Mad Cat Begins

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Yup. I’m doing the challenge again. Because I think it’s also important for me to talk about how I started writing this thing. Yes, superpowers and the story behind them are cool, but I feel like I need to remind myself why I started a blog and why I write the things that I do. So stuff people who want to hear about my friend in Delirium, and how I became a dominatrix for a day. That’s for later. Papa Willis will be first though, because that’s actually important.

So a year ago, I was in a bad place. Every night I would dream of going out to The Lake of Ghosts, and I would die. I think that would’ve been when I started going into Delirium on my own instead of seeing it from someone else’s eyes. I’m really not sure now. I should’ve been writing down what happened in my episodes, but I didn’t. I really regret not writing down my memories now.

So one night, after things got particularly bad, I filled the sink with water, and held my head underneath it. It wasn’t the most creative suicide plan, or the most elegant. But I was willing to go through with it, and I would make myself hold my head underwater until the end.

I changed my mind though. Obviously. Otherwise this wouldn’t be a blog about my adventures in Reality and Delirium. This would have a different name, maybe my real name. And instead of those stories, those mad ridiculous stories, there would be a eulogy of my short wisp of a life, containing all the little things in my Reality. It probably wouldn’t even exist. My parents would’ve announced my death, got the funeral over with, and tried to move on. Would’ve they said it was suicide? Maybe. If it were blindingly obvious.

Either way, the logical side of my brain kicked in, and I thought Why was I doing this?

I had become tired of the nightmares. I didn’t want to die the way I was in my dreams. And I just wanted to be out of pain. It seemed like the only option.

But…if I was going to die because of the visions, right there, with my head in the bathroom sink, that meant the vision wasn’t true.

And I was going to throw my life away over nothing.

So I quickly yanked my head out, coughed out a lung or two, and had a long talk with my friend after. I felt like the most stupid person on the face of the earth, and it would be at least a month before I could stand water again.

I got better though. Well, my depression did. Temporarily anyway. I decided that I was tired of keeping everything cooped up inside me, where it would just linger and mess with my head. But if I spoke out loud about what was happening to me, people would point and say “Hey look! There’s the schizophrenic girl who raves on about an imaginary world!”

So I write about it instead.

I have two styles of writing. And one of them is Ranting. My best example of this would be Bandaids. That one was a bitch to write, I kept crying the whole time. Ranting is essentially me writing about things which have happened and relaying how I feel about it.

The other one is usually used when I’m writing about Delirium, and when I use it, I feel like afterwards it sounds like I’m writing fiction. That bothers me a bit, but for some reason, I prefer writing it that way. This way, I feel like I can remember things from Delirium more clearly. Of course, there’s some things I’d rather forget. But I have to make myself write about the bad things too. Because they’re important too. I need to get them out of my system as well.

Sometimes it’s hard to remember what happens in Delirium. I have days where I can remember everything crystal clear, and others where everything is a blur. That’s probably why I’m behind on explaining what happened with my friend in Delirium. I’m getting there though. Tomorrow, that will be posted. I reckon that the longer I’ve been in Delirium, the longer I can remember things for afterwards. Of course, I remember the key events. I just get a little slow on the details.

Occasionally, it does feel like I’m writing fiction. When I’m remembering it all, I sometimes wonder how I managed to do whatever I had done. Cat Madigan in Delirium can seem like a different person than Cat Madigan in Reality, and I would never have the courage to do in Reality what I do in Delirium.

The killing is one of those things. I get scared about what I do in Delirium, and I contemplate whether or not I could do so in Reality. But it’s more than just being able to take a life. I feel stronger in Delirium. Maybe it’s the superpowers I mentioned yesterday, but I am willing to talk back more. I can speak clearer, act faster. Basically, I feel like I can be more than a useless freak of nature.

I do feel hopeless at times though. No one can control what happens to them, and that goes for me too in Delirium. I wish to god I could change what happened there. Not just to me. I wish that Jhaq didn’t get hurt, I wish that Kaya didn’t have to die, I wish that the world there wasn’t going to ruins. You would think I’d be able to change what happened. But the fact is, I really don’t.

I might be an author when I write on here. But when it comes to Delirium, and the mad, twisted things that happen there, it’s someone else who’s in control of that story.

Teacher

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“You should really stop doing stuff like this, you know,” Daniel informs me.

“What can I say? I have a death wish. Ow!”

“Your body isn’t staying still Cat. Try to control yourself while I’m stitching.”

I just squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore the feeling. It’s hard though. My neck and throat both sting like hell. You’d think I’d be used to this by now. But I guess you can never really get used to dying.

I do know one thing though.

I’m never going to get my head cut off again.

Not if I’m going to wake up afterwards.

And definitely not if Daniel has to sew my head back on without drugging me first.

Speaking of which…

“Daniel…”

He groans. “What is it Cat?”

“Daniel, where are my breasts?”

“I thought we’ve been over this, they’re non existent.”

“…Daniel.”

“I swear to god, what is it?”

“Daniel, when I look down, I see my bottom.”

“…oh.”

I would’ve shaken my head if it had still been attached to my neck. “How bad is it going to hurt?”

