I'm Not Real

sneak peak 😉

She strode down the blindingly white halls, clutching her clipboard as if it was all that was keeping her alive. She wore a strained grin across her in uncannily unblemished face.

They came to an immediate stop as she reached a room filled with people, studying all of their faces before glancing back at her clipboard. "Come now, patients." Their voice was higher pitched with a trans-atlantic accent, as if she was taken straight from a movie from the 50's.

Their name was Novocaine. Novocaine Toothache, to be exact. An interesting patient. She kept up the facade of a regular children's clinic despite being a patient herself. We don't know much about her. She refuses to disclose information without reward, otherwise they will only shake their head and walk away sharply.

She felt as if she ran the clinic despite being a nurse or witness at most. Pathetic, if you were to ask me. We let her do as she pleased, however. We need their information. . . .

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His colourful cheer surprised us staff. Usually children with Painter's Bruises tend to fall into a deep and visible depression, however he seems to be an exception.
He glowed as he spoke, his eyes and inside of his mouth the same blinding shade of green. He skipped along his respective studying lab with such toxic joy. Sickeningly sweet.

Maybe it was because he was barely attached to any reality, maybe it was due to his albinism, or perhaps he was the rule as apposed to the exception. This is doubtful though, before him, all of our patients with his illness showed the same symptoms opposing his.

The other patients call him Crayon Wax. Fitting, considering his colourful appearance, but still seems a bit disrespectful. That's like calling a cancer patient Tumor. Who am I to judge, though? I'm only a researcher, who am I to determine how these patients have fun or cope.

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