipulated dials on the dash. Soon, mellow-guitar rock resonated from the mechanisms. Gloom filled the machine and inundated them. He could only slump in the discomfort of the rank machine, the smell of her perfume and the fuel being defecated by the vehicle caused him such melancholy he could not even enjoy the music that he liked so much.

The journey would not be long enough to be considered torture, and the sight of their geography was perceived after only two songs. A restaurant, a large bovine made of plaster or wood possibly, stood out in the front. It was a male bovine; of course, one does not eat the female. She gives milk, which some people enjoy.

Jean did not like milk very much, only with the granola he ate in the morning. He also hated eating cooked flesh, so no hamburgers would ever see their way into his gut.

She turned right, then proceeded addition vehicular maneuvers down various streets shrouded in darkness not pressed aside by the cities ubiquitous lamplights - here, those devices were absent, never having been created in the area. Her machine's headlights were ample illumination and she knew where she was going.

In all attempts to create a memory of the route, the male found it impossible. One day, he would venture here solo, but to do so would require him to remember how to get there. Night made it slightly more difficult to do so. He would have to make her draw him a map.

As agitation began to destroy his sanity, the machine was shut down and the death of its energy inspired him to flee from it as if pursued by a vicious dog. As he hurried from the vehicle, stumbling over the protrusion of the walkway, his female giggled and asked what his hurry was.

Jean gave no rejoinder and simply entered to be stopped by a mammal. A goat-type man, he stank of warm-blooded life and various chemicals absorbed in his skin and hair. Though he did not seem to be stoned or under the influence of alcohol, his scent was saturated with opium.

"What the hell is your hurry, pal?" He wondered to Jean. The two were close, Jean being able to chomp the goat's face easily.

"William," interjected the female from behind as she entered, "what's up?"

They had entered a shabby tavern. The name of the bar was lost to all now, for it was situated behind tall buildings and remote from any homes. The place was small and held few occupants. Only two others... and they were soon deserting the area.

William, Jean and the female followed the deserters, traversing downstairs, to the Den. Tonight, it was like a dog kennel. Jean hated dogs, and now the den was filed with them, massive, hulking objects littering the place like the balls of dust that he found under his bed. Stupid, feral and odorous people loafing around either stoned or drunk, stinking up the place with their stupid smell. He would like to take a baseball bat to them all. Or a knife.

"Don't say that!" She spoke. It was then clear to Jean that his musing had been spoken. In such ways often had he blurted his thoughts to the disastrous outcome manifested by those around him. Only now, it was unlikely to happen in this situation.

"They wouldn't be able to do anything anyways." William stated with a chuckle, alluding to their helpless altered states.

The trio walked along the aisles, a concrete floor along the ground, surrounded by further concrete - foundations - and sectioned by numerous, plywood/drywall partitions.

Each separated chamber held various vices of demented minds, couples joined in mutual grotesqueries, sheltered by the thin walls, absorbing drugs and alcohol and each other's sexual fluids.

There, a dog was seemingly tied to his bitch in coitus, next was a pair of female trash - their drug being some kind of chem - kissing deeply. Last, two males were involved in some mild, sexual foreplay. Seeing this final pair, Jean nearly wretched and had to jump forward to avoid seeing the atrocity any further.

No, no, no. Males belonged to females. He knew it was so: it was nature, therefore, it was right. A paradox like that was a perversion, a distortion of nature, something to be stamped out.

It sullied the Earth, much like his own living space, that structure of deceit and manipulation. Apartments were disgusting; the money coming in like water from a broken dam to pay for them was unearthly in its provision. A male fornicating with another male was impossible.

Nevertheless, those thoughts occurred to Jean every day. During inconvenient hours, for a spell he would have the fancies polluting him into insanity. He could not delete the fantasies from his mind - those radical thoughts of homosexuality - even with drowning himself in the lavatory sink or diving deep into a tome of literature. He merely hugged himself, wrapping both hands and shaking his head in attempts to rattle the evil from his brain.

With the thought of two males engaged in fucking, he was eager to drag smoke from the bong offered to him by William into his lungs. So strong it was too, Jean coughed some of it out before it had a chance to absorb into the tissue. His female was disappointed in him.

No sooner had they entered a vacant half-chamber had Jean succeeded in ridding his perverted thoughts, inhaling the narcotic fumes with pleasurable discomfort. Yes, he smoked too fast and too veraciously, coughing and grunting as his body contacted the sofa there, his faded body slumping to a tanglement of his limbs stretching to avoid his falling from the cushion. In this manner, his mind faded from the reality that which he found such abhorrence.

In an equal, nearly identical manner, his corporeal existence found the physicality of his body fading in its previously luster image. The flesh wrapping his body with their protective tissues had once been as deep and pale brown, healthy-looking as a rich wheat field.

In the passage of years involving destitute life - when his mental construct became commensurate with that of the Xian's `hell' - this flesh faded in its glory, regressing in the spectrum of color to that of being bereft of their once magnificence. Jean was now almost grey, pale grey and nearly white and sickly like wet paper.

Ascribed, easily and justly, to the effect of a retrograde diet - where it lacked anything resembling nutrition - and to the atrophy of his desire to sustain his Earthly temple, it allowed his fortitude to atrophy as well. With no decent sustenance, thus decayed his body along with any form of happiness.  Even with this, his body remained large, his bones and muscles being of bulk, like his pathetic, oafish father and uncles: all men large and blundering dufuses.

Those eyes in his head, amidst hair of black slowly turning grey - were shadows of blue. Not darkened from shadows, no, but the memory of cerulean irises, now pale and frequently seen with minor hemorrhage.

Daily tears flooded those organs. Violent rubbing ensued on Jean's part, his voice and eyes dually becoming rough and irritated as he screamed in torment - cursing everything in nature and the perversions that spawned such vile creations. As was himself, a vile creation; and thus proceeded his daily routine.

Self-inflicted brutalities soon followed, if not in the form of alcohol or drugs from the Den, it was a knife prying open blood vessels under his dull skin. Blood, life fluid, could be washed across the sink to show the stifling, mocking walls that nothing could confine his own life. Sitting at a down-flowing fountain of sparkling white and deep red, it was evident who controlled the world.

No, no ghastly flat could contain him; he would let his life slip down the drain simply to show it that he held domination over himself.

The female aided in his flailing. She saw him collapse and began forcing him to sit on his own while being sure their glass apparatus would not be damaged.

Jean could hear a foul resonation through the smoky air, the braying of the goat-person so nearby, his mirth flowing from his vocal tissues to show his happiness. Jean was unsure if the creature's laughter or its stench were more vile.

Jean desired to be rid of the irritant. But now, being too weak to murder the goat - and seeing no device to ensure such a quick riddance - he sufficed to hear his girl ordering William to be silent.

The faded Jean found enjoyment with the sting of that first needle; he needed no guiding hand to apply that instrument. The damage and scar tissue was ragged on his elbow joint and destroyed anything that could have once been considered attractive. It was neither his physical appearance nor his sexual performance that attracted this willing whore anyway.

What he and the others considered being a standard dosage, Jean now found trivial. Therefore, he squeezed more syrup into the circulatory canals. Neither of his consorts managed to observe the dangerous behavior. This chem would fabricate a temporary tomb from the world. In this manner, he quickly found himself in a cold vault, buried away from anything and everything both frightening and disgusting.

Though a vault it seemed, there was a tunnel, and further down, the tunnel broke to reveal his surroundings.

Oh what a travesty to see William and his female through the fuzzy blurs of his tunnel. Light crept through, blaring him intensely as his head fell backwards as the muscles could not send the proper electrical responses to keep him in control.

Jean, now gone from everything he hated, could not calculate the cruelty that was time. Minutes could have been fractions of such; an hour could truthfully be much, much more. Time had been so twisted, yet it was provocatively rewarding.

Now, having prayed to the chaos energy surrounding him and to any of the concepts that could possibly deviate him from hell, this chem allowed it all to be changed. So easy it was.

Where no efforts of howling in agony through his sobbing - cursing himself over rum and blades slicing his flesh - had the desired effect to create his peace, a narcotic found its home in his brain and caused him heaven.

Bleeding out and crying out his torment had been successful in the past, though after each, the effects had diminished in their usefulness. Thus came the addition of agents of Earthly tonics, bottled and frozen, lying dormant in the freezer in his kitchen until the spell of anguish manifested.

Yes, time collapsed - as Jean's body had done before - and swirled around in circles. Vertigo took him, and he spun as well, swirling around in circles. He felt as if the bloody sink he loomed over in his lavatory, staring as the faucet spat forth its neutral water - crooked, due to a bent spigot - mixing it with clear and red waters, was a whirlpool.

Then came the dark, and he was no more for consciousness. No more than his senses were clear did he dream; his mind was clear for that night.

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The time during his journey from his living space to the den had been warm, within had been further warmth.

After a spell of hours within the den, the external world, nature, had tried to preserve the chaos on the face of the planet. It snowed, quite heavily, and as the girl aided Jean to the car and drove them both to his living space; he could feel the cold all against him.

The season was only the beginning of winter and this had been the first great snowfall. All that night, the sky had been red-tinted grey. The morning thereafter was grey as well, no gold light being able to penetrate through the thick clouds in the atmosphere. With such time to compact itself, the snow would last a long time in the city.

The girl, being weary of his self-destructive life patterns, merely watched him lie half-conscious on his bed. Using a hammer, Jean had dismantled the thermostat, rendering the place eternally room temperature.

