Podlings in the Basement

Sometimes the truth is a grim secret.

Never having meant to see the light of day.

Never meant to have streaked the innocent, fleeting mind in it's green tinge.

Everyone he had loved, everyone who lies and even when they tell the truth.

They see how he smiles, how he beams in delight and finds gold to even the most dull and worn down of bodies. Glassy stares too old, voices dismissive-- are all precious and surely in his best interests he would be sure.

Despite all evidences to the contrary.

And perhaps on that notion he's right.

Good or not, terrible and pain-inducing.

Everyone sees how youthful, how freely he gives. And so they cover his ears.

As if swear words were spoken, when the conversation grows too grim, too mired in secrets.

And perhaps it's his fault. He let them.

So that must be why, since he knew too little to pick the right side, that the situation grew so out of control.

That until it was too late did those closest and the most honest told the whole truth.

Leading him along, gentle in their guidance into the bowels of dark, foreboding malice and shadow.

Shining the light of a new model cell into the corridor.

And there he finds, from a metal slate and unknown, grisly tools he had so feared the five beds.

Laid upon so delicate and tranquil: Five sons.

He fumbled his light.

He just about kneeled with his legs so weak and head swept of thought, of kindness, or of reality. Only the cruel laugh of a man whose monstrous temper unknowingly, once, tore to bone.

Tore to his soul and at trust once boundless with no ending horizon.

Five sons.

One, only one given honor. To be Sleeping Beauty, to receive speech, to be blessed with a name.

"They will suffer."

And though the professor never truly would, his voice scorched in scorn.

"Either to the elements."

Or to abuse and disassemble.

He shook his head once the light flashed upon an incomplete face. Under the glass.

"I cannot."

"Only you may choose."

He was glad they'd brought a bat in foresight.

One lever. Just one. Not even locked in any way.

Had his Dad finally lost his mind?

Of course. And of course, they'd never been meant to live.

And so, he pulled down.

Their amniotic juice, glowing green slushing out into empty pods.

"Project D-f!45S...

"Project DP-900El"

"Project..."

"Terminated."

Oftentimes, the truth had meant the worst, most blinding strikes and nails of pain.

The truth is a grim secret.

Much as he may try or want to deny.

Much as he could wish upon a star the truth, was right here, ugly and exposed raw like a gruesome scab.

____________________

Though what he was sure of, what fueled his rambling of stupid, boring classes, and Mommy and Daddy's arguments, was for something to happen. For his heart to pound and his sense of real and imagination completely shattered.