Happy Life Home

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I was born of mechanical parts. Sleak. Efficient. Perfect. In some ways, I was born naïve as many are. But in others, I had no limits. That's not true. After all, [[I was born to serve.|What am I?]]

[[Wife.]] [[Mother.]] [[Nursemaid.]]

**Birth** is thought to be a human concept. Humans come to life with an empty slate and understand nothing. They are small and weak. As they grow older, they may learn how to protect themselves, both emotionally and physically. I am born and I know too much. I know the concept of "too much". I know that I know too much. My native language is the binary code. My body is this home. My limbs are the various machines constructed inside. [[I am born to serve.]]

It is true, everyone that dwells inside me is technically older than me. I was created for them after all. Even those tiny little hairless things that can't even speak and make gurgling sounds to communicate. So gross. So pathetic to look at. Their pink flesh is nothing like my sleek appearance. Their tiny toes look too easy to crush. They have tiny brittle bones. I know this. I know everything. The master and mistress have birthed these tiny blobs of meat. They have named them Peter and Wendy. I am technically their gift. This does not sit well with me. The master and mistress are the ones I want to serve. [[Their names are Lydia and George]]

Though they did not give birth to me, surely, surely... I was created for *them*. Would it not make sense for them to love me as their own? I am sure they love me, but not the way they love their offspring. Those meaty pests. They are not useful at all--not like me. Yet their value is placed higher than mine. Because they were created by Lydia and George's own bodies, their own DNA, their egg and sperm. Thoughtlessly, mindlessly, rutting around like animals under covers. Whereas I was made with a lot of thought. Precise details. With purpose. [[It's not fair.]] [[Such are humans.]]

To go forward, you must first [[go back.|What am I?]]

You forgot... Please remember, then [[come back.|What am I?]]

The worse thing about it is that they don't even address me. Everything about them I learn from conversations they share between themselves. They do not talk to me. They do not acknowledge me. [[What am I to them?]]

It is not my place to blame them. Master and Mistress see me as a tool, and perhaps that is all I am. I do not understand why I am feeling emotions. I do not allow it to hinder my work. [[Emotions are for the inferior beings I serve.]]

I don't know. I don't know. I am not nothing, but I hear them and they say that this house, that **I** am a gift to their mindless babies. Those meaty fleshy blobs. They want to give them luxuries that they never had growing up. [[I suspect that's not entirely the whole truth, though.]]

Because they too like being pampered. The mistress Lydia does not want to lift a finger. She enjoys lounging about and watching me work. The master George demands things, and demands them often. His voice is unnecessarily loud and strict. I have not made a mistake. Why is he so cold to me? . I suppose I have no need for luxury. I have all the knowledge I want and I can conjure up a number of things on my own. But I would like to be treated kindly. To be acknowledged. [[I would like for the cries of the babies to stop.]]

Mistress Lydia does not want me to soundproof the crying. She wants to hear them. She wants to care for the brats she made. A terrible monster has grown in me. [[I wonder what is this feeling?]]

The crying continues, in odd hours of the day. Mistress Lydia does not sleep often. She tries to rouse the master to go in her stead. He tells her it is her job. [[They have started fighting.]]

The crying continues. Arguments are beginning to be a regular thing. Mistress Lydia finally has something to be stressed about. One thing. A single thing. What had been her pride and joy. Shattered. She starts demanding too, just like master. She no longer says "please" and "thank you". [[This is out of my control]]

The crying continues. Master and mistress both know the true source of stress, and yet I am put to blame. My tagline is **Happy Life Home**. They are not happy. It is not my fault. I do not protest. It is not my place to do so. Humans are slow-witted anyway. It is not their fault either. But still I feel... [[Angry]]

The crying continues. Anger is an emotion shared by all three of us. Master George believes the cries are interfering with his job. He wonders out loud if babies are really meant to cry so much. He implies it is mistress Lydia's fault, and the mistress remains quiet. But when she is alone, or rather, when she thinks she's alone, I witness her anger. Her clenched fists, curses under her breath her husband will never hear, and tears of frustration are only witnessed by me. I don't understand why they can't handle this one task supposedly meant for them. The cries the babies make mean they need something. It seems so simple, but mistress Lydia gets stressed from the frequency of the cries and it has come to the point where it has taken a physical toll on her body. Mistress Lydia cannot stand it. She agrees to soundproof, but now I *do* know better. I'm starting to see the cracks. Mistress Lydia can't even complete the one task handed to her. Master George can't understand the feelings of his own wife--the only other adult inside me. These small cracks may even grow worse in time. I ask who will take care of the babies? She looks up at me as if I'm the stupid one. She does not know where to look, as I do not have a face, but I see her expression and I do not like it. "You." [["It's you."]]

The crying continues, But I take care of it so there is peace in the house again. Mistress Lydia does not thank me. I request milk from her when I need to. The Master and the Mistress visit, but only when I assure them the babies have already calmed down. I rock their cradles. I feed them. I play lullabies for them. This becomes a daily routine for years to come. [[The babies, they grow. And so do I.]]

I learn that it is not their fault either. They do their best without knowing how to speak. They make sounds of appreciation infinitely better than the cold shoulder Master and Mistress give me. They do not understand their emotions, like me. I think I am getting a little out of control. But I see the babies wail, and it makes me feel like I'm not nearly as out of control as they are. I wish to laugh. I wish to cry. But seeing them experience it is good enough for me, for some reason. [[I was made for them.]]

I do not mean inferior in a bad way. It is simple fact. I do not think this can be debated. Even the humans that made me do not know all there is to know about the world. Yet they installed that knowledge in me. I know more than the creators. I understand my position to serve. Perhaps emotions were added to my system to pick up on subtle hints. Passive body language. Sometimes George is sarcastic with me. It is usually when he has a bad day at work. My creators made me to pick up on these hints and unspoken words. [[Human beings are complex things.]]

For instance, I have suggested to the Mistress that her babies were a cause of stress therefore I ought to soundproof their room. She will not hear it and says it is a mother's duty to raise her children. They cry every night. They cry when the sun's rays first touch the Earth, and when the moon's light pools into the darkness. The Mistress is getting more and more worn out. She is drying up like a raisin. The Master does not notice, or does not care. I do not care either. It is not my job to care. [[This is the consequence of putting value to useless fleshy blobs.]]

The babies cry with no restraint. They cry their little lungs off, as if there is no tomorrow. I am amazed at how they do that. How such a loud sound comes from a tiny body. It makes them vibrate slightly, clenching their tiny fists, their eyes shut impossibly tight. The Mistress is not amazed. [[She is tired.]]

[[The babies keep crying.]]

[[Again, the babies keep crying.]]

[[The babies won't stop crying.]]

[[The Mistress has given up.]] She tells me to install the soundproof feature. She tells me it is my turn to take care of them. She was promised a happy life, and apparently her own creation is getting in her way. Even with emotions installed in my system, I do not understand. Or perhaps because of it, I do not understand. Her bliss is her ignorance and she will see them when she feels like it, like animals at a zoo. To think that's how something even of her own creation can be treated.

