Time in the Theraprism passed not in seconds or minutes or hours, but in activities of varying amounts of sickening cheer, interrupted by the haze of medication and sleep that wasn't quite dreamless. Even in his sleep he couldn't escape the earworm songs that the clowns (and the therapists) sang to try and drill their helpfulness into his brain.
Breakfast. Puppet hour. Art therapy. Puppet Lunch. Group therapy. More art therapy. Puppet hour. Dinner. Puppet hour. Always fucking Puppet hour!
He hated puppet hour. The second he got out of the Theraprism, he was going to find whatever universe created puppets and turn it inside out. For some reason, the hacks running the puppet show had Bill help with the shows a singular time in hopes of getting him to maybe enjoy the production.
It didn't work. Bits of stuffing was still being found and he made sure they would never get the glitter out of the vents. He was banned from using scissors for a while there, but it was worth it to never have to see the stupid sun puppet ever again.
Next week it was back and he spent the rest of art therapy drawing the puppet on fire rather than his usual red and blue triangle scribbles.
Bill, despite his fighting, was starting to have a new appreciation for the outdoors and the quiet that came with it. He hovered up and down the paths through alien flora and other wards of the Theraprism enjoying their own reprieve from the cartoonish mirth and flickering florescent lights inside. It was probably the only time any of them got any peace aside from the deafening silence of their rooms.
He stared intently at a bundle of flowers that hung from red stems in thin hanging blossoms resembling fingers if one squinted just right. He didn't know what it was called and he didn't really care. One of them had six flowers hanging off of a thick stem, two plants that fused together while growing.
That one was his favorite, though he didn't really know why.
He just liked it. Not for any particular reason.
Something was off about it today though.
He couldn't put his finger on it, but it just felt like something was off. He'd felt it when he woke up, and he felt it even more intensely now. Normally he was good at telling what sort of metaphysical or multidimensional nonsense was going on, but ever since entering the Theraprism - however long that had been - he'd gotten worse and worse at it. He hated how blind to the universe the medication made him, especially now.
Bill looked around, half expecting some worker to find him and drag him back inside for some other Gods forsaken treatment plan, before turning his gaze back to the flower. He reached out, hand slow and careful, hesitant. His fingers were mere inches from the flower - And then-
The other patients were gone.
Bill was suddenly... somewhere else. Cars drove by, a void at his back that made the cracks in his body feel as if they were going to vibrate open. An eclipsed sun hung overhead, and two humans were approaching him as if they had been expecting him - more importantly though was that there was no Theraprism. Truthfully, Bill was not paying attention the entire car ride on most of what they were saying.
Waiting for some other shoe to drop, for one of his idiot therapists to come popping out of the car console with a confetti popper screaming, "SURPRISE!"
Surely this was some new form of therapy. Right?
He was suddenly alone, a house key in hand. In a daze, he explored the house which was surprisingly lacking in the padded walls and cracked tile departments, peeking around corners and under tables and chairs and couches and cushions in search of cameras or something from the Theraprism to prove that this was just some sort of joke. No padded walls. No drippy shower head in the bathroom. No obnoxiously annoying schedule nailed to the wall. There was nothing.
"No meds?" Bill squinted at the relatively empty medicine cabinet. Probably not a great thing. Going cold turkey off of those was probably not going to be good, but he'd take the side effects over taking them.
"No therapists, no medication. No puppets." Bill stared at his reflection in the medicine cabinet mirror. "Ha....hahaa..."
The quiet, stuttering chuckle became an explosion of pure, unbridled glee.
"I'M FREE! I'M FREE, SUCKERS!! HAHAHA! Oh boy, oh boy! I can't believe someone actually let me out! Whoever the sucker is that got their hands on my book and made a deal is in for a world of fun! I hope they like deer teeth - or even human teeth! Why not! Human teeth is a step up - premium goods! Maybe I'll even polish up a kidney stone for 'um! Hahaha!" Bill cackled in near hysterics, throwing his hands into the air and kicking his feet like a child that had just heard the funniest joke in the world.
Fuck you, Axolotl! Fuck you, Theraprism! Holy shit, he can actually say fuck now without someone blasting him with an air horn!
Bill darted to the window, leaning out of it and peering out at the city sprawled out before him. Ready and waiting for its new chaotic overlord obviously.
"Helloooooooooo, world! Your new lord and master has arrived!" He crowed. "I can't wait to liberate-OUGH FUCK!"
The interruption in his declaration was caused by a sharp stab of pain jolting through the crack in his body and his levitation suddenly sputtering before cutting out completely, sending him crashing to the ground. He landed face down on the tiled floor, groaning miserably.
Picking himself up, Bill stood there awkwardly, arms outstretched fully and legs spread wide like he was about to fall over any second now. He stood there stiffly, then took a couple cautious steps on unstable legs. When did he walk last?
"What the hell?! I have to walk?!" He yelled, dragging his hands down his face and groaning. All of that glee was gone, replaced by a gnawing agitation. Fine. That was fine. He could deal with that. He just needed to change his size and then...
He squeezed his eye shut, strained, stretched his arms up over his head and stood on the balls of his feet. Stretched himself up and up and up and- nope he was still short. He fell over backwards, groaning. He stared up at the ceiling, eye wide, realizing then that, despite the fact that he was free, he was still restrained.
Powerless! Weak! Small! How much worse could things get?