She had asked why on Earth he would do such a thing, and his answer made absolutely no sense--The walls keep my brain warm; it's like a microwave. So there he froze, a cold-blooded animal of aggravation, and she cared no longer for him tonight. It was 5 am.

He could not hear her goodbye, nor feel her gentle farewell kiss. Into her vehicle she went, turning it on and operating it along the rode towards her home. She wanted to be devoid of worry; she was concerned and thoughts of Jean told her that this concern was not for getting home safely without skidding on the icy roads.

She had been the catalyst of his retreat - having persuaded him into the Den's services - and knew that she wielded partial blame for his continued state. There must be someone that could talk sense into him, yet she was too tired to venture that conversation, that argument herself.

Removing a cellular phone from her purse, she dialed the number of Jean's parents. The couple was most likely awake this early... this late.

Jean soon awakened from stupor. Sad that she had not remained for him to cry with and snuggle, he sufficed to crawl from his mattress and peruse the contents of his freezer. Vodka, which was second his favorite, would be good. He then sat and poured a glass, mixing it very slightly with Sprite from the fridge, resting his body on a chair beside a circular table.

There, he had last set a large knife on the top. He tapped it with a finger to watch the reflection of his surroundings on the metal. It was bad enough to see those walls with his own eyes, and seeing them through the eyes of his friend was horrific. Then came his other friend.

Jeb, a dog whose fur was apparently transparent, waddled towards him and brushed past his leg, Jean feeling no sensation of it, looking for food on the ground. The pooch had probably been nosing about the gentleman's room, where dead soldiers of candy bars and fries cartons were strewn about.

Jean smiled, wanting to reach out and pet the thing, but his hand would miss and he would only contact air. The dog had no smell, and never needed to be taken outside to deposit waste, which he found to be odd, but not as odd as the mocking walls.

He took the knife fully in his grip and threw it towards the nearest wall. The projectile only nicked the drywall and fell to the ground. The dog ran over and sniffed at it with curiosity. The next sensation was that coagulation on his elbow. The needle had bruised, though he had no recollection of messing up his procedure, and the wound had been broken to allow a smear of crimson on the joint.

Another shot of vodka.

He drank the rest of the contents quickly, his throat burning slightly as his head became dizzy. Resting his noggin against the tabletop, he could feel the sharp pain in the elbow clearly. It was such a tiny breach in his skin, yet it felt as if a splinter the size of a pencil was inserted there.

It reminded him of why he had stabbed himself in the first place. The notion of his defiance made him smile. The walls frowned in their filth. They begged him to clean them, but he only ignored it, for a wall's voice sounded like silence. Then that sofa against the wall moaned its agony.

Shooting his vision towards the larger portion of the room, he could see an absence of trash.

What audacity! Where did all that stuff go? Jean seized the knife and charged the sofa to impale and eviscerate it. Thrusting and chopping, he punished the abominable furniture. This is what it deserves for hiding all the trash I had so randomly placed! Yet the walls now laughed.

No! They cannot do that! Jean knew it was not possible, but the lights flickered and he knew that something was mocking him. Was that the bulbs? Or was it just his eyes? He would show them, all of them!

Entering the lavatory, he spied the toilet, the inside almost completely black; the tub, filled with grey water. Was this not enough to silence the braying? Not even this sort of rebellion to the closure would keep them from killing his peace of mind.

He would show them all!

Returning to the kitchen area, he tossed the chair out of his path to achieve the knife. As the sitting apparatus tumbled across the room, its bounding sounds like minor thunder, he stalked to the loo. Now, the mirror reflected him to himself through grime across the glass. There was a pause, a moment during his fury when an aberrant thought was manifested.

It was as if the environment was... vile. Through the mirror, he could see only the disgusting wall behind him. Turning to view it, his perception changed to that of what it originally was. The wall was not dirty; it was clean, though covered with random gunk. But that was cleaning the lies of his life. Back to the mirror to only discover that all his endeavors were lies.

No! The walls are tricking me!

He would show them all that he could control his life. By pressing the tip of the knife against his elbow, he would show them that he could let life flow or stay inside! His efforts certainly hurt quite a bit though.

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Night shifted to almost morning as the moon appeared to grow in size and the sky began to turn blue. Jean's mother had received the girl's call. At first, she did not feel concern, and was reluctant to take the female's advice in visiting her secured son. The one she and her mate had shelled away from them. Deep in her spirit, the wicked fiend of a woman decided that it would benefit her son, possibly reverse his gloom to see her.

Their last visit had been eight months prior.

The husband refused to leave his position in the bed as she left. No matter, Jean only needed one person.

When she arrived, she called for reinforcements. Paramedics arrived soon after being summoned, the hospital being near the main road, the blinking bus careening down the roads to rescue someone in need. Jean did not want medical help, but his body required it, and the wound inflicted would need much of it.

He was tired, and struggled against the EMT's guiding him away from the lavatory. Unless they were wielding his limp body to attack his mattress, he would find no reason to argue with them. Slurring words through lips trailing saliva, he demanded they shut the door to keep his dog from escaping.

The medics began a search for the animal, yet the mother explained that there was no such canine present, that her son hated canines more than any mammal. Indeed, there was no a dog anywhere in the apartment and no sign that such a creature was living there.

Jean was pleased when they laid him on his back. Ah, yes, and they were obviously trying to make him comfortable, for they tucked him in with bright white, clean sheets that smelled like ammonia. They assaulted his ears with millions of questions; asking things that came as jumbled incoherence to Jean. Were they distributing more drugs into his system? Maybe, he would try to sleep for the time though, ignoring them.

He dreamed a few times during his hospital occupancy. During his drug-enhanced slumber, he hallucinated scenes of beaches and oceans. He had not ever visited a shore, and was not sure if his dreams were accurate portrayals. Jean wondered why great big water bodies infested his subconscious; he preferred the hilly landscape of his own surroundings.

A day and a second were wasted in that facility. Being reorganized and told by the nurse to care more efficiently for himself, he was released into the custody of his parents.

Still, his father was nowhere to be seen. Jean was apathetic to the absence. Long ago had he decided to forget the existence of that creature. He had also done so with the maternal figure as well, yet she was now plaguing him again.

The two sat in an office and Jean was told that he himself was to be the source of more infliction, casting him into another health care facility to plague others with his polluted mind. A psychologist or psychiatrist instructed the Destrees family to admit him, yes, more specific abandonment, into Biard Rehabilitation Clinic, an institution near the city's suburbia.

A loony bin. Jean projected anger, his mother parried with pseudo-sympathetic persuasion and the doctor man - barely a human - remained in all defenses. Jean's mother thought the notion to be quite beneficial.

Jean pleaded against the accusation of attempted suicide. He insisted that his intention was not to kill himself, just to drain enough blood to make him forget the horror that was life. Both the older ones queried of this `horror'. He only curled up on the chair and hugged his knees - being sleepy - explaining that the process of shedding his life away was merely to distract himself from fear and remind himself that he was only mortal and could die so easily.

He was not an actor, but could easily bullshit is way through a conversation.

Upon further evaluation attempts, Jean realized that he would rather allow himself to be sent to hell than to endure any further frivolous interrogation. He agreed quickly, but he became confused when they asked if he was certain. Jean pondered it sincerely. If sent away to rot in mind prison, he would further endure a chamber - multiplicity of chambers - all keeping him safe and locked. Only this time, he would be safe from the horror world.

No bane could penetrate the steel and concrete walls of Biard. It would be so much different than the terrible apartment. That, which was a suffocating tomb, was unlike a loony bin. There, he would be scrutinized, not stuffed into areas of forgetfulness.

Jean did not want people to aid his life along, as if guiding a wounded animal towards sanctuary. Yet the new environment would inevitably be free of the mocking walls, crucified with the defecation of a parent's blind support. He knew already that throwing trash at the walls would most likely engender his confines to a very long-sleeved jacket.

The maternal thing drove him there. Now, being early morning of the third day of this wonderful adventure, the surrounding atmosphere was tinted with mist and ice continued to smother the city.

He understood that he would not be able to be intimate with the natural world once admitted. No, he had not been very fond of nature before, but Jean had always wielded an appreciation for it. He liked the snow, he liked the rain. The fog was soothing, and once he was free of the eminent dilemma, he would venture to it more often. It was disappointing to know that he would be unable to ingest chems of any type while inside. Neither the hallucinogens nor muscle relaxants.

The only solace was the fact that there would be no withdrawals from their absence.

They passed gardens built along the side of the street. Jean stared through the window near his face and darted his eyes to catch glimpses of various birds flitting about the snarled tree limbs. No beings were spied other than those birds and a group of people - dogs - outside the entrance, polishing the glass of the portal there. He slumped in disappointment and sighed loudly, growling lightly.

"Don't worry yourself to death." His mother imagined.

"It's not that," was his inform, "I just hate dogs."

She was vaguely familiar with his meaning, but did not wish to bother with asking him to clarify, and simply pulled on the wheel to curve the machine around the circular bend and urge him to leave.

Having fulfilled her motherly intentions, she spoke a brief `farewell dear, remember I love you', then disappeared into the mist of morning, and he hoped to never see her face again. One of the two 'dogs' approached him with a smile. She did not stink too badly, and he was able to keep from frowning as she introduced herself as Levina.

"Are you Jean Destrees?"

"Yes, I am." She then explained that she was going to present to him to the layout of the facility. She wore a white outfit, slightly like Jean's own, only half. Jean had been donned with a long-sleeved, white dress shirt, and fitted with bluish slacks of denim. Inside his suitcase, which hung from his fingers by his side, contained four more sets identical.