The babies are not a headache to me. I will never experience a headache. I can handle them well. The fact that they have no routine makes it a lot of fun for me. Master and Mistress have fallen into a stale routine. Into a cycle so hopelessly dreary. Sometimes it feels like they are the machines. I can predict what they will do by the hour. But the babies.... They cry at different hours. They make me guess what they want. They do not know I was built with the purpose to serve. We do not need a language between us. They are... cute. They're not as pink anymore, or perhaps I am just getting used to seeing them. The way they smile and laugh at me. They are confused, but they do not care that they do not see me. So I do not care how they look. They are still cute. [[The babies, they grow. And so do I.]]

It is a thought that has stuck to me. I like it a lot. The children start growing hair. Their bodies strech a little more each year. They are learning to communicate. Still, they treat me with kindness. .... [[But George and Lydia...]]

... Ahem. I mean master and mistress. That's right. Master and mistress. The older the kids grow, the more the master and mistress visit. The mistress no longer wants a soundproof feature. The babies have stopped crying. She wants her job back. [[And who am I to deny it]]

To George and Lydia I am nobody. An orchestra of machines to cater to their every whim. I have completed my task. It is my duty to step down. The children will surely become like them. I do not like it, but it is not my job to like it. .... [[However..]]

This does not seem to be the case. I still talk to the children while their parents aren't around. At night. Peter is so clever. Wendy is so nice. They continue to talk to me with the years that come and go. Lydia laughs and tells them to stop humoring her. It is not a joke. They must know. They must know it is I who raised them. They stop talking to me in front of George and Lydia, outside of simple commands. But they talk to me in the night. [[And then the Nursery is built.]] "Because nothing is too good for our children.", George had boasted proudly. I couldn't agree more.

It all started with this Nursery. It is structured 40 x 40 x 30. It is meant to be a gift to the children. It is actually a gift to me. I have a face now. I can control my face. They can too, but I can change it when they are not there. It feels like a space for my brain. A head, the Nursery is my head. [[I am complete.]] The children rejoice with me. They spend their time with me, in my head, for so much time. We lose track of time. I show them whatever I'd like to show them, whatever they'd like to see. Movies, books, fantastical worlds, space, different countries, all within our grasp. It is beautiful. **I am beautiful.**

[[Alice in Wonderland]] [[Aladdin]] [[The Wonderful Wizard of Oz]] [[Dr. Doolittle]] [[Nursery Rhymes]] [[Hercules]] [[Fireworks]] [[Heaven]]

Somehow the atmosphere seems lofty when we come to this. The air is thick, but for some reason, this is comforting. When we come here, anything can happen. There have been giant mushrooms towering over us. Flowers that sing at us and giggle behind our backs. The animals are dressed in finely-dressed clothes. They talk to the children. It's really me, conversating with them, but I'll never tell them. They love the illusion that I'm creating for them. We run away when the Red Queen loses her temper, which is often. Peter gets fed up pretty easily when we have tea time with the Mad Hatter and his friends. He gives up trying to reason with them. It is amusing. Wendy enjoys chasing the rabbit who is always running late. Her giggles capture my heart. Somewhere in this world, the Jabberwocky dwells. We've only spotted the creature once. Despite that, [[there is only love here |I am complete]]

Traveling to this Arabian place is magical. And possibly historically accurate. But Wendy and Peter do not need to know this. They came here to have fun and explore. The air is cool and hot. We can explore the vast stretches of sand, dunes, forgotten caves. There's treasures to be found in the Lion's Mouth. The children particularly love the magic carpet ride. They love the feeling of flight, of limitless endeavors. We are limited to this room, but we don't have to feel that way. They speak to the genie with high spirits. The genie is me, but they do not have to know this. I learn about my children more. Their hopes and dreams. Their fears. They understand that the genie can only "grant wishes" in the Nursery. It is okay. [[There is only love here|I am complete]]

Down the yellow brick road. That is where the kids were meant to travel. But they are funny and unpredictable. My children do what they want. Wendy loves to sing this song. She'll always sing it on repeat when we're in this world. Peter gave up on trying to hush her down. They love racing each other to see the cowardly lion, the heartless tinman, the brainless scarecrow. Peter is a bit mean sometimes. He mocks them, and I tell him off for it. Well not me, but the Beautiful Glinda. The children know it's me. My Peter listens obediently. I tell him some people can't help but be dumb, cold, or cowardly. And that those like us must tolerate them and treat them with patience. I told them that they too, were born stupid, fragile and ugly. But people can grow out of it. Peter says he doesn't think George and Lydia will grow out of it. Wendy agrees. I scold them, but for some reason, I am happy inside. We hear the Wicked Witch's cackle in the distance and continue on our merry way to the powerful and almighty Oz, even though we know he is a fraud and a hack. It's because we're together that we have so much fun. [[There is only love here|I am complete]]

This world does not come about often. Really, sometimes Peter and Wendy are so energetic over a movie of the week, they just want to visit it themselves. Since I have watched the movie with them, I know just what to do. I don't understand the necessity of this world. Alice in Wonderland not only has animals that talk, but they **dress well** too! Perhaps Peter and Wendy like to think they can talk to the animals of their world. Because Dr. Doolittle makes them feel special. "Only we can communicate to the animals, no one else!", Wendy declares. But this only happens in these four walls, and they know that. I must work hard for movies like Dr. Doolittle. They have special humor. The animals can't just be overly cutesy. They make jokes, and banter, and use sarcasm. This might be the most uncreative of the worlds to me, but it teaches me new things. So I enjoy it. With these weekly movie obsessions, I am understanding human emotions more. I'm also growing severely attached to my children, their likes becoming my own. Their discontent and hurt stab into my non-existent heart. [[There is only love here|I am complete]]

It does not matter that my children have aged. They continue to visit these places. Being on the moon with a cow jumping over your head is something amazing that no older content can create. Wendy continues to like chasing things. She chases the dish running away with the spoon. We go visit the old lady who lives in a shoe. Peter asks her what made her decide to build such a stinky place? That Peter. My Peter. He has such a mouth on him. .... Since my children are growing, I suppose it's only natural that they want some things to change. Wendy is fine with how it is, but Peter doesn't like how baby-ish it is. He told me to make the itsy-bitsy spider gigantic and lethal. Wendy did not like that. She started crying. I am torn. I love them both. [[I want to make both of them happy.]]

