• Is it always this cold in a mental hospital? At least it is for the young boy. I can't seem to remember how I came in here, I just know I am. He cries for his mama and bratha, even though they grew tired of his bickering. He tries to explain of my existance and whatnot, but he can not. He can not prove I'm here.
    Neither can I...
    He lies in his white bed with his white scrubs and his white tears.
    "They're coming to kill me," he whines. "They're coming to do me in."
    No they're not, I assure him.
    "Yes they are!"
    "Shut up in there!" a neighboring patient bellows.
    You shut up! I yell back, even though I know they won't hear my voice. Can't you hear his innocent cries for help?!
    "Damn brat!" another crazy person groans. "Every night with this crap!"
    The young boy looks up at me with his green eyes. "Can you hold me?" he sobs with his mouth drooling.
    I chuckle. Of course I will. I do and feel his warm. I then find myself with his eyes and sighing with his breath.
    "Who said that?" I ask with the boy's voice. "Who the hell said that?!"
    No one answers. They know that he went into "exchange" with me.
    "Answer me, damn you!"
    Again, no one answers.
    "Tch! That's what I thought. You let this boy cry out his eyes or else I'll rip yours out!"
    I exit and watch as the boy sits on his bed. "Thank you," he says.
    I nod. Of course.
    "But I still think they're coming for me."
    I won't let that happen to you. I kiss his forehead and witness his slumber. Pleasant dreams for the pleasant dreamer.

    Months go by as he spends his time here. Poor boy, he's not even near the age of tasting whisky and yet he suffers here because of me.
    Because I came into his life...
    I've grown to love women like him, but I also grown to love him like a son. He's my pride and joy, and I his. He tells me that he never knew his daddy and wished that I could meet with his mother. I too wished for that, but alas his mother hated him and sent him to his first stage of Hell. Damn her...
    It is nighttime again. It is the worst time again...
    "They're coming," he sobs silently.
    I look around to see if anyone'll comment back. No one does.
    "They're coming and I know it!"
    Hush now, I tell him. Only a nightma--
    "They're here!" He jumps out of bed and stares at the door. He clinges onto me and waits for the exchange. "They'll kill me!"
    Do you not listen? I frowned. I said that I wouldn't let that happen!
    The door opens and in comes the doctors and nurses. They all wear the color white like the boy and carry bags and medical instruments.
    "It's time," one doctor says.
    "You're overdue," another says.
    "No!" the boy gasped. "I told you I'm not crazy!"
    "He's clinging onto nothing again," a nurse pointed out.
    "Not for long," the first doctor smirked.
    Damn you! I growled.
    "Help me!" the boy cried out as held me tighter. "Help me escape from this hellhole, Father!"
    "He thinks of his father," another nurse had sighed.
    "Not for long," that damn doctor repeated.
    "Hold him down!" the second doctor had ordered.
    No! I shouted. I then embrassed the boy and was him again. I then said with his voice: "Nobody touches my boy!"
    I grabbed one of the doctor's hand, twisted it, and impaled his dropped needle down his chest. I then turned around and kicked the second doctor's neck, enjoying the cracking sound it made. When one of the nurses grabbed an extra needle, I punched her in the face and watched as she collided with the second nurse who tried to set of the alarm.
    I was huffing and puffing grunts as I heard the surrounding patients roar cheers and jeers. I looked around and found a chair. I picked it up and threw it at my boy's window, revealing the cool night air. I jumped out and ran barefooted on the jaded grass and entered the deep, dark woods. Never to be seen by these lunatics ever again.

    It's been years now since that incident. I helped the boy cross the border and enter a place called "America". There, he changed his name and started a new life with me beside him. I watched as he wrote poems and songs for the new generation, becoming a renowned poet all over. He then traveled from place to place and eventually met a beautiful bride of his own in Europe. They loved one another and bared five children together. It was grand to watch.
    Whenever he wasn't sure of an idea, I'd come in and solve it for him. Whenever he needed to be a good father to his children, I'd exchange with him and teach them from right to wrong. Whenever he needed to be a good husband to his wife...Well, you get the picture.
    He tells his wife and children of me and they all call me "Grandpa". This makes me so happy. Sooner or later he won't need me and I'll go away. But until then I'll spend time with him and--
    "Will you hold me?"
    Of course.
    --exchange with him. For he is my boy. My son. My life.
    Oh!--and did I mention he created a wife for me as well? She's a real beauty. She also exchanges with him when it comes to his pleasant side.

    Pleasant dreams for the pleasant dreamer.