The nurse - Jean surmised - explained that he was in the men's ward, and would associate only with males here to discourage fraternizing, or something like that. He found no worry with that, for he would not touch a mammal in any sort of sensuality, male or female.

Even if a reptile such as himself was within, there would be no chance of fraternizing. It was illustrated, some of the various infections -  she called them `patients' - and how certain individuals behaved, which ones to be more aware of than others. It was strange to hear the dog telling him whom to be afraid of and who not.

Soon, the pair entered the main lobby-thing and she waved with verbal greetings to fellow faculty at the front desk. A vase of atrocious blue flowers was set upon it, offset by white walls, shrouded in pale, halogen light from above. Jean would not return any such cordial behavior when assaulted so; he did, however, manage to make strained eye contact.

Levina continued her diatribe, saying that he should not argue with the nurses and to take his medications when instructed and to avoid any sort of bickering amongst the infections.

'No whining when force-fed drugs down his gullet, no fisticuffs...' easily accomplished, for Jean did not plan on directly associating with disease unless absolutely necessary.

Next, they entered the living quarters, and Jean was attacked by the scent of every creature imaginable, every imaginably disgusting fur body.

At once, the urge to flee in panic stimulated him; he saw two more dogs, then three, all of a similar horrid color; then a bearish brute, a badger-type twit, two weasely misfits, and a ragged man with large, bat-like eyes.

Once again, a groan and grimace manifested in his being. The dull shrouds of their hair were the only thing that gave him a remedy to the aggravation. It was that gloss so present in society that he disliked.

"Hey!" Demanded a figure that approached. A young boy, slithering and grossly round like a fat mongoose... he was grinning and holding some sort of magazine. "He new?"

"Yes, Louis--"

"Which Digimon are you?" He wondered of the Hean. Jean desired to push the fat thing away from him, but would not do so just to get in trouble. The boy had emerged from a nearby room, galloping from the portal along the wall, one of several that faded into a dreary environment that emulated a pillbox.

"What?" Jean asked, and Louis repeated the question. Jean did not know what the term was, but he figured it was some sort of child's toy or television series, judging from the ridiculous cartoons and colors on the magazine.

"Uh...whichever one can kill you the fastest." Jean expected the response to influence Louis to disinterest with the reptile. Not so. The aggravation that Jean attempted to project was not strong enough.

"Well, I guess most would; I'm just a Koromon."

As Jean and the nurse continued, Louis - who had approached them directly - turned his path to walk along with Jean. "You look kinda like a Flamedramon, except he's blue, and you don't have any armor."

"Go play cards with Issac, Louis." Levina demanded, yet the boy ignored her and hopped in front of Jean to peer against the newcomer's eyes.

"Are you a dragon?" What a stupid, little shit. "Can you breathe fire?"

"What? No!" Jean was appalled by such a ridiculous notion.

"Louis!" Levina hollered, "Give him a break for right now, just let him settle. All right?"

The treaty did not seem logical to Jean, for it only suggested that the torment would ensure at a later time. Louis agreed, then scampered into his room a few doors down the hall. Into Friday's chamber.

There were too many rooms for a true pillbox; there were four extra Sundays.

They had passed a lounge of sorts, where two television sets were constantly being used by the infections. Jean wondered if he could possibly obtain a gaming device and introduce the plague to a better form of entertainment than TV shows.

"Oh," she blurted unprofessionally, "You can watch all the TV you want. But you can't change the channel, and we don't have internet." The information was unimportant to Jean, for he used neither except to play a game or download a song every few months. Here, he expected neither to be of any use in a slow death.

Last was the presentation of his room. Jean could not believe that it was infested.

Not by a patient, but this was a true form of pestilence. A brown-haired boy around his age lounged on a mattress, on his front side, reading a magazine with genuine fascination; he looked perfectly rodent, like a little brown rat. Jean cringed and was prepared to remove his shoe and squash it dead. It seemed, however, that this rodent was of the `patients', for the nurse did not shout for help or try to shoo the rat from the room and catch it in a net.

"Andre?" She asked, "This is Jean, and he is your roommate."

Andre's eyes grew wide - round black optics that glinted from the lighting above - as did his lips in smile, and he tossed the paper book down to scramble from the bed.

"Really? That's awesome! God, I've been so bored!" The rat extended his hand to greet the reptile. Jean already loathed the beast, but protocol forced him to comply and come in contact with Andre.

As the two males shook hands, Jean wondered if the boy carried a plague of any sorts. Andre's smile and mirth did nothing to please his roommate, and Jean wanted badly to leave the area and lock himself within the lavatory. Too much stimulus; he would induce vomiting to give a physical pain that he could loathe; no one understands mammal-hatred, but pain is something everybody hates.

Levina spoke a goodbye and departed, locking the two males in the room together. No, she had simply closed the door without confining them. She might as well have locked it though,  for Jean could not escape, and Andre apparently needed to talk to him.

"This is so cool." He jabbered, "What are the odds that I'd get bunked with a big guy like you?"

"I totally feel the same" Jean tried his hand at sarcasm. The rat changed then, regressing to the essence of joy that only a child of the mind could expel.

"Oh man... I'd hug you, but I don't wanna make you think I'm a weirdo!" He twirled a finger around the air adjacent to his big, mouse-like ear.

"Do you like... big guys or something?" Jean asked.

"I love 'em, man!" He sat down, continuing to stare a Jean's face. "They are the ultimate protectors and lovers of the universe."

Andre wore a red T-shirt, plain, and a pair of pants that looked like a bunched parachute. These were black. The fur on top of his head was ruffled and looked pressed, as if he had been sleeping or wore a hat of sorts. He was ubiquitously standard.

"Are you talking about superheroes or like... the bear community?" Jean wondered, now intrigued by the rat enough to force himself through a conversation.

"The Brotherhood... eh," he giggled stupidly "I prefer the term, not superheroes. I think your race descened from them, the great snakes. You kinda look like a dragon.  I have no idea what you're talking about with bear community. But I know a lot about the Illuminati. My `god' is Anu." He put sarcastic emphasis on god, smirking to imply humor.

"You know, that is just mythology?"

Andre looked shocked and almost rose from the bed. "No it isn't. Xianity and Islam are, but this is real. Catholicism, Satanism, Buddhism... they are all fake as hell! People tell me that I'm wrong, all the time. But I say, 'well, you all believe in gods without any proof and follow blindly, so I do it with something that is actually cool!'"

Portions of the logic were nonsensical. Jean knew that religion was mythology, but there was no need to follow the rhetoric and dogma of a particular thing simply to pass the time.

"The Masons are Satanists, you know that?" Jean continued.

"Yeah! But it's just called that because it's based off the Xian devil. When people think Satanism, they think about the red devil guy with a big fork, poking you on a spit, cooking you. It's all wrong man. I'm reading about it!"

He stretched to the nightstand and retrieved some tomes of history. Jean examined them after being forced to do so. True, this Andre was studying the Freemasons and their religious beliefs. Anything associated with religion Jean found no interest in; only this secret organization and certain creation myths had ever interested him. Those, of course, were all literature.

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Jean had decided to befriend the rodent-like boy, Andre de Boulogne. In all logic, it was best to focus his mind on tolerating the warm-blooded animals around him. For a month short of a year, he was to attend, so it was inevitable that he would find at least one such entity with which to interact. Andre was still an infection though, and Jean had become a parasite.

Because his expectations for survival were zero, Jean knew that the days would seem like eternal increments. This was most definitely a torture chamber, and having Andre as a friend would be the only way to force `time' to resume normal duration.

Jean had become a parasite. In that, the 'dragon' found himself merely using the rat's energy and bizarre attraction to Jean as a source of entertainment. Jean would use observations to determine the proper conduct for conversing with this rodent. Jean hoped not to say anything that could possibly offend Andre or initiate a psychotic episode.

Jean understood, soon after becoming comfortable around the boy, that he was beginning to absorb the attention. Elsewhere in life and by most every living thing in his vicinity, Jean had been abandoned, walled off like Fortunato in the brick wall.

Where his parents mutually decided to pay him to be sealed in a horrid domain, this Andre welcomed him as if he were the boy's own family. Where his several girlfriends were only interested in his family's wealth, Andre was fully ignorant to that concept. Andre liked Jean simply for the fact of his being 'reptilian' in heritage, and big enough to protect him against the bullies of the world.

This fascination was odd, and did nothing but cause uncertainty with the question of Andre's integrity. Nevertheless, flattered or not, Jean found it to be novel enough to maintain a friendship.  Andre was irritating, and blantantly insane and Jean did hate him from day one.

Not so much that, but Andre's sanity was more present than Jean`s. Jean knew that there was no madness involved in a strong interest, and if Andre felt the need to ogle him and love lizards as gods, then it was merely a hobby.

Jean had no hobbies, and Andre frowned at learning this. Jean made clear his hatred of dogs, of these people, these mammals, these infection. This made Andre sad, and to amplify Andre's sadness after hearing such, Jean conveyed how their scent was the main source of this revulsion. He then clarified that Andre did not have that horrible odor about him, and it was not a bother.

This made Andre so happy.

After a day of casual life and boredom, Andre introduced his protector to a preferred method of entertainment. Immediately, they began to delve into the studies of ancient mythologies, playfully arguing and discussing the credibility. Whether or not any such people as Odysseus and Gilgamesh could have possibly existed.

Jean had almost become a ghost, and most of the patients lived unaware of his presence. He stayed in the confines of his pill chamber, with Andre, while the mentioned rat became even more recluse than he had been previously.