“…”

“…there’s no way you can knock me out first?”

“It’s your own fault, you shouldn’t have-” Daniel’s voice trails off when he sees my face. He shuts his eyes. “How bad does it hurt?”

I grimace, and tears fall out of my eyes. “Point taken,” he says. “Your brain isn’t strong enough for a blow to the head though.”

“It has to be to the brain,” I agree. “I’m assuming pills won’t work either.”

“Pills can’t be digested as is,” Daniel reminds me. He sighs. “I could give you a needle, but…”

“Do it. There’s worse things than needles.”

“You’ll be out for a long time. And you’ll need a few days to readjust.”

I frown. “How long in…”

“Your Reality? Not too long. I’d say about an hour or two.”

“Okay…” I watch him send a girl to fetch a needle, and he turns back to me. We sit in silence for a while.

“How weird does it look?” I ask.

“Pretty weird,” he admits. “It’s not every day you see a head talking without a body.” He has a sad smile on his face.

I chuckle slightly. “Guess what?”

“What?” Daniel looks at me.

“I’m not afraid of dying,” I tell him. “And I can take anything you give me.”

“Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.”

“I never said that.” I smile up at him. “But I can stand it. I’m strong enough to live with it. At least I think I can.”

Slowly, a genuine smile spreads across his face. “Good girl,” he praises me.

“Am not,” I retort.

He grins, but it quickly fades when the girl returns with the needle. “Stay still,” he whispers.

I hiss slightly when the needle enters my temple. But then everything goes numb, and I start floating…

It’s an ordinary thing to wake up once again. I simply blink open my eyes and roll over again.

Then I remember.

Then I look down, and I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my body’s attached the right way.

My body’s a bit slow when it comes to movement, but it follows my brain’s orders, albeit a second after it issues said order.

I stumble out of bed after 2 minutes of trying to get used to control. Then Daniel comes in, and he sits there watching me stumble about his room. “Like I said, it’ll be a while before you recoordinate yourself,” he says to me.

I merely grumble in response, not paying attention to my surroundings.

“Watch out for-”

I crash into the table, swearing as I fall to the ground. “FUCK!” I yell out.

Daniel quietly sniggers behind me. “Would you like some help?” he asks ever-so-politely.

“Fuck off.” My stomach grumbles.

“Will you be able to handle a spoon by yourself Lady Madigan?”

The answer, it turned out, was no. I ended up getting more soup on my dress than in my mouth. But I was adamant about doing it myself. Not that Daniel cared.

“Say ahhhh,” he told me, wielding the spoon in his hand.

I merely glared at him. He just sighed. “As much as I’m enjoying watching you throw your soup everywhere, I’d prefer it if you consumed some. Otherwise I’m going to be explaining to the chef that my companion has the manual dexterity of a three year old baby.”

I stick my tongue out at him. “At least three year olds are cute,” said Daniel. “Ray’s better behaved than you are.”

“Ray doesn’t have trouble moving her limbs,” I retort. “She climbs the trees outside my window.”

“Shut up and let me spoon you,” he orders me.

“I don’t want you to spoon me,” I reply.

“And I don’t want to deal with a hungry three year old. Their cuteness only goes so far.”

“Can’t I just drink out of a straw?”

“That would defeat the purpose of this exercise.”

“So would you feeding me,” I point out.

“Feed yourself then,” he groans.

“Thankyou,” I beam. And then I proceed to throw soup everywhere, while Daniel looks on, exasperated.

A few days in Delirium go by like this. I wonder how old I’d be if the days I spent here counted in Reality as well. I’m going to guess 17. A year sounds about right. Finally, after days of taunts from Daniel, I can move my body the way I did before my decapitation, although I am still not as strong.

When Daniel learns that I’m coordinated enough, he throws me a sword. I’m able to catch it, before dropping it to the floor. Daniel sighs and hands me one which is the size of a bread knife. “I’ll go find another one,” he tells me.

While he’s gone, I have a thought. I’m not strong. I’ve never been strong, not in that way at least. But as I dash around the room, pretending to fight the air, climbing random objects-bookcases, walls, the top of Daniel’s bed- I know that I’m slippery enough that it doesn’t matter.

I also know that my attention span is that of, well, a cat.

So I hide. I scale the wall and wait for Daniel to reenter the room. He does, and when his head is turned away from me, I leap.

I land on his shoulders, and put the knife at his throat. “How’s that?”

I hear him chuckle, and suddenly, he’s grabbing onto my ankles and he swings me off his shoulders. “Not bad,” he admits. “But…” He drops me onto the ground with a thud. “Never ever miss an opportunity.”

“I would never kill you Daniel,” I tell him.

He laughs. “You get the idea though.”

“Yeah. Don’t give them the chance to turn the tables.”

“Good girl. Next lesson…” Daniel picks me up and throws me over his shoulder.

“OI!” Instantly, I knee him in the face and drop to the ground. I snatch up my knife and hold it at the ready.

Daniel stumbles up and laughs, with a touch of pain in his voice. “I think you’re nearly back to normal,” he tells me.

“Normal?”

“You know what I mean.”