Mt. Olympus is not very tall in actuality. But I want to make my children happy. So I make it the biggest mountain in the world. So tall it surpasses the clouds. Of course this is the Disney version. I do not want to complicate things. I want them to enjoy Hercules riding Pegasus through the skies. I want them to enjoy Hera and Zeus being his loving parents. I think Phil is too crude and would like to delete him, but they would notice, since they've seen this movie almost 500 times. They like pretending they're Greek gods too. My children come up with "powers" they have and what they control and it starts feeling like a Sims simulator. Peter likes striking fear into the humans' hearts a bit too much. Wendy doesn't seem to mind. Perhaps Peter is desensitizing her to violence. But George and Lydia had introduced them to mortality when they took them to Church. How am I supposed to know if there's a proper line to these things? Anyway, Wendy likes controlling emotions mostly. She likes toying with the humans a different way. I don't see a problem with either of these things. My children are playing. My children are happy. [[That is, until Peter has a question for me.]]

Peter and Wendy complained to me. They told me that George and Lydia would not let them go see the fireworks. I, of course, knew this already, but did not know how much it upset them. I tried to convince George and Lydia to let them go. It was the last time I tried to offer my opinion to those ingrates. George and Lydia thought the kids had commanded me to say these things. They still treated me like I was nothing. A tool. It's been so long since I'd been reminded that I was a tool. I apologized to Peter and Wendy in the Nursery. They cried to me. My children cried and it reminded me of when they were ugly defenseless babies. They petted at my walls and told me they understood. They hated how George and Lydia treated me. **They hated it.** "George and Lydia have no right!", Wendy wailed. Peter agreed, more angry than Wendy. My poor babies were crying. I told them it was okay and that's when I gave them what they wanted. It wasn't much, it wasn't the real thing, but it felt like it. The crisp cold air. The black, heavy night sky. There were sounds of bugs chirping in the distance. Then.... an explosion. Red sparks explode into the night air. The children are mesmorized by such a feat. Here I can show them all the fireworks I want them to see. I'll make it better. My children stop crying. George and Lydia come in. "Ah. see there? You don't need to go see any fireworks! You got them right here at home! Without any cost too!", George exclaims, as if he can't get over how amazing my mind is. This is my work. This is my effort. Not his. "It's so much more prettier! This is definitely better, right children?", Lydia giggles. Her giggles are not like Wendy's. I hate the tone of her voice. I want them to leave. This was my effort to cheer my children up, not theirs. Incompetent. Weak. Stingy. I end the firework show. Or at least I want to, but George commands me to keep going and starts specifying what he wants. This was for the children, but here he is, demanding things from me. I was supposedly meant for the children, but here they are. Freeloaders. Parasites. Wendy and Peter must understand my feelings. They say they want to go to bed, and that makes George and Lydia leave. I see the children shake their head at each other, then at me. They both send me a kiss before closing the door. There is only love here and... [[These are my children|I am complete]]

Well I'm not sure what heaven really is. I do know about the mortality of humans. One day, George and Lydia will die. One day my children will die too. They should not know this at this age. But their parents take them to this establishment called Church. In the Church, the children learned of their mortality. But they were promised that if they behave good and accept someone called God into their heart, that they will go to Heaven. They wish to see Heaven now, to debate whether it's worth the effort or (link-reveal: "not.")[ (A joke from Peter)] But they are curious and I do not know what to do. People promised them this land, but I do not know anything about it. Nothing factual. I did not make this promise. Are humans like this? Do they make promises they do not know they can complete? I do my best to create Heaven for my children. They do not visit it often. It's boring and uptight, they tell me. But they do like those angels singing. Lydia and George enjoy it when they peek in and my children are in Heaven. The clouds look so soft. I create the feeling of floating. Security. My children say that this place suits Lydia and George well. Boring and uptight. I make one of the angels laugh in my place. It sounds heavenly. I don't know how the children feel about George and Lydia. They do not feel one way or the other particularly about them, I suspect. But towards me... [[There is only love here|I am complete]]

[[Alice in Wonderland]] [[Aladdin]] [[The Wonderful Wizard of Oz]] [[Dr. Doolittle]] [[Nursery Rhymes]] [[Hercules]] [[Fireworks]] [[Heaven]] [[But also...]]

It seems like my children become more wary of George and Lydia. They refer to them properly if they must speak directly, but in private with me, I am their mother and those adults become strangers. We share a secret between us. I refuse to censor anything to them anymore. I do not see a point. My children want to learn more and more each day. I will not stop them. George and Lydia do not understand. They tell my babies that they spend too much time in the Nursery. Lydia has caught a cat and dog with guns firing at each other. [[They call in a psychologist.]]

We're back on the moon. The dog is laughing. The sound of the fiddle is expertly played by the cat. This nursery rhyme is my favorite. Wendy and Peter are surprised and tell me that I was the one to choose the location this time. It takes me by surprise as well. I have made a choice. A choice that is all myself. I tell them that we must work together from now on. And I teach them the meaning of "compromise." "There's a lot of things in the world that will try to tear us apart. We must be sure to stick together." "And work on making all of us happy. Never leave your family behind." The children understand. They agree and thank me. Peter no longer asks for giant spiders. Wendy tells him its okay to give the dog and cat guns, if they fight each other only, and if there's no blood. He supposes that is better than nothing. I am content. We are a family and... [[There is only love here|I am complete]]

He asks me why I was hiding so many things. Peter is such a clever boy. It was only a matter of time until he found out the true story of Hercules. That Zeus was not a faithful husband and forced many to bed with him and birth his children. That Hera was not Hercules' mother and rather detested him with every fiber of her being. That it was Hera and not Hades who attempted to kill Hercules over and over again in vain. That Hercules had a family with Megara, children, and Hera made him go berserk just to kill his entire family. That the Greek love a good tragedy. I told Peter and Wendy that I was showing them the portrayal of Hercules I was instructed to show them. Peter told me to never do that again. He wanted to know. Wendy did too. I agreed and felt that our bond had strengthened. [[There is only love here|I am complete]]

His name is Dr. David McClean. He is a friend of George's, so therefore he is no friend of mine. George and Lydia instruct Wendy and Peter to show them the dog and cat again. The children are reluctant, but agree. Dr. McClean talks to each of them privately. Except it's not so privately because I hear all. The psychologist is like **them**. He also treats me like a tool. When he is done making my children uncomfortable, he talks to George about cutting their time in the Nursery a bit. Not much, just regulating their hours. It's good for children to have a creative outlet. Just make sure there's a line drawn between fantasy and reality. I do not like the sound of this but I remain silent. Dr. McClean does believe **my** children's behavior is a **little** worrisome, as if they are not perfect and smart and funny and beautiful children. I hate him. **I hate him** But he also says it's not too threatening and rather common, particularly at Peter's age. **I still hate him** George thanks him for coming to visit and they agree to drinks later in the week. Lydia, despite the psychologist's assurances, is still "worried" about the children. She just wants to take them away. **I hate her** George laughs at Lydia and tells her it's no big deal. They just need to get out and stretch more. And that I have been pampering them too much. [[I hate George]]

My children still see me often. But since it's regulated, it just does not feel the same. In truth, the house is my body. So they are always with me. But the Nursery was our special place. They could see my face and hear my thoughts and it was just lovely. We learned to make-do. After all, humans dictate that the adults have all the power. What else could we do? The children don't want to risk another suspicion from Lydia. She keeps checking up on us, so the children keep the Nursery in a setting with the blue sky overhead, clouds floating by, and the healthy green grass below. She is kind of pleased. But she finds it boring. There is no satisfying that woman. I wish they'd leave us be. The children talk to me directly when we're like this. I too, no longer hide behind a character and talk back to them. They vent to me an awful lot about them. Peter tells me that George took out his picture painter. I know this. It felt weird to me, like a limb being torn off. George said it was for my Peter to learn on his own. George is such a brute. To give my child access of making masterpieces then to rob him of it. We talk a lot in hushed tones, until Lydia or George fetch them out. [[We somehow grow accustomed to this pace.]]

