Voices
1/5
The boy sat perfectly immobile in the corner of the white room. The confines of the hospital ward had been his home for the past year, and no body ever saw that changing. The kid was too messed up; too much had gone on in his life for any one to ever consider him being able to get better. The boy heard voices in his head, some say. Others just think that he’s going insane, that his brain isn’t able to function – that he hears nothing.
The boy hasn’t talked in over a year and a half; his mother had eventually got sick of it and brought him in here. Leaving the poor boy to slowly rot from the inside out inside his perfectly sanitary white hospital room. There was just nothing she could do for her son anymore.
She felt sad leaving him, but she convinced herself it was for his own good – not hers. Even though it was driving her insane having a son that never talked to her, nor any one.
So the boy sat, peacefully, in the corner of the room – not speaking and not moving. He was too busy listening to the voices in his head, going over all of the things that they were saying to him. The only time the boy ever moved was when the doctors came in to give him his food, but he never moved in front of them. The only way that they knew he had moved was when his food had been eaten and the plate had been moved from where they had first put it, on the table, and it had been placed in the corner the boy always sat.
It was always the same corner, the corner the boy seemed to eat, sleep and just… exist in. He never moved, well, apart from using to small porter loo in the other corner of the room, but that was just about it.
None of the doctors could figure out what was wrong with the boy, the bed had never been used, nor had the table. The only place the boy had ever seemed to be was in that same corner. Just… sitting, immobile.
He never smiled; he never looked at anyone who entered the room. His mother had eventually given up on visiting him when he never came down to the visiting hall when he was called by the doctors. He had just ignored them completely, not even establishing the fact that they were in the same room as him – his eyes staring across the room at the opposite wall.
That’s all he did, sit and stare. He never blinked if someone was around him, he blinked less than any one in the world and he stared for ages.
Doctors were giving up their hope of ever being able to sort the boy out, and they were beginning to only visit him when it was a meal time; breakfast, lunch and dinner. Occasionally refilling the plastic jug of water on his table and replacing the polystyrene cup.
There was only one person who ever visited the boy, only one person who tried his hardest to get through to the boy, to try and get the boy to just move. To just realize that there was someone in the room with him.
A psychiatrist.
Gerard Way.
The boy hasn’t talked in over a year and a half; his mother had eventually got sick of it and brought him in here. Leaving the poor boy to slowly rot from the inside out inside his perfectly sanitary white hospital room. There was just nothing she could do for her son anymore.
She felt sad leaving him, but she convinced herself it was for his own good – not hers. Even though it was driving her insane having a son that never talked to her, nor any one.
So the boy sat, peacefully, in the corner of the room – not speaking and not moving. He was too busy listening to the voices in his head, going over all of the things that they were saying to him. The only time the boy ever moved was when the doctors came in to give him his food, but he never moved in front of them. The only way that they knew he had moved was when his food had been eaten and the plate had been moved from where they had first put it, on the table, and it had been placed in the corner the boy always sat.
It was always the same corner, the corner the boy seemed to eat, sleep and just… exist in. He never moved, well, apart from using to small porter loo in the other corner of the room, but that was just about it.
None of the doctors could figure out what was wrong with the boy, the bed had never been used, nor had the table. The only place the boy had ever seemed to be was in that same corner. Just… sitting, immobile.
He never smiled; he never looked at anyone who entered the room. His mother had eventually given up on visiting him when he never came down to the visiting hall when he was called by the doctors. He had just ignored them completely, not even establishing the fact that they were in the same room as him – his eyes staring across the room at the opposite wall.
That’s all he did, sit and stare. He never blinked if someone was around him, he blinked less than any one in the world and he stared for ages.
Doctors were giving up their hope of ever being able to sort the boy out, and they were beginning to only visit him when it was a meal time; breakfast, lunch and dinner. Occasionally refilling the plastic jug of water on his table and replacing the polystyrene cup.
There was only one person who ever visited the boy, only one person who tried his hardest to get through to the boy, to try and get the boy to just move. To just realize that there was someone in the room with him.
A psychiatrist.
Gerard Way.
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