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Title: Fiction Is Good for You. Read More. Address: www.domesticmacguyver.blogspot.com Author: Domestic MacGuyver From: Clairemont Blogging since: April 2006 Post Date: April 21, 2007

Post Title: Episode 1: Voices He didn't know who they were or why they decided to talk to him, but their voices were clear and crisp, and what they said came true. They were always right, and when Grant tried to ignore them, bad things happened to good people and bad people and dogs and rodents and buildings and clothing and cafeteria trays. He had tried to stop them before, but the drugs didn't work. Actually, they did work, but he woke up three months later, covered in shit and piss in an alley four miles from his house with no memory of anything.

He decided to submit.

This did not bode well with his wife or his boss or his friends, but his dog understood. He didn't talk back, but he could hear the voices too. Grant knew because the voices told him.

Grant wanted to name them. They had distinct personalities and sounds and cadence to their tones, but he simply called them "The Voices." It was easier to explain and made him seem slightly less crazy, but he was certifiable enough by "normal" standards to be placed in Horizon Dawn with the rest of the walnuts.

"Grant? We're right here. We asked you a question."

Grant quickly figured that the flowery female voice belonged to Dr. Jill and not to his Voices; she was seated directly across from him in the circle of uncomfortable white plastic chairs. Group started 17 minutes ago, and the perfunctory opening question was directed toward him.

"Can you give us your feeling word for the day?" she repeated, trying not to sound condescending. Dr. Jill liked Grant and was well aware that his intelligence and wherewithal were beyond that of the other patients.

"I was feeling that your legs are far too pretty for you to be my therapist. I'm a married man and not used to this type of temptation, and it only makes me feel hotter that you're doing this in front of other people. I like it when people watch." He leaned back in his chair with crossed arms, smirking, and began to chuckle at his sarcasm. Grant was pleased that he spoke his diatribe without falling into laughter; he was getting better at trying to break Dr. Jill's facade of professionalism. He had fucked her twice now.

"Thank you, Grant. Your honesty is noted." The men in the circle giggled and snickered and snorted. Jenkins fell out of his chair and jiggled on the ground, exposing his junk to the group. Jenkins shaved nothing; he was a furry, roly-poly bear cub in the center of the circle of men. They all wore light green gowns that tied in the back; underwear was optional and never present on Jenkins.

Dr. Jill isn't wearing panties today. She did this for you. You're going to fuck her again after group. Meet her in her office after Jenkins sings a song from West Side Story.

"Sky rockets in flight, beeeeewwwwppp, Afternoon delight. Click clack." He leapt to his feet, pointed in the air, à la Travolta, and froze in pose until Dr. Jill spoke.

"Jenkins, that's enough singing. Can you try speaking how you feel? It's your turn." She wisely changed the subject. Jenkins had walked into her office when Grant had her, and her skirt, up against the wall. He only spoke in musical lyrics and happened to be Grant's best friend and confidante at Horizon Dawn, so neither was terribly worried about their secret escaping the pale green walls into the hands and minds of other doctors or staff.

"I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and bright, and I pity any girl who isn't me tonight. Do do do de do do do de!" Jenkins returned to the floor and rolled and laughed and winked knowingly at Grant and Dr. Jill.

They both appreciated his distraction, and Grant quietly thanked the voices.

Post Date: April 21, 2007

Post Title: Episode 2: Voices -- Always Listen to the Voices Grant shuffled down the hall with head down, trying not to dance or sway or saunter or look like a mental patient who just had sex with his therapist. He assumed his medicated stance and expression of vacancy while entering the Rec. Room filled with drooling, screaming patients. Judy Garland was telling a story in the corner. Her attentive audience sat cross-legged in a semicircle. She was an oversized he, with delusions of grandeur and size 12 ruby red pumps that were too small and made puffy cankles. She wore sparkling red panties under her light green hospital gown and exposed an unusual amount of back fur. Her 266-pound frame and balding head diametrically opposed her falsetto voice, but when she sang, you knew it was Judy. She spoke of her addiction to pills.

"That's the best thing about being here, kids. The pills. I used to have to hide them and take them in my trailer. But here, I'm happily out in the open."

The orderly walked by with a tray of tiny cups. Judy extended a manicured hand with flipped wrists and grand panache, flourishing the colored tablets into her mouth.

"I LOVE this place! Let's sing!"

The group exploded into "Somewhere over the Rainbow" holding hands and swaying as Judy danced on her imaginary stage for thousands of admiring fans. Her pas de bourrées and double turns were phenomenal. She was a star.

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