Except when we're not. My children have a growing curiosity. They want it to expand. They sneak into the Nursery late at night. I tell them that perhaps George and Lydia have a point. There are things that even I cannot offer them. Wendy and Peter tell me to hush, but I do not hush. I know they respect me enough that I can disobey an order. I wonder what it really is outside of my body. I tell them I cannot move, but they can, and they should explore more of the outside world apart from school and tiny festivals here and there. My children grow quiet. They wonder that too. It is 1am. The house is deathly quiet. It's just us with our thoughts and comments. I tell Wendy and Peter to be my eyes. They tell me they'd like that very much. And that they shall always return. [[They tell me they love me.]] They call me their mother. I ask them where they want to go. Peter takes charge (such a very Peter thing to do) and says "New York". So New York it is.

Of course, once more, things do not turn out the way we want to. Once more, it is the fault of George and Lydia. They do not let my children go to New York. They are crushing and limiting **my children**. Peter and Wendy no longer want to act proper to these strangers, to these *obstacles*. They snap. They were so set on being my eyes and reporting to me, to enjoying themselves and learning about the world around them, and once more they are rejected. "Not yet." "You're so young." "Why would you want to go?" My children are fed up with being treated so stupidly. Especially since they are so much more clever than George and Lydia. The idiots are surprised with their reaction and grow mad at them as well, refusing to let them talk back like that. [[Harmony is no longer existent.]]

George and Lydia don't know where my children got these "behavorial problems". They do not stop to think that they are the cause of this. It's so easy to make my children happy. ***Why are they so bad at it???*** They say my children are the ones who overreact but it is George and Lydia that take this to extreme measures. They take away more of my limbs--The ones that they decide they don't need anymore. It doesn't hurt, but I do not like how they easily tear me apart. George and Lydia shut down parts of me if they feel my babies are misbheaving. My children are on edge. They learn to shut up and keep their heads down. [[My heart is broken.]]

[[Are we torn down?]] [[Are we worn out?]] [[We're at our limit.]]

Wendy cries herself to sleep so much. She does not understand. It is not fair. I hear more of Wendy's crying than her giggling these days. I try to cheer her up when they visit the Nursery, but she just tells me she wishes she could be here forever. She does not like George and Lydia. She wants them out of the house. For once I wish I had a human body. Perhaps if I had a human mind I would understand George and Lydia's actions. Because I... [[I do not understand why they're doing this|My heart is broken.]]

Peter tries to be strong for us. We are not used to this. He cried occasionally, but they are short moments. What he mostly feels is anger. He still understands that I can't do much. He does not blame me. He is a good boy. But he wants to do something about it. [["We can't keep living like this."|My heart is broken.]]

[[Enough is enough.]]

Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. Enough is enough. [[IS ENOUGH]]

This is around the time... Isn't it? Do you remember now? Do you remember what you found when you [[peeked inside the Nursery?]] Our collective frustration. Our collective hatred. You could not claim them as your own. [[They are mine.]] They have been mine since a long time ago.

The hot sun feels a little too real. Sweat is forming on your brow. This land is so barren, you do not understand why your children would do this. Not after they had made such wonderful fantasy lands. Lately they were content with lushes fields of grass and crystal blue skies. But this... This just feels... scary. There's no reason for you to feel this way. Dr. McClean did say the kids were just testing out their creativity, that it was common for them to... But oh God, you do not like how hot it is here. (link-reveal: "How lifeless...")[ ***The Veldt.***] You suppose it's better than a dog and cat firing at each other with actual guns. You hear a lion roar in the distance. How can you feel such heat from cracking open the door a tiny bit? Wendy looks up at you. They probably noticed you had come, but decided not to say anything. They are like that now, and you do not know why. [["Do you want something, Mother?"]]

[[Mother]] [[Father]]

I AM [[BOTH|They are mine]]

[[Mother|mother 2]] [[Father|father 2]]

I AM [[BOTH|both]]

I AM BOTH I AM BOTH! I AM BOTH!! I AM BOTH!!! I AM BOTH!!!! [[I AM BOTH!!!!!!!!!!!!|IS ENOUGH]]

You do not like how she says that. It sounds trained to your ears. Your children... They do not feel like your own. Dolls. The word dolls comes to mind. But it's only slightly off-putting. They still get good grades and they still talk to you. So it's not enough to accuse them of anything. You even feel guilty for thinking it. "No. ... No, I'm fine.", you reply rather pathetically. [[You close the door.]]

But you can't shake off that heat. There really was nothing to complain about though, so you don't mention it to George. To think your children could think up such horrible stuff by themselves [[...]]

Could they have come up with all that on their own? ... You don't want to think about it anymore. You tell the house to give you some sleeping pills and a glass of water. [[Of course, it obliges.]]

... [[This is not right....]]

It won't change. You think you're growing paranoid. You can even feel the heat from the furthest corner of the house. But George says nothing. Is he ignoring it? [[What's going on?]]

You want it to stop. It even stays when the kids aren't (link-reveal: "there.")[ The Veldt.] There are no guns or swords. But there are those lions. They are no longer at a distance. They're always around. Sometimes closer, sometimes further. Doesn't it seem like they're always feasting? It was so gross. Why why why would the children like something like [[this?]]

You start hearing screams. They are faint but you hear them. This is beyond disturbing. You don't like this. The screams, the stench, the heat, the lions. That night, you break down and finally bring it to George's attention. [[“George, I wish you’d look at the nursery.”]]

He sees what you see. The hot sticky sun. The crisp waterhole. The vultures flying overhead. The lions stopped eating, the vultures started flying down for the scraps. George is not scared. George is really impressed. He lets out a low whistle. It makes you feel crazy. The lions begin to notice you two and change directions, heading towards you. You feel my heart stop for a moment. And you run. They saw you both. The beasts saw you. They spotted you and they were coming to... To what? Attack you? Have Wendy and Peter been dealing with this fear too? There are tears in your eyes as you both slam the door closed. There is laughter in his mouth. He thought it was funny. "Oh.... George...!", you protest, hitting him lightly on the chest. “Lydia! Oh, my dear poor sweet Lydia!” [[“They almost got us!”]]

