CELL

/ FOUR /

The mind is a wonderful thing.

The mind is a hidden part of our inner selves, without substance, that is able to control our whole lives. It can define us, with its idiosyncrasies directing our outlook on all that envelops us.

It is like a child standing in the middle of the seesaw in a playground. On either side, laughing with carefree hysteria at the frivolities they are enjoying, were other versions of the youngster. Or the same version divided. Or, they were the angel and devil that would usually sit on either shoulder, all the better to whisper in each ear. The central child would sway with each opposing lift and lower of the seesaw's beam, doing their best to keep balanced. They'd also be pushing their foot to try and force the rising side back down and, so, speed the game up.

The seesaw is fixed in a way that makes it possible to rotate in place, giving the children an additional level of joy.

Except, the spinning and rising and falling of the ride can be nauseating. Unsettling. The child standing in the middle can become unbalanced.

They can fall.

As can the mind.

In absolute darkness, the mind can be an inventive fool that, once it has fallen off the teeter-totter, can choose to be inventive. It can concoct sounds and sights that don't exist. Or might not, but you never know for sure, do you?

He listened to the sleeper and mentally walked into their dream.

If only he could. He'd stroke their troubled brow and ease them into more pleasant lands. As that was impossible, he could only imagine he was walking into their reverie.

He tried to envisage pulling a light cord hanging from a ceiling too high to see initially, but that came into view when needed. Rather than making the scene claustrophobic, it made it contained. With the pull of the light cord, the walls materialised. The shadows were cast out, hammering their futile intentions to gain access against the exterior of the newly created room.

The light was warm and welcoming and came from every surface, banishing the dark thoughts that had disturbed them so. Once they were settled, a door would appear and they would open it, to be greeted by a bright sun shining down on sprawling fields of wheat and rapeseed. There would be birdsong. Someone, somewhere, would be baking fresh bread, although a building couldn't be seen in any direction.

The sleeper would feel free and would run gleefully off, disappearing quickly into the distance.

His make-believe comfort wasn't going to work. It couldn't. He wasn't, to his knowledge, psychic, not least because he didn't believe such things were real.

How did he know that?

The thing was, it could, couldn't it? Even without the paranormal aspects, some people just knew you were thinking about them. They could tell. Twins over distance and strangers close together would often be aware of the thoughts of each other. Not fully formed, but a feeling at least. The inclination or intention.

So, perhaps, the sleeper could actually be calmed by the mental aura from him.

The soft murmur and grunt increased in volume, and he snatched his mind back.

Well, that didn't work, unless it exacerbated the issue.

The grunt became a moan. The murmur a groan. The person moved and some part of their prone body banged against the bars of their cage. It disturbed them, but not enough to awaken them.

"No. N... N... no. I don't like... Yes please... I will... No... I don't... NOOOOOOOOOO!!"

They were shouting yet, somehow, still asleep. The last, word was on its way to being a scream. Gasps could be heard further out. Hushed, nervous warnings were hissed and cut off as the utterers realised their folly. The entire room was alive with a vibe that shrieked SHUT THE FUCK UP!