The truth is that while I was in control for once, I willingly give my arm to the nice woman with the painted-on colors and the smile that was held in place with large, unparallel staples. She hesitates for a moment, staples tearing terrible rips that she could probably hide with enough cover-up.

The lie is that she didn’t want to upset him by seeming unfriendly, fearing that his other side would come out again and hurt her like he did to the other nurse.

The truth is that she notices me staring at her as she puts the long needle into my hand. Blood immediately pours out in gallons from around the needle, gushing like a rapid stream in the middle of a dessert.

The lie is that the small I.V. needle went in the boy’s hand nice and smoothly, then covered nearly immediately with a cute band aid with characters from a child’s show called Sesame Street that doesn’t even air anymore.

The truth is that their grimy, filthy, tar-covered hands grabbed him all over for no reason at all, burning his flesh with the smell of dead animal carcasses as they restrained him to his bed against his will. Then another one of the sick, twisted creatures shot me with a needle the size of my arm, filled with more of the disgusting black vile that covered their hands and now my clothes.

The lie is that the thinning teenager was sending himself into a panic attack without even realizing it and that the nurses had to rush in and sedate the poor boy.

The truth is that they were trying to poison him by serving him rotting bread with mutilated pieces of flesh, coated in blood, and had a large glass of foul smelling and yellow liquid that made me only want to puke more and more as he stared at the very much alive maggots covered in a thick, green slime.

The lie is that the nurse was trying to give the fragile boy, who doesn’t eat for days at a time, a ham and cheese sandwich with macaroni and cheese on the side, with a nice glass of milk but the boy wouldn’t take his hands off of his lap.

The truth is that every time Darker would force himself out, Gabriel would fall quietly behind the scene, vision fading to black before he would wake up hours later without an idea of what had happened.

The lie is that the near-skeletal figure would shake uncontrollably as his eyes would roll into the back of his head while he teared up until he became still without any medical help, his eyes opening back up to show overly dilated pupils and a cruel Cheshire grin that silently told the nurses to watch their step.

Truth. Lies.

Gabriel can’t tell the difference anymore.