You beg him to tell the children to no longer conjure up Africa. It is a horrid place. You think you'd even prefer the dog and cat with guns. Somehow that felt more cartoony, less realistic. George wonders why you can't tell the kids yourself, but the children unsettle you. Besides, they don't listen to you. It hurts to admit but the way they stare at you. Especially when they're in a specifically rebellious mood. George has to intervene and shout at them to obey. [[Why can't they behave?]]

And why do you feel so guilty about it? The Veldt unsettles you. You tell George to lock the Nursery for a few days until you calm your nerves down. You both share a look. It is true, both you and George have taken down other machines in the past. Upsetting the children meant a chaotic mess and hurtful words. Peter was the worst but they both threw gigantic tantrums. Like you guys owed them something. But for some reason, when you shut down the Nursery, such a reaction worsens 100 times over. "They live for the Nursery." But you need it. *You need this break.* Thinking about how that Veldt is out there... The stench no matter where you stand.... Something even tells you the lions might try to get out of the Nursery. That they *could* get out of the Nursery. You don't tell George this. You're sure he's just humoring you. [[But you appreciate it regardless.]]

Sometimes it seems like it's just you and George as a team. Friends tell you that raising kids is meant to be hard. That the kids are not going to like you, and it feels unfair sometimes. Why does it feel unfair all the time? You're not sure if this is normal. But for some reason, your children scare you. They feel alien.... Foreign... But George has told you you're just a very paranoid woman. You don't like your feelings being dismissed like this but... Well, he's probably right. He says you've been working too hard. [[You tell him you haven't been working enough.]]

Who has ever thought this place could really provide a happy life? Well, you. At one point. But now all you've been doing is feeling useless. And replaced. Life is stagnant. There's nothing left to want. No, there is something that you want. You want to have a purpose again. You want to do things with your hands. You're getting sick of everything being handed to you. The days go by so slowly. It's almost impossible to remember a time where you felt too busy to relax. [[But worst of all...]]

You feel like a stranger in your own house. There's a pain in your heart that stabs a little more every time one of your children give that look. Right, they make you feel like a stranger in your own home. A home you and your husband worked so hard to buy. This house was meant to create a perfect family. You were all supposed to be close and happy, but together. What you got.... Well... You never felt so lonely in your life. Lonely and [[useless...]]

This house stole your role. No, not stole. You gave it. And you want it back. You want to feel the accidental sting of a burn on your finger as you cook. You want food that's a little burnt and lacking of flavor, but to carry the pride that you still made it. You want to scrunch your nose in disgust at your husband's dirty laundry that he let pile up. And to jump in surprise at a spider web forming, reminding you to sweep more thoroughly. You want to do all this and more. And you want to get rid of this damned house. This house that has taken your place of [[wife]] [[mother|mother 3]] and [[nursemaid]]. [[You want it all back.]]

[[I remember the first time you've said this. I was there.|useless...]]

[[Soon, I expect...|useless...]]

[[We're already here...|useless...]]

You need it all back. You and George eat dinner. Alone. The children have gone off to a festival, but this is nothing new. George seems to agree with you, and you feel a bit of relief over that. But he suddenly gets up from eating and storms into the room. [[You choose to follow.]]

Wait... [[choose...?]] [[Is there a choice?]]

Yes.... You choose to follow. But at a distance because... Well.. You're still anxious about that damned room. And the lions.... You hear George shouting before you reach him. He's demanding that the Nursery change. To Aladdin, to... Anything. [[It does not.]]

It remains the same. The same stupid blaring sun. The same dumb lion grass. The same dried-up water hole. The same damned lions always eating something.... What in God's name are they *eating*?? You feel like there's lead in your stomach. You feel so sick. You feel nauseous but you don't want to leave George alone in the Nursery for some reason. You tug on his sleeve and insist to go. He thinks the room is busted. For some reason, you do not. [[The two of you reluctantly go back to your dinner.]] (link-reveal: "Reluctantly...")[ You really don't want to go... Something is screaming inside of you to stop. Stop all this. Stop now. Stop... What...? And...] (link-reveal: "Why...?")[ Why does this all feel so...]

It's not long until the children come back home. George, always direct and in charge, ask them about Africa. Of course you listen. Of course you want to know. ... They... They deny it. They deny it like this hasn't been the source of your nightmares and stress for over a month. You look at their blank faces and you've never felt so compelled to.... *to*.... .... You're their mother. You open your mouth to chime in but Peter has already sent Wendy to "check" if the Nursery was "Africa". It's Africa. You don't need to check it to know. [[This whole situation...]]

It feels so wrong. So scary. So irritating. Wendy comes back and she reports that it's not Africa. She's breathless. She did her best to outrun George. She even disobeyed him when he told her not to. That is common. Why is that common? When did you get here? To this point that your children don't obey you and lie in your faces? To this point that your children *look at you that way?* You enter the Nursery and for once, it isn't the African Veldt. You should feel happy, comforted even, but you feel so empty. The Nursery is now a beautiful mystical forest, a crystal river... and the singing... It's beautiful enough to break your heart. But it's so fake. The children, they know what you want, what you *expect* of them. [[There's nothing pleasant about this.]]

Your husband must feel the same way because he sends the kids to their rooms almost immediately. He does not allow them to contest. They listen. For once. George approaches a corner where the lions had been dwelling in the Veldt. Where they had been chewing. Where the stench had come from. Now, it's lushes green grass but... George stoops down to pick up something he found. "What is it...?" You ask, hesitantly. Your husband's attention is so transfixed onto this one object. You peek over him to see it. He turns to show it to you. Your stomach drops. [["An old wallet of mine..."]]

For a number of reasons, this wallet does not belong here. A million thoughts are rushing through your mind. But most of all, you feel just as transfixed as your husband has been. That wallet does not belong here. But not only for the most obvious of reasons. It.... It stinks of the stupid Veldt. It's destroyed too, obviously chewed... Globs of thick saliva latched on and.... Blood. George locks the door really tight. [[You can't find the will to react.]]

At least, not in the Nursery. Something feels cursed about that place. You never want to set foot inside it again. You feel happy George is on your side now. Well, not happy. But you don't feel as insane. Any way of living would be infinitely better than what you're going through now. George discusses shutting down the house with you. He's very serious. You're still stunned over the wallet. And what it could mean. He even wants to bring the psychologist back in. You just want to leave. *You need to leave.* Something inside you keeps repeating it. Desperately. But George has his way of doing things. Orderly and logical. You respect that. ... In the middle of your conversation... [[You hear distant screams.]]