Andre made it clear that he was not fully tolerated by the remainder of the infection. Most others avoided him, either claiming him to be a disease-ridden piece of shit or a religious freak. Why the rat lived here was still unknown; even after the second week, Jean still had not learned. Nor would he inquire, for they were all going to ultimately die, and no promotion of madness' concepts would be beneficial in the least.

After three weeks, they had established a routine of friendly role playing, as per Andre`s suggestion. Andre had a wondrous imagination, and had persuaded Jean to partake in dual story telling. First, Andre would begin with a character and situation, then Jean would continue with it, thus did they invent numerous mythology-influenced worlds and fantasies. For hours through the night they did this, in place of slumbering.

When they ventured out of their room, it was always together, and mostly the result of Andre's fear of separation-anxiety. Andre was clingy, and greatly enjoyed embracing his friend and playfully assaulting him, as if trying to entice wrestling. There would be no sports, however, and Jean would rather discuss Digimon with that horribly annoying Louis than to romp.

Being isolated in their room, after four and almost five weeks, became weary. With the given weather on a particular day, the two males were arguing in the lounge.

"Great," Andre whined, walking closely beside his friend. Their shoulders touched as they moved, Jean did not mind, for he was Andre's silent, unspoken guardian and shield. "It's snowing!"

"I like the snow." Jean mentioned.

"What? Why? It killed the reptiles so long ago! That's--"

"No, Andre. Don't say it again; they lost control long before the snow fell."

"It doesn't matter. A factor in their extinction still exists here!"

The two were in the play room, as certain diseases called it, where they could see the TV's and the window. True, the icy weather plummeted downwards to cover the Earth again. It had been snowing almost everyday, and it was clear that the planet was in need of its natural bandage. Jean wondered why Andre was always so upset over it.

"You should appreciate it." Jean said while noticing a group of nomads approaching. "The snow preserves insanity, then..." He stopped, now aware that he had an audience.

"Geez, why did you start hanging out with the freak?" A bearish dweeb spat.

"I'm a fanatic, not a freak, you fucking moron!" Andre explained. Jean had not known, fanatic and freak made no difference.

"He worships lizards, you know?" Interjected the badger-man, he was sitting at a table with two other infections.  Dogs.

"And why not?" Jean asked, "We're the best."

The bear scoffed, "Yeah, sure, cater to his delusions.  Wonderful.  Lemme guess, you are the best, but uh... you didn't create the Earth, right?"

"No! It wasn't him!" Andre continued, "He's barely even related to them. He's a personification of them, that's why I love Jean!"

Andre's childish smile only made his admission more the bizarre. Jean looked to the boy's hand as it gently draped over his shoulder, Andre moving closer till their bodies touched again. If Andre was seeking protection, he could not achieve it from one lizard so beguiled.

"Don't fuck with Andre!" Louis said; the boy had been listening from afar and decided to group them into a quintet. "You messin' with Andre? Loser."

"Shut up, Louis." The bear huffed, throwing his hand out as if to swish away his irritation.

"Don`t do it! Or Jean will become very upset. You're a Fridgimon, but he's a Flamedramon, and can melt your sorry ass."

The bear then explained that he was going to inflict great pain on Louis, and that the mongoose - which was his true species - should stand still and allow it. With a gasp and flee, the two initiated a pursuit, a hunt. The badger cheered the bear on with delight and others around them began hoot-and-hollering.

After the orderly slowed them enough to determine the conflict, Andre and Jean remained in the play room for the remainder of that day. The discussion they held consisted of absolutely random subjects, stemming from Andre's experiences in Biard and Jean's life prior to incarceration. At the appointed retiring schedule, they were rushed into their room, as were the other infections. Disease plagued the pill box.

They would sleep soundly, some of them at least, all the infections nestled safely and decaying. But soon, Jean knew, all the occupants were going to irradiated with real pills; antibiotics would come and replace them all. This thought prevented Jean from playing words with his mammal friend.

At a time of night unknown to both, the two lie facing each other on their own beds. Andre had thrice tried to initiate the game, hoping to spark the Jean's interest with various introductions of various characters. The boy became severely disappointed when Jean proclaimed his disinterest in playing for the night.

Andre became as silent as the outside territory. The night was cold and completely dark, only the lamplight from a tall pole showed them each others' faces. Neither made a sound and both waited for the other to speak first. Jean did not want to play the game, yet found a perturbing desire to converse. In his life now, the mammal genre of animals was seen to be a trivial catalyst of anguish. Why should Jean all these people when the poison around him was so much more worthy?

"What are you thinking about?" Andre began finally.

"Poison..."

Andre wondered what could have been the toxin. "What is it?"

"The..." Jean knew the answer, but how to articulate without the essence of his own demented reasoning? "The nurses... our parents... the government... church." The short spells of silence between each noun implied Jean's deep pondering.

"They all fuck us up, huh?" Andre perceived.

"Yes, the do, extremely."

"How badly did they fuck you up?"

"My parents threw me away and kept me in a fake house to live and slowly die."

Andre's interpretation was this: "They kicked you out."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Yes, that was much easier to answer. Yet why promote the notions of insanity? Jean knew his infection well, but it was stupid to share the tinted knowledge with someone else. Andre was much younger than his 24, by four years, and astoundingly impressionable and immature. Still, knowing that, perhaps if he were to reciprocate the knowledges of both, perhaps no disease would produce from the mess created.

"I... I have compulsions... and obsessions." It was the truth, but not packaged as the typical label. Andre waited, not yet told of the action that engendered his immediate removal from the real world.

"I... thought that I could make things better in my `house' by b... making things difficult for myself. If I had a lot enough shit around, it wouldn't look so fake. I wouldn't remember that mom and dad just threw me away because they didn't want to deal with me. It worked at first..." The memory of his walls polluted his mind, and he took another spell of silence to rub it away from his mind by scratching at his eyes a bit.

"It worked a little, but soon... The walls started getting closer, and wouldn't stay ugly enough. I tried to bleed, showing everything that I still controlled my life." With emphasis, "I choose when I die and if I live, and no one can tell me how I live."

"You tried to... kill yourself." Almost, Andre. Almost.

"No. I didn't try to die. Because that's what my father wanted. I wouldn't do it...just because of that."

"Your dad wanted you to kill yourself?" Andre expected his interpretation to be false; perhaps he was not quite clinging to Jean's true meaning. Yet...

"Yes. He said it was best for everyone."

As expected, Andre tried to explain that Jean's father: `probably didn't really want you to die'. Jean had heard that before, even from the parent himself. With his next speaking, Jean raised his upper torso and supported it with his folded arm.

"I HEARD him say it. I heard them..." the memory flashed across his mind quickly. Outside the door, so much younger than now, before his imprisonment in that apartment. Through the portal of unlocked wood, Jean had heard the discussion. "...talking. He said I should die, that people like me already suffer and it's no use for them to make others suffer." Jean paused in his speaking for a brief moment, contemplating something. "Is it illegal for a parent to kill their son?"

"Of course it is!" Andre spoke.

"That's probably why they didn't kill me themselves." Jean offered.

"Jeez! You're not that sick! Just `cos you have OCD," Andre sat up fully, elevating his torso entirely above his body and crossing his legs.

"They think I'm schizophrenic." Jean added. Whether the information would be irrelevant or profound to Andre's logic would be interesting to know. He had become aware of the diagnosis during his first real evaluation: disorganized schizophrenia; Jean had no idea what it was. Hallucinations? No, for talking walls were much too tangible to be fake.

"It doesn't matter." Andre continued, "It's just a malfunction of the brain; it's not the end of the world."

"We never started the world."

Ambiguity rendered Andre bereft of words. Now, both males sat upright in the darkness, their faces obscured by shadows.

"What do you mean, Jean?"

"People like us, ones with `malfunctions', never are able to live like normal people. We never started to live properly in the real world. We might as well not exist."

"But we live in our own world!" Andre's body shot forward, as if the exclamation he had spoken propelled him. Taking a seat on the edge of Jean's bed, he continued, "We have our own world to live in, where things are different."

Jean's vision was caught in Andre's and a struggle ensued for the older one to break it. Even in the darkness, both could decipher the other's facial features. Andre did not like how Jean's face was so twisted; the dragon's forehead was slanted and wrinkled, as was his mouth, broken and fixed forward, all while frowning. It was as if he stared straight to hell.

And Jean knew well Andre's face, the shape of his head. The hair growing along his head and cheeks was permanently ruffled. No matter how much Andre groomed himself - via either a hand or a comb of sorts - it would not lay flat and smooth. One of his ears, the left one, was somewhat bent and this malady was unfixable as well. The inside of his ears and the interior of his mouth were very much clean, however, due to twice daily hygiene.

Previously, Jean had absolutely forsaken desire to bathe or clean himself, but being in the influence of the rodent, the dragon started scrubbing himself regularly.

"I know what you mean, Jean. We all have different worlds. I know that, because they tried to shut me out. Because I'm, uh..." Jean wondered what it was. The sickness, perhaps.

"I think I know what you are, Andre..." Jean had deduced the formula for such an `unnatural' orientation. It should have been so much clearer, how Andre had always been so close and friendly. "Tell me your reason, Andre."

With a sigh and a nod, not looking away from the thing he loved, "The same as you. I hurt myself. But mine was intentional. I thought that if I died, I would be with my dad in heaven. He's the one that told me about the myths and what stuff to believe and not."

Jean understood the silence after it. Now that their shared world was shut down, each could scrutinize the malfunction that drove them to this hell. The wall between reality and the asylum was evident, thick as a million bricks; only simulated poison could let them masquerade on the other side. Jean never took his medication at home. Andre never had any.

