Post by Deleted on Jun 16, 2021 5:19:36 GMT
(Please do play the song along as you read the follow: Do it for me)
"Tiptoe through the window
By the window, that is where I'll be
Come tiptoe through the tulips with me"
We find ourselves in an apartment building, the floors are carpeted with a dark red, stained from years of chain smoking, spilt wine and vomit. The walls have a puke yellow wallpaper on them, dancing with the odd tulip or rose splattered across it like confetti. The mess does seem to be mainly historical, as the worn furniture shows some signs of having been recently cleaned, with nothing out of place. The static of an old box TV put on low can be heard underlining a much louder record player, playing the lullaby of Tiny Tim.
The camera pans throughout the room, scarcely populated with the television, record player, two-seater plaid couch, a coffee table adorned with a few framed photos and an ashtray, and a single leather armchair that had seen better days. The apartment seems to have a single bedroom, currently unseen, and an attached kitchenette that is also mostly obscured. A single stream of smoke cuts through the room.
As the camera follows the stream of smoke, it centers on a close-up of our protagonist… Though we’re not quite sure he would describe himself as that. His eyes are sunken in, with a slight glaze that indicates some form of intoxication. His skin is greyed and could use a few days of sleep. As he takes a long drag of his menthol Pall Malls, his lips crack to flash the slight pink of blood. Like his apartment, this man had definitely seen better days. Nevertheless, his hair was combed neatly to the side, and his face was mostly shaved, he was trying.
“A-a contract.”
His eyes darted from left to right, obviously reading through a document of sorts, as the corners of his mouth twitched up with very few words. The silvery-blue bruise across his left eye reflected light beautifully. It had been awhile since he’d felt that sensation, muscular control was exceptionally difficult when sleep was fleeting. Real sleep, not that unfortunate state of unconscious a couple of bong rips or a bottle of jack brings you.
“A legitimate contract.”
It had been awhile since he’d had a legal job, one that would require him to pay taxes. His current place of employment had it’s benefits though, and he was sure Tori would still let him work there when he wasn’t on the road… He did bring The Dreamscape a significant amount of revenue.
“Ooh, you’re all going to… Really enjoy this.”
His bruised face glances up suddenly to stare straight into the camera. His face, and painfully stretched smile covers the frame and would leave any viewer with the desire to step back… Step away.
“There seems to be so much pain, so much… Thinking.”
He flips the paper in his hand, bringing it up to his face just enough that the camera captures the IIW logo and the words “Talent Application Approved” in large bold letters. Our friend inhales deeply, smelling the sweet cent of a regular paycheck and access to a new supply of patients. He puts two fingers against his temple and strikes the skin a little harder than necessary.
“You see, up here there should be nothing but bliss. Up here, there should be nothing but emptiness. Yet you go around babbling this, babbling that, fighting for this, fighting for that. Kicking men in the head is surely a good solution for some, but for others… Just makes them a little more… Unbearable.”
Fingers formed into the image of a man, the quite unsettling character mimes getting kicked in the temple, letting his head rock dramatically to the side before snapping it back into frame.
“Others seem to have spent waaayyy too long getting their heads smashed in and can’t help but continuously relive their glory days by reminding us all about them over, and over and over again. The English have a long history of being cunts, we get it. "
His hand extends out into a wave, mimicking the queen’s royal wave.
“Delusions of grandeur, some of you are already dreaming while fully conscious.”
Another long drag of his cigarette, it was almost coming to an end.
“Gangsters, government slaves, 'rockstars' and men so full of themselves they must be making up for something else. All of you think too much, and that’s okay… It’s okay to not be okay. That’s why we have doctors, that’s why we can get help. Let me help you, heh, rather… Get ready for me to help you.
Do not fear though, I am gentle. I just know I need to help. So many of you need me, so many of you are in pain, so many of you have so much to gain.”
It feels like someone turns up the record player, but it couldn’t have been our dear friend. Tiny Tim’s drawl almost drowns out all other noise. With a smile dancing on his face, he rocks his head to the beat of the music. His eyes widen just then, gaze flickering throughout the room, the slightest tinge of fear creeping onto his face. His mouth opens, and his voice sounds uncomfortably distorted.
“I’m The Dream Doctor, I'm here and its time you come tiptoe through the tulips with me.”