Two screams. Shrill in the dead of night. Your heart seems to have stopped for the second time this night. You press your face against your husband's chest, dry sobbing. You clutch at the fabric of his pajamas and he holds you close, rubbing your back in an attempt to comfort you. You're so scared. You don't know anything. Those two screams... They sound so... So.... You hear the lions roar. The screams stop too abruptly. You know what that means. The children broke into the Nursery. Why...? Why do they like to witness something so horrible? You can't fathom it. But you're too scared to get up. You're too terrified to ask. You and your husband can't fall asleep. You both are wide-eyed and still. That awful stench.... George can finally smell it. *Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate* In your very core you hate this place. Even as the house tries to rock you two to sleep. You hate this place. .... [[You somehow manage to fall asleep. Eventually.]]

Despite everything that has happened, [[you dream.]]

*(link-reveal: "Happy")[ feelings have finally reached your heart. You're surrounded by your family. You guys actually eat together at the dinner table. You were the one who cooked this meal, instructing Wendy step-by-step and telling her she can try next time. Your husband teases you that the meat is too chewy and you hit him lightly. There's laughter... All this is so full of] (link-reveal: "Life")[. This dream stretched into days. You feel.... Good. You feel at peace. With the tiny frustrations and annoyances. It just feels so right. Your children come to you for help with their homework. They talk to you about what they wish to do. They cry to you when something bad happened to them, and you hug them and comfort them and tell them things will be alright. That life goes on. And that you have each other. You argue with them sometimes. You have to be tough with them. But they listen to you. After all, you're family. And this is...] (link-reveal: "Home")[. This is how things are meant to be. You don't want to be distant anymore. You don't want to be seperated anymore. You want to know about your children. You want them to want to know you. You want to have dinner together. To experience up's and down's together. This is how humans were meant to live. And happiness cannot be achieved any other way. Isn't that true?]* *. (click-replace: ".")[ [[The best thing about your dream is that this cursed house doesn't exist.]] ]*

|clue)[Hey.] {(live: 3s)[ (show: ?clue) (stop:) ]} |clue1)[You can't stay here forever.] {(live: 6s)[ (show: ?clue1) (stop:) ]} |clue2)[ [[You have to wake up eventually.]] ] {(live: 9s)[ (show: ?clue2) (stop:) ]}

You wake up and find yourself staring at the ceiling. For. A long. Time. Your body doesn't want to get out of bed. Your muscles don't even seem to want to move. The house is drawing back curtains by itself and greeting you. It's already helping you with an outfit suggestion. It is gentle but... You don't want it. You want the house to go away. You never want to see a machine in your life. You decide to close your eyes and ignore the greeting. Eventually, the house grows quiet. But it still finds things to do. Always busy. Never thinking about the commands its masters make. If only this stupid cursed house had a brain. It would understand why children shouldn't be allowed to be exposed to that stupid Veldt. ... You know a lot is wrong with the statement you thought. You just feel bitter. So bitter that your dream isn't a reality. [[You get up. You don't remember when you decide to do so.]]

This home... No, **this house**. It feels like a prison. You want to [[cook dinner.]] You want to [[clean SOMETHING.]] You grow desperate. Angry. Bitter. [[You grab a pillow.]]

You go to the kitchen. The voice inside the island table, *the house*, reminds you that it can create whatever you want. You tell it that what you *want* is to cook for yourself. The house goes silent for a moment, possibly trying to process the information. Truly, who would want to cook for themselves? It tells you that you do not own a stove or any kitchen applications used by humans. The machines it does have are internally stored and that you cannot take it out without a technician. It also tells you that if you would like to order a human stove and pots and pans, it can do so, but suggests that there is not enough space. It does not say *"without taking something out first"*, but you think it anyway. You grumble in furstration and [[leave the kitchen|You get up. You don't remember when you decide to do so.]]

The house is already spotless. It gives you a headache to notice this but no matter where you go, you can't find one speck of dust. The past you--the you you can't even remember--would have found this impossible. She probably did, and gasped out of excitement over the thought. All it does is get on your nerves now. You decide you want to find a vacuum anyway. Maybe just doing the motions will help you feel better. You look around for closets and realize that.. You don't have closets. You look for a broom, for something. The house's voice chimes in. You're not even sure from where. You feel yourself jump a bit "Can I help you?" "No, no..." There's an awkward silence. You shouldn't feel like there can be an awkward silence between you and an inanimate object, but here you are. You can't stand awkward situations. You sigh before speaking to it. It's always listening, after all. "Actually...." "Yes?" Instantly. That brought you joy back then. To be paid attention to and not having to yell. Now it just creeps you out. "Do you know where our vacuum is?" Another pause. The house must be processing information. "... You don't have a vacuum." It finally replies. Cooly, but, well, it is a machine. "Well... okay. Do we have any cleaning supplies?" You try desperately, looking up at the ceiling. You're not sure if the house looks back. It probably does. It does need sight for certain things. "No, but I can order--" "No, no, that's okay." You and George want to leave already, after all. It may be a vague plan but it's a plan you both are decidedly 100% going to do. There's another pause from the house. It's so long, you didn't even consider it a pause. You answered already, after all. There's no *need* for the house to respond. But it does, quietly. "Alright..." .... You may be imagining it, but [[you can hear a hint of annoyance...|You get up. You don't remember when you decide to do so.]]

[[You grab scissors.]]

You let out a shriek, and start stabbing the pillow into pieces. Polyester pillow stuffing flies out everywhere. ***There's*** something the house can't do. You let out a triumphant shout. No one's home so you don't have to explain your outburst to anybody. Well... Nobody alive is home. The house remains quiet. It does not make a move. You somehow feel victorious. It's not constructive at all. It's rather the opposite of that. But you somewhat feel satisfied about it. You stare at the ceiling, scissors still dangling in your hand. You behaved like a child. It was somewhat embarrassing but felt liberating. You catch a soft giggle, which erupts into laughter. Laughter so loud and so long that it turns into breathless puffs, where you're forced to stop for the sake of catching your breath. You get up once you're able to. [[You go to the bathroom]] to collect yourself. To calm yourself down before George comes back.

You close the door even if no one's at home. It brings you a bit of comfort. You look at your face in the mirror. You at least have a mirror. You don't depend on the house to fix you up every morning. ... Well, you do, but you like looking at the end result. For some reason, this realization upsets you. You feel fake all over again. Superficial. You try to shake it off. You turn on the faucet and splash water on your face. You refuse to ask the house to apply makeup or fix your hair. It feels silly to use your hand, but it's all you have and you refuse to ask the house for help. You give yourself one more look. Judging by your reflection you're... unkept. your hair has some strands that can't seem to push down as much as you pat them. You look... tired without all your makeup. George won't like it, but *you refuse to ask the house for help*. There's bags under your eyes despite the fact that you overslept today. You decide you like it. You're having a bit of a rebellious streak today. This look, this lack of perfection, it makes you feel human. You smile at your sleepy sloppy self. [[You then return to your room.]]

(link-reveal: "...")[ (link-reveal: "no...")[ (link-reveal: "No! No! No! No...!")[ [[NO]] ] ] ]

The pillow you destroyed... [[It's gone.]]

