The Banished

"We are the 'banished'..." whispered one.

"The 'unwanted'..." Said another.

"'Abominations'..." said the first, his words dripping venom.

"Three years from now, your demon government will discover a new species, but they will elaborate no further on the topic. You have known about us for centuries. You have worshiped us." There was a creaking noise and nobody spoke for a moment, the silence was electric.

Number one started speaking again, his pace gradually quickening. "Five years from now, they will attempt to clip our wings and deprive us of flight! We will have no such thing, though we have, in fact, grown flightless over the last few centuries. You will attempt to deprive us of the food and shelter that, as we understand it, many of your races have fought wars over. You do not yet understand. But you will. "

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Geoff's eyes flew open. Was it a dream?

"Oh, thank god." a woman leaned in over him, and began to kiss his forehead a mile a minute. She was big. Round even. And she was his mother.

"Oh?" Geoff looked skyward. Fluorescent lights. And beside him stood a rack, on which there hung a plastic bag, full of a yellow... "Oh... Oh! Oh my God! A hospital?" he exclaimed, still groggy.

His mother slapped him and gave him a menacing glare. "What have I told you about using the lords name in vain?" she said in her thick Louisianan accent. It was less of a question than a threat. Like some divine force would strike him down for uttering the name of a fairy-tale deity.

"Geez, Margie." He rubbed his face with his left hand. His right seemed to be bound to the bed. When his mother saw him pull at his bindings, she began to cry. She cried a loud and obnoxious cry that seemed to fill the entire makeshift room and beyond the green cloth curtain that enclosed them.

Margie lowered her voice and a nurse, clad in her white, rather cliché outfit, trotted in through the curtain with sassy little steps. Geoff ogled at the fact that she could walk in the first place, with the height of her bright red high heels. Among other things.

He chucked to himself and wondered if he was on the set of a porno. If he was being Punk'd, or some other adverse bi-product of vengeful wrath set upon him by an ex. His mother swatted him on the back of his head again.

"Let's check you out." she said, her voice betraying her features. Her voice was a mix of dying cats and a moose, though it had a certain umph to it.

"For what?" he cocked his head quizzically.

"You tell me." she said, jamming a rather cold thermometer underneath his tongue. "Says here that you experienced some kind of seizure. But you don't have any medical history in the way of seizures. It wasn't heatstroke. Not in this weather," she nodded in the direction of what Geoff assumed to be a window in the room. Geoff wished that there was a window in his green fabric room. " And you're mom tells us that you were talking while it was happening."

Geoff looked questioningly up at his mother. She was the last person he remembered seeing, then nothing but the voices. Angry, scared voices.
The nurse pulled the blanket up further over Geoff, "Get some sleep."
---

The nurse looked taken aback for a moment before attempting to help Geoff. His mother, with one sweep of her hammy arm, knocked the nurse off of her feet. Even in his shock, Geoff found himself laughing internally. The nurse hit her head on the attached bedside table, and Margie was on top of him, her sausage-like fingers wrapped around his throat. Geoff grasped at his mother with his one free hand and managed to land one or two solid punches, but to no avail.

He struggled for air, his quickening heart making its way into his throat.

A couple people in the surrounding cubicles questioned the goings on. He could hear their worried grumblings, but he couldn't speak. And they likely couldn't move.

"We are you..." an unknown voice said gently, as Geoff's vision began to blur. Geoff gagged and looked at his mother. Her expression was grim; face red as a cherry. She scowled when she noticed him looking at her and tightened her grip.
"Die demon! Get out. Of. My. Boy!”

Had he been talking in his sleep? Was that what had set her off?

His heart beat grew faster still.

"We are you..." the soothing voice repeated as Geoff’s vision further deteriorated. The last clear picture he saw through the barely open curtains was another nurse, in much more appropriate attire, making her way into the room, checking in on another bound patient who appeared to be sleeping, and then leaving.

Geoff gave up.
---

When he awoke, the last thing he remembered hearing was not the desperate grunts of the fat woman. The voices had come back, this time requesting something, though it was a vague something. They said: "You have to help us." He looked about at his new surroundings. The room was dark, the air dank and heavy. A large mirror mounted on the wall at one end, and a tough looking metal door at the other. He sat in the middle, at a small, square table. Alone.
He stared unblinkingly forward, locking eyes with his reflection. His short, black hair was a mess. He looked like death warmed over. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and his neck -- he rubbed his neck -- there was nothing there. No bruises. Nothing.

“Margie isn’t real.” Geoff hadn’t noticed the gruff looking man come into the room. What other way was there to describe him but gruff? He was a big man with a police uniform and a beard. Gruff. He looked expectantly at Geoff, “ That woman you were babbling about? She doesn’t exist. Your parents are both from Canada. Do you know why you’re here?”

“No. But I’m sure you’re going to tell me again, Ethan.” Ethan? Where did that come from.

“So you do remember.”

“ I didn’t say that.”

Ethan shifted in his seat, preparing himself for a very long and drawn out explanation. “Your name is Sephan.”

“I thought as much.” Geoff said, mentally overhauling himself. It was getting harder and harder to do these brain paint-jobs. None of it was real. Only this. As far as he could tell, anyhow.

The seizure-dreams left him immersed in his fictional selves, attatched to the dream-world, and they wanted nothing more than to come out. They couldn't, Ethan had explained to him, because Stephan did not embody them physically. They would not know what to do with themselves. In other words, so long as he wasnt dreaming as himself, he was fine.

“Don't get snippy with me,” Ethan growled. He wasnt one for sarcasm. “Your name is Stephan,” he continued, then stopped again. “Look, this story just gets longer and longer every time I have to tell it. I suggest you go take a piss now. You want a cup of coffee?”