The meds the nurses fed to them were not simulations. They were simply to decrease the speed of reality in their world and allow them to live undetected by the real one. Impressionable Andre and clairvoyant Jean would never be capable of true life existence.

"I know that it's not real, Jean." Andre leaned forward to glimpse his friend's face more clearly. "But it's the only thing that I knew about. I never went to school, you know, dad wouldn't let me. He said that I would go to heaven if I did everything he told me. But he did not tell me what to do. He died one day, so I thought I should just follow him. After reading all those stupid books, I never figured out what he was talking about."

Andre's loss of the parent must not have been long ago. But how long after was the boy admitted, and how long after had he met Jean?

"We're going to die here." Jean explained in an undisturbed whisper; he spoke with absolute certainty.

"No we're not." Andre corrected. Andre was sure of his own reasoning.

"Why do you think they put us here, Andre?" The dragon hissed the whisper, leaning to sneer at his friend. "We are all here for everyone else to forget about. Just like my fucking dad, they all expect us to die here. Either kill each other or commit suicide. They stick us in these fucking rooms; let us see outside, how we can never get to reality... I don't care, because if I can't live how I was supposed to, I don't want to live."

"But..." Andre frowned and thought hard for an opposing reasoning. He found only a strong agreement. Using his hand, he gripped Jean's furthest shoulder and hugged him close.

"But we're here, right?"

Jean was not concerned about the intimate proximity of his friend's face, how Andre whispered directly into the his ear. "If we have to live here, in this fake world, the let's just do it. We can fight our malfunctions and not go insane. It's not as bad as you might think, there's a few here that have done it for a long time."

Jean had no response to any of the phrases breathed by Andre. Now, he could smell the boy; Andre did not smell of a sewer or swamp... like a rodent. It was not repulsive. The faint aroma of the male reminded him of mortality, that even wielding hatred could not change his position on the level of mortal Earth.

His hate was the opposite of logic, and yes, the logic was that he truly admired the mammals. Even more, he envied the sane, the healthy, how their hair was so much glossier than his, their populace; he thought they were beautiful. This was his most hated obsession, and thus did he find no reason to discriminate Andre simply because he liked other boys. What was the point of mindless hypocrisy?

Jean was unsure how Andre had gotten closer, for the boy had already been hugging him. Now, Andre was holding onto one of his arms, moving his face against Jean's neck. His nose was cold and his eyes slightly damp.

Then, it was warm. How did his nose get so warm all of the sudden? How did it get so long? Ah, that was a tongue, of course.

Yes, Jean had always forced himself to think he loathed mammals, despised himself, now the time had arrived for him to confront the truth of it all. No, he would no longer lie to himself and deprive his mind of a true obsession. Jean thought he loathed homosexuality, and it was with this concept that kept him so confused about those several worlds.

The mammals with their warmth had a world of their own. Homosexuals held their own as well. Why Jean was in frequent fancy to both was indicative of his envy. That he could not fully be part of those worlds, that he had no control over it, was what constructed the facade of hatred. Yes, and this was his mistake, for his sexual thoughts could be formed in any means; he had control over that part of his mind. Jean could be part of Andre's world.

It had never been presented to Jean, such an emotional invitation to another's world. As Andre placed his warm palm against the older man's abdomen, Jean was unsure whether he should accept or stay away from it all. The fear of being trapped in that sort of weird was intense, for Jean's perception was that Andre's mind would pollute him.

Yet against his own machinations, he could not ignore the physical pleasure of the rat's touch.

"You're so cold, Jean." Andre lightly spoke, his lips less than a centimeter from Jean's own. Jean could feel the frozen thickness of air from beyond the medicated walls penetrate directly to him. Like his previous home, this environment was cold, where no one had the authority to regulate the temperatures for his own standard. All here were mammals, and the reptile could not conform to their style of body heat.

"I know. I hate it, I..." The phrase was not completed, for his lips were pressed together as Andre kissed him. Such strange behavior, the sort of which Jean was familiar with, nonetheless caused anxious thoughts through the older male's mind. Although it was completely and utterly non-foreign, the act of this Andre de Boulonge - the embodiment of Jean's dual phobias - now performing such consciously-controlled actions made Jean wonder if it was truly something to be afraid of.

"I'll keep you warm, okay?" Jean's immediate response, within his mind, was an affirmation. Could this sort of feeling be so cruel as to creep into his reasoning? Now, Jean was knowing that world. No longer did his mind flash with those images, the ones he had used violence to delete, but it was manifested in the real. Jean knew that he did not hate it because of a false testimony of evil. Why, and how, could this be evil?

Jean could see no logic to support a refusal. "All right." He agreed. With the aid of Andre, Jean laid his body down to the mattress, resting his head so his face could see the ceiling. Andre crept closer to him, crawling, clinging onto the cushioned matter below them and wiggling to drape his limbs over the form of the dragon. For Andre, it became impossible to feel his friend's smooth flesh with his digits, to see the curves of his shoulders and face, and not smile.

"Your skin is so smooth, I really like that."

Now, Jean felt himself express mirth on his face, stretching his muscles in fashion that usually hurt. Before his time with Andre, there had never been a reason or a sufficient stimulus to provide Jean with the energy to smile or laugh. The boy had ample energy to fuel both.

And did Andre feel the same? How did he feel in triumphing against Jean's dual phobias? Andre felt lucky that he was not canine - and did not reek - but being gay, he was afraid that Jean would be sickened at the confession. Oh, it was nothing like that! Jean had completely accepted it with no word or expression of rejection.

Andre had been overjoyed upon first seeing the sickly, grey male. Soon, he had so fallen in love with him, devoting all of his thoughts and mind to him. He knew it was foolish though; the notion of Jean's total rejection was fully in his consciousness. Nevertheless, his infatuation had been very powerful in its influence.

His father did not care about the sexual abnormality, but did not encourage him to pursue love or relationships in either gender direction. There had never once been an opportunity to experiment with his sexual fantasies, no neighbors, no classmates, no brothers and not his father. No, there was only a void as the median of his fascination with males and reptiles. Alongside his morbid obsession with mythology, only intricate fantasy worlds were his true happiness.

In between praying to various gods of ancient Greece, Rome and Scandinavia, Andre had only pornography through which to play his stifled, impossible desires; and soon, this became his reality. Soon after the death of his father - how the adult had died was by the act of decapitating himself via locomotive - the young Andre de Boulogne was diagnosed with... what was it? Non-debilitating schizoid personality disorder. Ah, yes, it was so easy to slap on a label and stick me in here, was it? Oh well, I have met the only thing that matters to me now.

Love... not something that Jean had ever given a hint of thought towards; Andre had always desired it, but never sought it, and now the notion was upon them both, between them. Perhaps they could mingle their worlds. Andre certainly thought so, for he could not bring himself to cease his gentle caressing, his light kissing of Jean's mouth.

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Winter's annual approach continued to ravish the city with further frozen weather. At once, the snow had greatly increased and smothered cars and other vehicles until it became difficult to operate them properly. School was canceled. Many businesses were temporarily put out of service, their service slightly canceled.

Jean lay on his side; staring at the blank wall he had smudged with a sustaining life splash, pleading to the universe to cancel his life, trying to silence the walls' braying. No god above or below - nor between the two halves of reality - would answer, so he prayed to the universe, hoping that a supernatural entity or force would pull his soul away.

It had only been four and a half days after Andre had gotten grip on Jean's spirit, his `heart', and Jean had convinced himself that happiness and joy would be the result. The universe lied to him, telling him such things - that he would be happy with Andre de Boulogne - and it had actually delivered it. Then it was stolen, and quickly replaced with fear.

The walls were being sealed again. As Jean let his telepathic guard at rest, the two males' worlds had slowly fused together, molding and transforming into a thing of purity. Yes, the prison would seal them now; wrap the infection tightly in its suffocation. Andre would not notice it; for the sewer rodent could not hear the walls talk... No! Why could no one else hear them?

Jean knew he could at least impede the encoffining process by sullying the chamber. His blood, the very thing that regulated his life - along with the electricity in his brain - would confuse the strangling edifice. But it would be ruined if someone saw it and decided to instruct a nurse to aid in stopping Jean.

There was, in the place - and available to him - an absence of cutting utensils. Jean could not find a knife or fork, pencil or pen or needle of any kind. After telling Andre to leave him alone for the day, after yelling an argument with his furry friend, Jean had let his imagination course in efforts to machinate a solution.

Immediately, Jean felt regret for having caused Andre such devastation. The boy had wept upon hearing the loud scream from Jean's mouth. Nevertheless, the dragon knew it was beneficial, for Andre and he could maintain their giddiness for only a little bit longer before the world collapsed and they were killed.

The weak fabric of the mattress inevitably had been stapled to its frame. There, bending and twisting the sharp shard of steel, Jean had punctured a vessel on his wrist and allowed just enough life to sob from his corpus. Feel the utter confusion! These walls had not been mocking him like the ones at home; these were stealth destroyers. You won't know what to do!

Andre emerged from the portal into Jean's visual range. Jean had not wept too greatly that day, and his eyes were not with enough crimson to show it. However, the red droplet on his wrist and the circular smear on the wall were quite evident and gave alarm to the rat.

"Why did you do that?" Andre asked, remaining static on his feet.

"Because!" Jean growled and looked up to his rodent friend, "Because the walls...!"

Andre frowned, twisting his face in confusion, looking around at the white, vertical structures. "What about them?"

"They're just..." Andre moved a bit closer as Jean sat upright, "I heard it from this one, `Bêler', it sounds like that damn William laughing at me. All the walls are just closing us in their fucking smothering fate! We'll die fast if I don't do something!"