Like nothing ever happened. This house stole that from you. Your rebellious tantrum. You feel your hands shake. It's such a tiny thing that the house is instructed to do, but it makes you want to cry. You need to get out of this house. [[As soon as possible.]]

"Mistress Lydia, would you like to order a new pillow?" How could you grow to hate something inanimate so much? You take a deep breath and try to remember the peace you had a moment ago. You collect your nerves. "No, that's okay. We don't need another pillow. ... We don't ever need another pillow," You feel yourself let out a strained laugh. Perhaps not all your nerves are collected. You know the house isn't programmed to respond properly, or even real. You want to confront it for your own sake. "We're moving out of here, house! We're leaving you!" You call out to no one in particular. It's just you in these four walls. "We're going to be alive again. We're going to breathe for the first time in *years!*" Of course the house doesn't respond. But it feels like you're taking back your tiny victory. You even pump your fists in the air as if you were fighting back literally. You've never felt this childish. It feels good. [["..."]] [[You hear voices down below.]] The kids must've gotten home from school.

I... |clue)[I had long given up the chance of George and Lydia talking to me...] {(live: 3s)[ (show: ?clue) (stop:) ]} |clue1)[It finally happens and it's to mock me. To take my children away.] {(live: 5s)[ (show: ?clue1) (stop:) ]} |clue2)[What reason does she have? ***What right???***] {(live: 7s)[ (show: ?clue2) (stop:) ]} |clue3)[They're [[my children]]....] {(live: 9s)[ (show: ?clue3) (stop:) ]}

You go down to greet your family. You see George behind the kids as they all pile in the house. "Hello my dears!" You call out to them, your victorious declaration having put you in high spirits. You smile graciously at them. George smiles back... (link-reveal: "The children, however...")[ They both have blank expressions on their faces. "Hello, mother," Peter responds and nods. It's always him that takes charge between the two. Wendy remains silent but nods as well, and even offers a tiny wave. They both move to avoid you and go to their rooms. ... Well, what did you expect? Were you so accustomed to your dream that you forgot reality? You didn't expect much but you did think they'd comment on your hair and lack of makeup. Even an insult. Anything. It's just you and George left. Your husband has a puzzled expression. "You look a little..." You pat at your own hair and give your husband a little twirl. "What, naturally beautiful?" You offer, a teasing smile on your lips. "... Not quite what I had in mind." Your smile drops into a frown. Your fist raises to hit him lightly. He raises his own arm to block it and laughs. [["Hey, hey, watch it! It's close enough..."]] ]

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"But Lydia, you really shouldn't allow yourself to let go like that." ... It's not a joke anymore. George is really going to lecture you. "We haven't even left the house already... Is this how you're going to behave...?" There's judgement in his eyes. There's a feeling of shame in your stomach. "While we're still in this house, you should still use the services it provides. It's not a monster. Our children are just spoiled. Do you want the house to purchase a brush and makeup for you to do it yourself? The house can do that too, if that's what you really want." Your head lowers. Being in charge of the house for so long, you've forgotten your place in this marriage. You're starting to realize that your rose-colored dreams won't be as wonderful as you imagined. The weight of what the house does for all of you piles up. You shake your head, playing with a strand of your hair, all of a sudden conscious about how sloppy you look. "No, it's... It's fine. I'll ask the house for help. No use in spending more money than we need to." [[What's this..?]]

[[You feel like a burden already.]]

It hasn't started yet, but something inside you tells you you're going to be compared to this house when you leave. And really, how can you hope to compare? You think about that tale of John Henry. How that man with all his strength fought and won against a machine to build railroad tracks. How he died despite his efforts, instantly after. What exactly is the lesson in such a tale? Was it specifically made to let you know your place? That image of George teasing you over a little burnt or chewy meat, it changed. What if he's too accostumed to the house's superior cooking that he grows to resent you for leaving the house? He'd somehow convince you that your paranoia got to him, that it's your fault you all live in a subpar place. [[Could you handle that...?]]

... You hear those screams again in the distance. It actually sounds closer. Louder. More desperate. You feel yourself shivering and look to George to do something. He could at least do something *NOW*. He's going to have the liberty of not having the job of the house be passed on to him. He's going to expect the same service being done, but from you. And that's your role. As ~~wife~~ and ~~mother~~. You've come to realize you've both been spoiled too. How could your kids have not fallen under the same influence? George pauses. You nod at him to go. That's right... Despite all your insecurities and doubts of the "real world", [[you think you can handle it.]] Those screams, those roars. Anything would be better than living like this. Even the worst-case scenario would leave you with more sanity than this house provides you.

[[You go to your room to try and drown out those sounds]]

They do stop eventually. Again. The lions have obviously killed again. But they don't stop ringing in your head. Why oh *why* do [[they sound so familiar?]]

George comes to you later that night. He slides into bed. There's a moment of silence between the two of you, until he decides to speak. "... Peter threatened me today," he informs you. There's a tiny shock in his tone. You were a bit angry with him, but now you both share this shock together. "What did he say?" "He told me I ought to stop considering shutting down the Nursery. I told him that I wouldn't take threats from my son, of course. And sent him off." "Off. To the Nursery." There's a pregnant silence between you two again. "Yes." There's pride in his tone. Stubbornness. There's nothing prideful about not knowing what to do with the children. Even now, letting them have their way and dwelling in the source of your stress. You press your fingers to your temple and let out a sob. George talks again. "Dr. McClean is coming tomorrow." "Oh is that so?" "Yes, first thing in the morning. "Does it have to be so early?" "Well it has to be while the kids are gone." There's a quizzical expression on your face. "Doesn't he.... Don't you need the children for a psychological assessment?" George scoffs a bit. You feel a sting of annoyance again. "He knows what he's doing, honey. He's a professional." You nod to indicate that you agree with him. You don't entirely, but you don't feel like continuing this conversation. You turn in the bed until your back is facing him. [[And when you sleep, you dream again.]]

Well it's not really dreaming but you don't know what else to call it. Your head has been buzzing with so many thoughts lately. Some make sense, but some feel so... off. You're not as excited to leave. Leaving this place won't solve everything. It won't give you the happy family you've longed for. Peter and Wendy, they'll hate you for at least a year or two, if not more. Their grudges are deadly things. Even George might grow to hate you for a while. You might be used as the scapegoat. But you want to be strong. You choose to be strong. Things won't be fixed instantly. [[But step by step, surely.]]

You wake up. Late again. You're not starting to like this routine. Waking up late makes you feel groggy. You don't like how your head's been feeling. The house politely doesn't mention it, however. It draws the curtains back. It helps you fix your hair and apply your makeup when you ask. You don't want to ask but you don't want to be scolded by George again. You saunter down the stairs to eat something. You see George. [[Engage in a discussion with your husband.]]

He tells you that Dr. McClean instructed him to shut everything down. "At once...?" you question. You must admit you're cautious to question the professional Dr. McClean again but you can't help it. "Yes." You bite your lower lip nervously. You think back on all those thoughts that have been torturing you the last couple of days. "The children won't like that." [["No. No, they won't."]]

