The black of night is closing in around you
The crippling fear moves in as they strap you down
Will you let a moment get the best of you
Will this situation bring you around
Baird Donoghan Hayes
Patient 212
Cell 324
[[Um, is this place dead? I hope not. stare
stare wow, I really hope not.]]
Baird looked over at the shy girl, confused as to her silence. He had grown up in the streets of Ireland, where anyone would talk to anyone else for no reason at all. Then, as the doors of the cells were solid, but the divisions were not, he looked in surprise at the young professional who opened his neighbor's door. The kid seemed sensible, couldn't be older than 20, he would guess. Maybe he would listen to reason when the older people wouldn't.
Baird scooted over to the barred division between his and the girl's cells, wincing as the tender forming bruise complained. He got up on his knees and clutched the bars, calling through them as he did. His accented baritone was a pleasant sound; he always had been good at persuasion and even singing. He remembered that the matron at the orphanage had always suggested him doing choir instead of playing his "silly tin whistle", as she called it. She considered the instrument an outdated piece of tradition now, not a vibrant tool that could soothe the soul or make any person dance.
"Hey, ah, doctor... you're not really a doctor, right? Just some assistant? Anyway, listen, lad. I'm not crazy. The home just sent me here so they wouldn't have to deal with me. Yeah, I'm a chopper, but don't half your screwed over kids do that here, in the States? Lemme out. I'm not crazy."
Little puppet, don't die
Let me, let me die
Little puppet, don't die
Let me, let me die
Little toy, don't die