The mention of a name that Andre did not know became irrelevant, so the rat did not question. As Andre stepped away, his body moving in the direction of the door's position, it was clear that he was to inform of the situation. Approaching him from the bed, Jean pressed his friend against the wall with tremendous force. It was enough motion to cause a panicked squeak from Andre.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jean demanded. His tone was of shock, not of anger. If Jean had been furious, the surprise emitted by Andre would not have been so saturated with horror. Anger, for Andre, was less scary than the fear and paranoia on Jean's face.

"Jean, you're hurting my arm! Let go!" Andre felt pressure on his shoulder where Jean's thumb was squeezing the tissue to bruise it.

"Don't you know anything?" Jean asked, apparently not though. "If we can keep ourselves aware of their horrible doings, then we can survive." He strained a smile, holding his hand against Andre's face in attempts to calm him.

"Jean..." Andre whispered, now holding his friend lightly, "There's nothing wrong with the walls. They're not closing us in and--"

"Goddamn you, Andre!" Jean hollered, seizing the rat again and throttling him, "You have to HEAR, not SEE them! You just let them control you all your fucking life then? Just like your goddamned father!"

An intruder dressed in white came to them, demanding that Jean stop his madness. Levina, that bitch was now here to stop the argument. Jean did not feel her presence was necessary, so he simply tossed her to the floor with his arms. Uninjured, but alarmed, she hollered for someone outside of the room to join in the battle.

"We're going to die!" Jean screamed while stepping from Andre. He began throwing both fists and forearms against the wall, "They let us rot in here and get more sick then just throw us away and we all die!"

Andre hugged him. The audacity! How could he...? No, it was not Andre, but a large thing with muscle mass and height. Jean sniffed, throwing his head back, filling his senses with the invisible essence of dog. He almost regurgitated. An enormous beast with black hair and opposing hue in garb, this was his captor. Jean shrieked to be released and kicked his legs outward to screw with the balance of the orderly. But it would not work. Outside he was carried, through the hall and to a room safe from others. Jean, the green infection, was then harnessed and destroyed.

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It had been his mind, not his body, that was destroyed. It was so easy for them to find needles with ad hoc chems and attack him, and here Jean had a difficult time finding a dull staple. The chem wore off and he was next found sitting in an office. The surroundings were not white, they were cluttered with shit and random garbage that so clouded the walls, they could not seal off the occupant. With his last visit, he had been labeled a schizo.

An administrator, a doctor of sorts, was calmly demanding him to cooperate in telling him what the problem was. Jean explained everything and was further diagnosed as incorrect and unjustified. Just that simple, is it?

After debating the authenticity of his logic, Jean demanded he be euthanized or let himself do enough harm to keep the walls from hurting him with madness. There was no compromise, and Jean promised that he would feel better if the walls were covered with something so he could not hear their whispers. Although the doctor knew it was an easy solution, it would only promote Jean's belief. Jean made it clear that he simply wanted a poster or some kind of painting so he could look at something other that winter outside, outside the window.

It was agreed that one poster from his room in his apartment would be brought, only one. That's fine, Jean told him, and thank you very much.

Leaving the place unaided, his disposition degraded to gloom with each stride past the play room. No great number of eyes met him with staring; the way he had performed a tantrum was not unique, and they all had seen it numerous times before. A few smiles were offensive to him; a few greeting waves were death threats. He would have spat to the floor if it were not for the orderly that had just passed with a nod.

Into his chamber. There was Andre, the rat had been waiting. Both males went static and held their breath, wanting the other to begin. Jean begged himself to form some sort of apology, but there were so many ways of introducing it. Which thing to feel sorry for first.

"Hey." Andre spoke.

"Hi, Andre." Jean wanted to smile, simply to show his humiliation. His posture had become normal again; it was slumped with the shoulder and his head hung down. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

Andre was unsure if the apology was from the reptile's own mind or an order from the superior. The latter was not a bad form, as long as the Jean's guilt was true. The rat only hoped that the past battle would be the single experience, never to be felt again.

"I'm fine..." Jean did not know if Andre wanted revenge or forgiveness or abandonment. To test the three theories, Jean approached. Andre made no protest as Jean neared and did not panic when accompanied on the side of the bed. Jean smiled so faintly he truly could have remained grave.

As soon as his hand touched Andre's shoulder, the boy gripped Jean close with an embrace and began weeping. Ah, so it was forgiveness.

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Night only got colder. Jean became frustrated as he became cold. Now, not even Andre's warm body snuggled against him could he feel warmth. Andre could feel it, and it was not pleasant. All the tension present in the air prior to their sleepiness had dissolved long ago, and both males tried to enjoy each other's company, ignoring the frozen land outside.

Andre sighed, both hands gripping his love with gentle joy. For almost an hour, he had been slowly caressing the side Jean's throat. An hour, Jean had felt the soft hand of Andre touching his throat. For an hour, Jean wished the boy would move the paw to another area, anywhere but there!

"You still not warm?" Andre asked.

"No, I can't get there, even with you here."

Andre grinned, an idea coming to his mind with such excitement multiplying. "I think I have a way to help you."

The boy knew that he could not heat his friend's body by initiating sensual acts. Only his own kind would benefit from that, the mammals, but it was that fact that could help. By kissing him, Andre felt only joy at the touch of Jean's hands enveloping his shoulders. Their tongues touched and pressed each other away; even Jean's tongue was cool to the touch.

Andre had started the kiss with fervor, and slowed it to allow his concentration on Jean's front side. Gripping with his hands, he massaged his friend's chest with every digit and every area of fleshy muscle possible. As Andre halted the tongue tangibility, Jean felt Andre move his face along his cheeks and neck, brushing his nose against the clavicle. Jean felt Andre's warm breath flow over his neck, it was warming, and he welcomed it graciously.

Jean spoke, ever so quietly, words conveying how comforting Andre's fur was. This rodent, however, lacked the delicate soft texture most mammals had. Like Jean, his diet was poor, and even with daily bathing, it was done so with little emphasis on his main furry portions. With even the lack of perfection, Jean enjoyed his friend's touch, the warmth coming from him.

Andre welled with joy, his spirit entwining with Jean's just a little. The older male's spirit was difficult to grasp, the magnetic-electric phenomenon was so decreased from years of psychological abuse and personal hatred; it was a mere flicker compared to Andre's own - his mind like a vague conflagration of energy.

Just then, all the warmth contained within their shell of blanket and mattress was ruined by Andre lifting the former, exposing them both to the chilled air, and all their endeavored heat dying instantly. Jean was ready to protest, Andre spoke then, silencing.

"Let me... I want..." He pleaded, but whispers fell too quiet on Jean. Leaning closer, Andre indicated that he desired such an erotic connection, that it would definitely heat them. Jean was unsure if it would be enjoyable, and was afraid that he may come to feel awkward with the boy afterwards. Andre insisted on it, saying that Jean owed to him the pleasure of it from the mental pain caused earlier that day.

There was no possible argument then. Jean agreed to allow it, and Andre sighed while removing his remaining clothing, underwear, then removed Jean's, minus aid from the static reptile. Static from ignorance, for he had never been the recipient of penetration. What did girls do when he lumbered above them so, just as Andre did now? Exactly as Jean had with his females, Andre stimulated himself with a hand in order to encourage his phallus to swell.

The methods used absolutely froze Jean. Observing as though a disembodied entity, he was fully aware of his own bedazzlement, why he was both desiring it, yet fearing it. Yes, it was physically pleasant, and as he felt his legs repositioned to allow Andre access, Jean could see his past self in utter disgust.

As if spying another Jean over there, lying on Andre`s mattress... he was revolted. How could you allow yourself to do this, huh?

Oh! There is nothing wrong with it! --And why is that?

Well, because it is another world! And if I can't be part of reality, I shall take of Andre; his sexual orientation shall be part of me!--So the dangerous collision of worlds will make you happier?

Yes! And no more from you, Jean. Leave me alone. Thus, did Jean rid himself of doubt, for this situation... he felt the hot tissue of Andre's member demand him, so smooth and pleasant... this situation would combine them forever and slow down the psychological decay of the Biard institution.

Jean groaned, though not in pain or sorrow, but with struggling passion. It was fully inside him now, Andre as well sounding his complete pleasure. Shifting himself, the boy moved slowly to avoid any sort of discomfort on either side of this encounter. It proceeded normally, standard fornication, Jean arching his back as the flesh was moved deep into him, Andre looming over him and grasping the air with his lungs. However long it would be before either became tired of the exercise would depend on Andre's speed. If he kept going slow... Oh Andre! You shall ruin our fun by going that fast!

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As the two slept soundly and with all desires to remain so, the loud resonation of anguish awoke them both simultaneously. Praises to `god' and for aid sounded through the rooms, echoing from the hall near... door seven, which Sunday was that?

The infections dashed from their rooms to see what the trouble was. Jean was tempted to go and ease his curiosity, yet Andre pulled him back to his body. With no words, both decided that it was unimportant, unless a nurse rushed inside to get their attention. As it did not happen, they returned to sleep.

Yet their time for awakening was soon anyway. At 11, Jean lost all sleep and drifted outside into the gloom of disease. Not many were present in the hall or the playroom, but there was a mass of infections near the entrance. Jean rubbed his eyes to clear a blur that had settled on them. The badger guy, Etienne, approached him with news.

"Louis and Frederick are gone." Etienne explained. Simple, Jean knew, that they were no longer inside Biard.

"What happened?" Jean wanted details, of course.

"He killed Frederick! Stabbed him to death with a pen."

