Born outside of reality

Imagine seeing the world differently, seeing people in colours and music and different shades of light. Envisioning rooms metaphorically. Chloe de Buble sees the world in a dreamlike way which puts herself and everyone else in danger when she sets fire to her school. She's sent to a handsome 'crazy consultant' therapist whose mad, unorthodox ways train her to use her gift to transform the crumbling community without endangering anyone however her own world come crumbling down when the way she sees things become reality.


1. Enigma

Close your eyes.

Put yourself in my shoes.

Imagine this.

When I was thirteen, I went to a school where everyone wore grey. I walked into a sea of dismantled tables and chairs, hordes of broken dreams shattered everywhere and sitting amongst them in assembly line, rows of children in grey skirts and shorts, grey shirts and grey shoes. The boys had short, combed hair and the girls all had their hair pulled tightly back into a bun, so tight that they couldn't move a muscle in their face. I sat down amongst these children and looked at them staring at me. I am different. I looked at myself and this is what I saw: I was not grey; I was blue and orange and purple and green and yellow and red, violet, pink, turquoise, brown, opal, amber, peach and gold, silver, cream, lilac and mauve and various other colours that have not yet been named. I saw a mirror and stared at my reflection, stroking the mirror to confirm what I see; my hair was long and tussled and uncombed yet it looked just right. It was fiery red and down to my waist and clashed with the solid hue of my piercing green eyes. I ran from school to get away from the dullness and told my parents what I had seen but they were not happy for me like they should have been.

Soon I moved to another school but this one was worse. Everywhere I went my mind flashed and I saw the children with strings around their wrists and knees and ankles and heads, controlling them like puppets, moving them around, telling them how to think. I looked at the puppeteers; teachers, parents, people from the government. But I was free. They tried to put strings on me, tried to control me. But I wouldn't let them. I cut children's strings, snapped the wood controlling them...caused riots and fires to burn down the school. People died. It was an accident. I see the world differently to everyone else. I see people for who they are in colours and music and different shades of light. I was in a cell, waiting to be taken into a courtroom. I knew this room was light grey, concrete and empty but I saw it as black with metal bars, a cage filled with the monsters of my imagination, everything that the world is trying to keep inside my head because they believe that is where it should stay. But they are wrong. My parents searched for years for someone to help me. Today I am fifteen. My parents take me to see a man in a black and white room. He stands with his back to me. I sit down. He talks to me. Tells me to look around the room and asks me what I see. I stand up and turn exactly three hundred and sixty degrees and the room begins to change. I tell the man:

I see a room full of twisted staircases that go nowhere, each staircase spouting from a small cabinet in the corner of the room. Each step an obstacle, a problem that is yet to be overcome. The steps have the problems written on them in bright red marker. Some steps say things like ‘spiders’ and ‘the dark’ they are fears. But these are the small staircases. The long spiral stairs with the thick steep steps have dark red writing in capitals; dark fears from the minds of the terrified. Two in particular stand out.
‘Parents are splitting up. They are going to leave me in a home for unwanted children’
‘The treatment won’t work. I am going to die.’
 These are the steps that can’t be climbed because they have no banister to hold onto. On the other side of the room is a couch suspended in the eye of a hurricane made up of broken dreams and forgotten memories that escaped the disturbed and desperate minds of lost souls. In the middle of it all is a strange man. His posture is stiff and arched. His hair is wild and as he turns around I can see what I am facing. His face is pale yet handsome; his cheekbones defined and his eyes lined, dark but gentle with the crazed look of a mad man. He wears a bright white suit and a long black coat on top which makes him seem uneven and comfortingly weird. Each hand has four rings on them; he has misplaced and misguided, tacky jewellery scattered across him. He wears fingerless black leather gloves and black nail polish on his nails apart from his forefingers which wear a lion and an eagle ring. This man is strange, but a good strange. He is not gray and the most real person I seem to have ever met

My vision seeps back to reality yet the only thing unchanged is the man in the white suit and crazy wild hair. He steps close to me and looks me observantly up and down, taking in what I have described. He tilts his head and his mouth twitches a half smile.
“Pale yet handsome, well that’s new.” He mutters to himself, “Very good.” He says loudly to me in a strong London accent. “My name is Mr E. I will be your psychiatrist although I myself am not quite sane therefore I will not be your psychiatrist, I will be your crazy consultant. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? Of course you think, everybody thinks otherwise you wouldn’t be here in fact that is the reason you are here! Because. You. Think. Chloe de Bubbly...”
“Bublé. It’s Bublé.” I correct him. He bows exaggeratedly.
“My apologies. Chloe de Bubbly Bublé....” He throws his arms into the air and spins around, the crazed look in his eyes crazier than ever, “Welcome to the dream room.”


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