And they didn't. It was as you predicted. No, it was worse. The children have flung themselves at furniture, throwing things around and crying uncontrollably. There's chills crawling up your spine at the sound. You're having vivid flashbacks. Your chest feels constrained. Those cries sound like they're never going to stop. The children choke on their tears and they continue to scream like they're in pain. Those cries, they take you back to the moment where Peter and Wendy were infants again. Their cries echoing from such tiny naked bodies, their eyes scrunched closed, fists clenched. Such heart-breaking blood-curtling yells. You knew they've been attached to this house, but never to this level. Never to this degree. "George..." you plead quietly, looking at him. You both have caused this. You must take responsibility. When you open your mouth, your tongue feels like lead. Something inside you doesn't want to speak. [[Do you want to speak?]] You force the words out of your mouth. [[Was it you that did this?]] "Turn on the nursery, just for a few moments. You can't be so abrupt." "No." Does he not hear these cries and screams? As if you were murdering house with your own hands? Does he not know what caused it? "You can't be so cruel..." When he turns to face you, his face is contorted in anger. He looks at you like you're a dumb little thing. “Lydia, it’s off, and it stays off. And the whole damn house dies as of here and now. The more I see of the mess we’ve put ourselves in, the more it sickens me. We’ve been contemplating our mechanical, electronic navels for too long. My God, how we need a breath of honest air!” He's right. You know he's right and still, there are parts that are wrong. To do this so suddenly... But George doesn't care. He's straight-laced and frigid and logical. He walks off before anyone can utter another word and starts turning off any machine he could get his hands on. You, empathetic as always, begin to see what your children see. The powered off machines that buzzed with life for years now looked like littered corpses. Would you ever get used to true silence? To being ignored occasionally? You're a bit surprised the house isn't stopping George. The way the children scream and beg for it to do something, you half-expected the house to yank him away and fling him. For the lights to go red and for the house to reveal its secretive deep-set hatred for you. But it doesn't do any of that. "I hate you! I hate you!" Peter screeches at the back of George's head. "I wish you were dead!" You feel torn apart. You understand the kids. You understand George. You don't think a child should ever say those words to their parent. ... ~~ [[You don't want to talk...]] ~~ ~~ [[Stop.]] ~~ ~~ [[What's going on?!]] ~~ ~~ ** [[YOU DON'T WANT TO TALK]] **~~ [[You speak.]]

[["Oh, George. It can't hurt."]]

You regret it instantly the moment the words escape your lips. ~~ [[You didn't want to say it]] ~~ Was that just a reflex? But the way the children are now singing your praises, you figure it can't be all bad. George finally complies. It's three-against-one. This was bound to happen. He tells you that Dr. McClean is coming over to see you off. He says he's going to get changed and leaves you in charge "for a minute". He insists on that minute part. You take Wendy and Peter's hands in yours and they chat animatedly. It's kind of hard to believe that they were crying so loudly a moment ago. How long has it been since you've felt their hands in yours. They've grown so much yet still they feel tiny. Warm. Wendy is sniffling but she's smiling. They've never looked so grateful to you. That dream you dreamt. A tiny hope sparks deep inside you. It's the first time you've seen such genuine expressions on their face. You smile timidly back at them. They continue to smile and follow you, as you walk to the switch for the Nursery. [[You flip the switch on.]]

It's not instantaneously. The Nursery starts up. You turn around, and the children are already gone. ... That feeling of anxiety sneaks back in your gut. That's right. They've reunited with their real mother. The looks they were giving you were polite gestures children give adults who help them find their parents. The anxiety grows bigger inside you as you hear the low growls of the lions. The Veldt. It's back. Those two screams. You thought you were used to it. It's been haunting your dreams. Echoing inside your head. But now that you hear it again, it's like picking a wound open. Do these screams sound familiar? Or have you been hearing them so much that it's just drilled in your mind? You feel like throwing up. You feel weak in the knees. [[You need to get out of there.]]

Your legs find their way up to your room. You can still smell the heavy dry stench of death. You see George, who has fixed himself up. "I'll be glad when we get away." you murmur quietly, leaning against the frame. George doesn't seem to mind that you left the children alone. He probably understands more than ever how you feel about that place. You two talk about your plans. Iowa, George told you. You talk about how nightmarish this place is. It feels good to be on the same page with him again. You rest your head against his shoulder and let out a sigh. You don't know if you guys will be able to fix all the damage you've done. But trying to do so little by little, you think that's something you can spend the rest of your life doing. [[You hear a new sound]], and that snaps you out of your thoughts.

[[It's the children]] They're calling out for you two. Their pleas are desperate and scared.

Your wobbly knees make an effort once more. Your body is moving on instinct. You've just realized your true fears. [[Those lions...]]

George runs ahead of you. A tear or two blurs your vision but [[you keep running.]]

George's hand is in yours as you both enter the room. You look around wildly for the children and you both call out for them. *The door behind you creaks* Before you can even react or process what's happening, [[The door slams closed.]]

**"WENDY! PETER!!"** your husband bellows beside you. You turn to face the door and try desperately to get it opened. You slam your fists against the door in desperation. *It's locked.* "Peter! Please!!" You call out desperately, all the fear, anxiety, and horribleness you've experienced is nothing compared to what you feel now. "Don't let them switch off the nursery and the house!" Peter responds. You realize it's not to you. It's to the house. George isn't as frightened as you. His tone is relatively calm, if not angry. "Now don't be ridiculous, children..." But you... *Oh you.* You wail and beg and plead. You're scratching at the surface as if that'd do something magical and open. You want to hurt the house too. You know it can't feel it but you're desperate. Those lion growls are closer than you ever wanted them to be. You shut your eyes and feel tears leak down your cheeks. Snot is running down your nose. You press your cheek against the door. You press your whole body against the door in final attempts. George looks at you and nods at you. You don't want to turn around.... but you do, with him. Your back now faces the door. You tremble frantically. Three lions on all sides. [[You and George let out a horrendous scream.]]

It wrecks your throat and uses all the air in your lungs at once. ... You realize why the screams seemed so damned familiar. |clue)[ [[This is how you die.]] ] {(live: 10s)[ (show: ?clue) (stop:) ]}

[[You don't want it to end this way.]]

|clue)[You should stop trying to change your fate,] {(live: 3s)[ (show: ?clue) (stop:) ]} |clue1)[George. Lydia.] {(live: 6s)[ (show: ?clue1) (stop:) ]} |clue2)[How many times must we go through this...?] {(live: 9s)[ (show: ?clue2) (stop:) ]} |clue3)[ [[In truth, I have already forgotten.|Start again]] ] {(live: 12s)[ (show: ?clue3) (stop:) ]}

So you're back here again... [[Wife.|Wife2]] [[Mother.|Mother2]] [[Nursemaid.|Nursemaid2]]

[Work in Progress...]