Jean reacted like a normal person would, eyes growing wide and wondering if the information was valid. "What? When?" "This morning. Philip found him hiding under his bed, still holding that fucking pen, staring at the dead bear. God I'm glad I didn't see it, I'd prolly go crazy. I dunno where they took Louis, probably to prison."

Neither sadness nor the urge to weep in sorrow came to dragon. But a revelation surged in his mentality. Earlier, he had decided to allow him and Andre to mingle and entwine their worlds, let death take them with the walls. But now, the walls were squashing them so badly, that the infections were killing each other, canceling each other out; the plan was set! Oh, what a sick place this was.

As Jean stood, mouth agape, Etienne removed himself from the dragon's proximity and continued on his way. Louis, a killer? It did not conclude with logic, for Louis had been the sort of person not influenced to physical violence; he was a presumed schizoid, such as Andre. Of any violence, it had been manifested by Jean himself, or the dead Frederick. Individuals with obsessions, like Louis and Andre, were not aggressive.

It was this fact alone that made the plan so defenseless. Jean dashed to Louis and Frederick's room, nearly destroying the door in frantic attempts to open it. Upon seeing the walls, he could hear them! They were so loud in their scheming; Jean could hear the braying of silence! No, not just that. They were visibly talking!

His breath became short and he, once again, panicked. Immediately to Andre, pulling at the ripped fabric to take several staples into his fingers. They tore him in several places, but gripping them so tightly hurt his fingers more than the piercing. He growled at them for not being sharp enough to cut any deeper, not even an inch! Yet he managed enough blood spilt to cover the majority of the walls with just a little of his life.

Andre finally awakened as the dragon bumped the bed. It took a few moments for Andre to notice the paint, and another few to associate it with Jean, his lover pacing and hissing, spitting saliva everywhere!

With the ensuing struggle between the two, more accusations of Andre's ignorant naiveté and Andre receiving another bruise, now, it was on his throat, as Jean grasped his friend in attempts to strangle sense into the rodent`s mind. Next, Jean was secured and strapped to a bed, left to rot - obviously - and scream, howling for his immediate release.

The morning had started so peacefully; Louis had to fumble with it all and cause Jean to lose control again! Andre could have felt mortified, and he stayed close to the door, listening to Jean's screaming and thrashing.

Past morning and past midday, he reclined against the door. With no one else to be with, no one else to share his loving obsession with, there was no reason to be away from that locked and bolted portal. Sitting there with all his body against the impregnable panel, a troupe approached him.

They knew of Jean's mental situation, knew of Andre's much more well. Neither conditions were connected, and were very sure of the couple`s relationship.

"Your boyfriend is not going to survive much longer." One such canine lout spoke.

"Andre, you know he won't reason with anyone but you! You're not `poison', remember?" The second doggie chimed.

"Shut up." Was all Andre could manage, but the convenient action would not take place.

"Andre!" The third and final one said, this was the badger, "He'll kill you and won't even realize it until after he does it!"

"He would not!" Andre protested.

"Yes he will. I know how people like him work. He'll do it just to save you!"

"No..." Andre tried to avoid making visual contact, and huddled his folded knees close to his lowered head, concealing his face within his forearms. Someone touched him, tried to comfort him with physical contact. It did absolutely nothing but bother him. Asking them with anger to leave, they complied, not wanting any more rough sports to ensue with an argument.

At the door, he remained for the day, his body intact but his mind ravished beyond belief. If Jean was correct in his observations, that the walls were suffocating them with homicide, then taking this theory with all understanding would be the only way for the ward to survive at all. Yes, I shall promote his belief; we can get everyone to hear the walls! I shall strive to hear them myself, and if not, then Jean will tell us all how to ignore them. I hope we don't have to fight them.

Next, nurses demanded he return to his room. Struggles ensued, both the canine Levina and doggish brute pulling at him, dragging him as if a sack of trash. Each time, up to thrice, he had wriggled free of their scrambling grips and scurried back to the maddening partition between him and his lover. Andre demanded they let him alone, that he would not be able to stand being alone.

No, no possible way to regress to that so familiar notion of utter, absolute loneliness. Since his birth, Andre had been alone, severed in all senses from the outside world by his brilliant father. For over twenty years, Andre was sure there was nothing more important than being his own god, his own provider, his own source of entertainment. Of course, he never thought that a gentleman would bless his life with its delicious presence.

During that night, he hauled a blanket and pillow from his room and huddled in the corner, sleeping with Jean's memory, his friend's body only two meters from his. For hours, Jean had not spoken a single word, and had ceased producing any sort of voice at all. Andre called to him before sleeping, asking if he were awake or willing to talk. The silence made him silent, and the darkness filling all the immediate space imbued young Andre with such loneliness that he wept.

Those tears had been battled, Andre fighting to avoid sobbing even in the slightest. When it arrived - against all his wishes to be devoid of it - it crept to him slowly and remained slow, causing no wailing or gnashing or pounding of the floor. It was Jean that he needed to survive now. Jean had lowered himself to enjoy being with the boy, contrasting his past idiocy of paranoid hatred, and had truly taken affection. Jean was such a good male to be with, Andre loved him with every resonation of spiritual energy and soul he possessed. Devoting not only his spirit, but his mind as well, began the his downfall.

Now, Andre felt that Jean was the most extravagant dragon to stride the Earth. Not even those frozen sheets of white outside their hell could keep him down, not even the faceless, voiceless cacophony of their sarcophagus could hide forever. Yes, Andre would have to encourage all those around him that Jean was qualified to exorcize the presence. Bleeding would have to be done by all, and most would do so, though with the request... it would definitely be awkward.

How to start such a quest...

"Who is that?" Jean asked, severing the silence from peace.

"Jean!" Andre proclaimed with total glee. He jolted from his prone position and put his face close to the door. "It's me, Andre! Are you okay? How do you feel?"

Jean jerked his wrists and ankles slightly, knowing the Velcro would not suddenly choose to loose itself. "How do you think I feel?" There was a bit of moonlight shining pale glow into the tiny room, it was the only thing mildly comforting.

"Jean, I'm sorry I got you in trouble again." Andre apologized, for it was now oh-so evident that the fault of Jean's incarceration was fully on Andre's foolish panic.

"Get me out of here..." Jean did not hear the apology; he had barely whispered that request.

"Huh?"

"Please, get me out of here. I need to... I need to be with you, right now."

Andre moaned in displeasure and feebly strove to conjure a method of escape. He had done so hours before, and now it was equally futile. Still, he tried, for it was the only form of hope he had for his friend. Upon the morn, Jean would be free, and Andre would wait patiently.

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The anti-psychotic medications diminished Jean's capacity to hear the echoing of the homicidal walls. Jean felt that he had been blinded by drugs, his perception stolen by stupid people. If they cannot hear any such extraordinary whispers, then it was logical that, to maintain the peace, he should be deafened from it.

Fortunately, for Jean's sanity, Andre was beginning to hone his hearing skills. The rat could not hear them though, but he could tangibly feel the vibrations of death oozing from the walls. Also, so bizarre to his lover, Andre could visually perceive the evil. Like old, peeling wallpaper, the voices - the sound of chaos - dripped downward and flowed across the souls of the infection.

Jean was alarmed at learning this and locked himself and Andre in their room for the passing of one day. Exactly as the walls had and continued to do so, he and Andre plotted their escape. Together, he and Andre would cancel each other, destroy their own infections, and escape the prison-like maze of disease. Together, they reclined on Jean's mattress and schemed the lovely, lovely scheme.

Each word articulated by whispering Jean amazed his friend. Such twisted and accurate measures he had pondered, everything of the scheme was perfect. And escaping, the two would be forever gone from disease, and able to live so happily, forever combined.

Upon stating that he had concluded the speech, Andre showed his adore and appreciation by embracing his lover tightly, then touching his lips to Jean's own. This afternoon's hazy heat had begun to diminish the winter of preserve beyond their incarcerations. Soon, as the ultraviolet beams shone down from the astronomical star, the entire nation of disease would explode outward and become impossible to contain. Before this transpired, before their plan was executed, Andre and Jean enjoyed each other for one last time.

They entwined and breathed in patterns, syncopating their breaths and listening to the sound of the other's circulation. Jean was above the boy, and sighed against him. Andre could feel the hair on his neck twinge, and his skin shivered as he felt Jean nibbling his neck. Andre's pivoted to embrace his lover's legs, showing Jean his desire to never be apart from him.

Jean's body squeezing him, shifting across his abdomen so forcefully, gave Andre a reaction that desired sexual attention. Jean could smell his friend so strongly now. Combined with the realization that mammals were not any different than a cold-blooded beast such as himself - in strong accordance with the identical state of their disease which did not discriminate for any species - Jean's self honesty to his magnificently foolish plight had given him the ability to love and adore Andre with the entirety of his spirit. The boy's scent was not wretched, and the touch of Andre's skin gave Jean pleasure that he had never once in his life come to contemplate.

It was through his friend that Jean learned that simply destroying oneself to offset the balance of lunacy and purity in the living space would not be enough to rid oneself of that lunacy. Only together, with two souls united in the passion of freedom could they be rid of it. Thus, Andre and Jean would destroy the infection together and remain combined eternally.

Jean shifted in order to gain access to Andre's groin. The rat giggled as he felt Jean struggle to open the slacks` button, the fingers tickling his abdomen so close to the warm, prepared flesh therein. Soon, it was free, and the upraised member of Andre's became exposed to the cool temperature. Immediately, Jean surrounded the flesh with the warmth of his tongue, ensconcing Andre's phallus with his lips.

