Sincopation

04 - The Pink Ones

The pink ones stop you from screaming, at least, that's what Kelso always said.

But, and this is something I've always asked myself, who would believe Kelso?

Once upon a time, which, of course, is how all the best stories begin, Kelso was everything to anyone, including me. She was an almost mythical figure of epic knowledge, wisdom and some of the best belching conversations I'd ever heard.

Hey, that's something to be proud of! I mean, I can burp 'Yabba-dabba-do' and the alphabet up to around D or maybe E, but she could say every letter, even backwards. It earned her round of high fives every time and the nickname Windy. She wore that name honourably. Right up until the end. Or rather, the 'end.'

I suppose I should say I had asked myself the above question frequently, rather than always. Back then, no one would question anything Kelso told them. It was a natural assurance she wore that told us she just knew. And we knew she knew. And she knew...

You get my point.

Have you ever met anyone who was so casually confident about themselves, with no trace of its evil twin arrogance, that you simply trusted them? It felt good to be around the person, for no apparent reason, and you were sure they always knew what they wanted, what they meant, and that what they told you was the truth, the whole truth and mostly nothing but the truth.

Unfortunately, for either Kelso or us, I'm not entirely sure, it's meant to be nothing but the truth. Even 'mostly' was pushing it. Thinking about it, which I am, I'll take myself out of the aforementioned 'us.' I'll leave it at 'them.' I should have known better. I meant to know better. The others expect me to. I'm The Rev. The one thy all look to fore... guidance...? No, not that, though some do, I suppose. No. Not that. More just a sign that what they're doing isn't completely wrong. Why they see me in such a light, I don't know. But, they do. I'm the Jiminy Cricket rattling around in their head. The angel on their shoulder, though, for shits and giggles, I'll hop over to the other shoulder for a bit of harmless fun.

I fell for Kelso's hype myself. I found myself under the same spell as my fellow residents, and I still regret it.

So, when the truth sneaked out from beneath its sewer grating and the whole asylum began to reek of its stench, I was perhaps most left reeling.

"The pink ones do not stop you screaming, JC" I said. "You shouldn't be screaming in the first place. It's this place. It gives your nightmares nightmares."

Juniper shrugged. She hadn't yet taken in what had happened with Kelso, so took what she said as some sort of lost Gospel. The Book of K. I dreaded to think how she would react when realisation finally managed to chip away enough of that delusion for reality to shine bright. Unfortunately, that diamond might cut her.

"Well, Carol Anne says..." she began.

"Carol Anne says a lot," I interrupted. "Carol Anne should find a television set to climb into."

I didn't mean it. I like Carol Anne, and I knew from JC's face my Poltergeist reference was lost on her. Still, I was irritated, so I wasn't prepared to listen to who said what. Someone was always saying something and someone else was always the target or victim. Or both. I didn't do gossip. They were like tomatoes and cucumber. They left a bad taste in the mouth and repeated on you. And the shit left behind was most unpleasant.

Carol Anne looked up from where she was sitting. She'd been exploring the backs of her hands. Her eyesight, apparently, was so good, she could see the minutest details of her skin. Perfections and im. Bumps and grooves. The finest of hairs. She spent hours each day searching her hands, following the trails the skin thereon created. She was convinced that, if she kept going, she'd find her way out.