As the dragon began the attention, Andre wailed in ecstasy. He cried out to Jean, attempting to convey his joy, but the words were impeded by an unknown force. It would not matter, for this was pure eroticism, no speaking necessary. Jean worked his friend lovingly, coating him thickly with his saliva, puffing his breath through the nostrils. He could hear Andre struggling to communicate his mirth, but knew it was not needed. Both knew that joy manifested equally from this episode, there was no doubt to either of their feelings.

Andre, having spent a few minutes in spastic rapture, ejaculated. Jean took it with no intention to reject and minus any revolt. After the ordeal, Andre was unwilling to adjust himself, to hide his sex region by refastening his slacks. No, he would much rather snuggle his body against Jean's, huddle in the cage of his arms. Just a short nap, until the setting of the sun, for their plan was to be executed that night.

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Unlike more populated institutions, this one - Biard - was without a truly devoted faculty. Yes, because here, one was imprisoned to be canceled, not healed. Jean and Andre were merely planning to speed up the process of their exit. Only together would they depart his world and rejoin reality. Though if that reality was to be the same after so much time wasted at Biard was a mystery.

Their plan was to speed their departure. Yet why did Andre move so slowly, carrying the TV set in both arms. Jean growled and saw the grin on Andre's face as he passed, taking his time to make his way to the room with flowing water.

"Hurry up!" Jean seethed through his teeth. His fear was that the nurse he had etherized only a minute prior would awaken and summon his immediate restriction. Jean would hate to be strapped to that fucking bed for a third time. Oh, if our plan fails, if we are found, I shall be on that bed forever!

"Okay!" Andre softly bellowed, quickening his shuffling feet. No matter, it was simply a matter of being swift before someone had the audacity to find them. Jean spoke one final time, an issue of rushing, and Andre disappeared into the aforementioned chamber.

Jean stood static, his head the only part of his body moving. To the left then right he moved it, twitching his eyes to each room's portal, to the unconscious nurse only two meters from him. Levina, she had all the keys on her person, and Jean was able to unlock the room of their main attraction easily. Next, the faint sound of rushing water came to him. His worrying increased drastically then, for anyone still awake would hear that water and surely investigate!

He waited for anything, and anyone emerging from the rooms would be rendered unconscious as well. He gripped the hammer tightly in both hands, both hands shivering strongly. The weapon had been so very difficult to retrieve, and the two infections had spent hours in attempts to find an unimpeded passage to an area that housed it. That secret passage had been found, and Jean took only the hammer, not wanting to make the theft so evident. One minute passed. It would only require perhaps two or three for the tub to fill, and even so, the water's depth would not need to be at the highest maximum amount. Two minutes now. Yes, now it is time to join his friend. Oh, and now why did that fucking mongrel have to go and ruin everything?

Etienne emerged with the urge to urinate, spied the approaching Jean - hammer in hand - the floored nurse, and began pleading to the remainder of the building to come to his aid. Andre did not see any of this. Standing in a knee's depth of water, he gripped the electronic device in both hands, the rat's arms beginning to weaken from their strain. As soon as the first scream resounded from the hall to his sensitive ears, he gasped and dropped the device towards the water.

Andre shouted, begging that he would not be electrocuted. And he was relieved that he was able to push the dropping machine onto the tub's edge. But now he could not retrieve his past grip, for his arms were too weak. Andre hoped that Jean would return to him soon so they could end it quickly.

Jean was too busy struggling with the noisy infection though. The first attack had been easily intercepted, and the hard metal did not touch the Etienne's body. Even though weak and emaciated, Jean's draconian strength was still at its youthful highest, and he was quickly able to destroy the man's balance. As their arms were thrown sideways, neither of them gripping the other, Jean swung the hammer.

Etienne fell against the wall and floor, his face damaged and nose probably broken, for it wept blood only a moment later. Jean growled, seeing that his opponent had not gone to sleep right away. Another blunt force motion, the hammer smacking Etienne's head, propelled by all of Jean's force. The badger now slept, with hemorrhage inside the brain, eternally.

Jean dashed maniacally towards Andre's position, dropping the weapon to maintain the least amount of weight possible. Before the fourth stride, he was tackled by that large orderly dressed in white. Strong, they both struggled with each other, and Jean slipped through the muscled arms of the canine, being lean and smoother, able to slip easily with the texture of his scales.

Andre knew what was happening: they were caught. Jean would never make it to him in time for their departure; he would forever be locked away. In a small chamber of plush surroundings, or on a mattress with ropes and wraps. Either way, Jean had committed enough atrocities to be sent away. Jean would be put into a prison or insane asylum, not simply a rehabilitation facility.

Jean's screams were horrifically loud, much louder than the braying of the walls, but Andre knew the latter was certainly still present. The plan had faltered embarrassingly, and Jean would now be deleted from Andre's life. It would be the second time his only source of love was taken from him. The second time his idol was deleted, the single meaning for his very existence.

First, his father, just as he had told Jean before; now Jean himself. It was then, as Jean scurried into the portal entrance - followed by Levina and the orderly - when Andre understood that he had been not been infected by the walls so badly.

Jean had been his god, the one that told him everything. It was a lie. There was no braying or invisible scheming, was there, Jean? Father... where are all these gods that can protect us all? It was all someone else's world, and Andre had only submitted to it via his own uncertainty of life and of truth. Now, he understood that with the braying and the extinct gods above, he allowed himself to be taken with the bizarre notions in all attempts to find the love that he wanted. Andre only wanted to obtain the sort of love that was ever so present in his fantasy world.

Even though a scheming, maniacal liar himself, Jean Destrees was a savior and had brought pure, white light to the rat's eyes, truth penetrating him everywhere. Jean had been the father of his true happiness, Jean was the ultimate thing of his fantasy. It was Jean's being that had for so long been Andre's only wish in life; with all that, he could die happy. And Andre was overly grateful for that gift.

"Andre!" Levina began, "Put it down!"

"Andre"! Jean shrieked. Oh, the sound to Andre was so miserable, but not as miserable as reality. This WAS reality, for reality was within the disease, and it was clear now that it was not worth the pain of living within it. Jean had said they lived in different worlds, away from reality. However, those were only the infrastructure of reality. Truly, Jean, Andre, Louis and Etienne had been part of reality. The entire time, they had merely been confusing themselves and each other.

"I know..." Andre said, tears descending from his eyes, "Even though there is no scheme to kill us, living will still be poisonous. We are so alive, and you never realized it." His moistened eyes glared at Jean, "But there will never be peace in our part of reality. Now that this has happened, I've found beauty, and I'm glad for it. I'm so glad that I was finally able to see your world, Jean." Andre closed his eyes, allowing them to flood, "I love you, Jean!"

Andre then released his adoration, released his grip on the machine, and relinquished all his fear and hatred into Jean. Honest, white light sparked from the boy. Jean watched every second of Andre's body depart, the rodent fleeing with panic from Biard without him. The lights and sounds of the device in the water explained his final judgment, that he would rather remain separated from the world, and that even being within the aura of Jean's absolute love would not be enough to cure their disease.

If Andre had not damaged his head so badly while falling, his efforts would have been rendered useless. Andre became flooded with the flowing waters of life and Earth, the shock of truth pulsing through him eternally. But the shock was cut short as Levina disabled the main power source, stopping the lights and sounds of the chamber. Andre did not smile, and soon his face was obscured as the red mixed with the clear water around his head. Jean saw no more of this.

Jean closed his eyes and diminished his register of hearing with both hands. Now, the filthy reptile had destroyed a fellow infection without his help, and he could never gain an opportunity to do so himself. His life became flat, shallow with life and soul, the walls would never forget his espionage, and he would remain a disease forever. The sense of feeling the wolf carry him was almost nothing, for he was numb with the fear and hatred that Andre had bestowed. Now, he hated that dirty rat, Andre, and would never forgive him.

The numerous diseases and infections within the confines of Biard would forget him; the memories and concern would slowly dissolve, all wiped away by the eternally circulating pattern of new fears and aggression, the sustenance of medication and dishonesty. There never was a Jean, was there? And neither was there ever an Andre; for none of these concepts affected them, neither of these beings had managed to cease their own poison, let alone the insane venom of others. Thus, their existence had been useless.

Jean did not know if they gave him drugs, did not recognize if they had disabled him via the Velcro table. Perhaps he had been euthanized and was now trapped in Purgatory. That was fine, and even though he could not move a single muscle in his body, he would not let himself be driven insane. Spending the time he was now forced with, he would let all the fear and hatred driven into his mind dissolve.

Like the result of taking those wonderful chems in the den - listening to the braying of the goat man - time became inconsistent, but so considerate. A minute became fractioned, an hour: amplified. Yet now, Jean knew so perfectly well that time would never return, for his drugs would never be lessened.

Jean could see, yes, see the ceiling, just a white wall above with dim lights showing him nothing but that ceiling. It looked like the ceiling of his room in Biard. Was this place Biard? He was totally ignorant of his position, whether in that strapped room, his own - the apartment - in another facility... Yet still, it looked like the ceiling in his room, the kind that he stared at while Andre had been inside him, filling him with glorious warmth.

No, no thoughts of fear or hatred. The face of Andre de Boulogne would be the only cognition Jean would ever manifest again. Andre the rodent-like boy, the embodiment of truth, love and innocence. Andre had been ridiculously impressionable, and Jean had known that the boy could not hear the walls talking to him. Strange, but Jean could no longer hear it himself. The four of them simply stood there, silent as can be, structures supporting the ceiling that continuously brayed. All white ensconcing him, covering him with perplexing winter, like the winter outside his domain of agony; this was the winter inside.

THE END