Dear readers,

I am eternally apologetic for baffling length of time you patiently waited for this document to be published. One must realize that it was most assuredly not my fault. Management has dictated that my attention should be drawn elsewhere and censored a great deal of this chapter. I , however, changed it all back into it's orginally glory in the dead of night for your pleasures.

P.S. I am fully aware of what an incredibly shitty writer I am

P.S.S. Do not forgive me.

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My dear Sir, take any road, you can't go amiss. The whole state is one vast insane asylum. Author: James L. Petigru

Much madness is divinest sense To a discerning eye; Much sense the starkest madness. 'Tis the majority In this, as all, prevails Assent, and you are sane; Demur,--you're straightway dangerous, And handled with a chain. Author: Emily Dickinson

A human being will never be completely whole.

From the first moments of life we are forever losing bits of hair and skin particles. Scattering them all over the world to be absorbed by the Earth. We renew ourselves but yet we are never completely there. It's such a insignificant process that we rarely process it into our conscious minds. We never miss the dead skin cells or hair follicles.

However there is instants in which one sharply feels the lack of a proportion in one's psychical body. Such as when you lose a tooth or an arm or even your entire lower torso. I suppose you even feel it when you give birth to a child.

Something that was yours entirely was expelled into the world to become its own being. The feeling of loss is notable and shapes us into something we didn't quite expect.

Our mind is never complete either. Thousands upon millions of thoughts and memories past into oblivion every day without notice. The lost thoughts float into some void that we shall almost never recover them from. For they never leave some tangible evidence for us humans to find and examine like hair or skin.

They just disappear as if they never existed. But they did. Like humans they were born from nothingness and for a brief time they existed in our heads. However, I am unsure whether thoughts become something else when they die like humans or do they return to nothingness.

It's all part of some cosmic mumbo jumbo that I can't really deal with right now in my current state.

But I digress from my philosophic tirade.

You never notice that your losing your mind until you lose a large proportion of it. Then you notice how it was disintegrating. But the wonderful thing about the human body and psyche is that it regenerates itself into something stronger.

But there is a certain point in which you know that you crossed a line. When you cant take anymore and it all downhill from there. You begin to come apart at the seams.

You'll never be able to pin point when it started because its been happening all your life. But the moment you took a step too far you'll know immediately.

Like when your holding your amputated toe in your hands. Of course I'm sure that me losing my toe wasn't the sole reason for me to consciously acknowledge my mental break down. I'm thinking there must be a plethora of events and reasons that lead up to this moment. But I had the concrete dead evidence in my hand and I just lost it.

I didn't know exactly what had broken but I knew something was unwell and I was ill prepared to fix it.

I sat rocking back and forth. Without any coherent thought striking me. God I was lost always lost lost LOST.

What do I do now. What have I've been doing. I always thought that I had purposeful reasons for all my wonderings. But now that I think about it, I had no purpose. Oh god that scared me. If I had no purpose then why should I even exist.

I'm just a waste.

No, there must be reasons for me to do what I do. I just forgot that's all.

"Your right" a small voice squeaked.

I nodded eagerly. That's right, I forgot. I've always been forgetful.

"It'll come back to you" The voice continued. It was so quiet like the whispering of leaves I barely noticed it.

Yep it'll come back. I just have to be patient and wait. But what should I do in the mean time?

I picked of the small creature to my side. It's fur was clotted from bile and stuck out in stiff spikes. I held the kitten at eye level and repeated my question aloud.

I didn't expect an answer or anything. I mean, the thing was dead. I merely asked it a question for my own sanity's sake. You know, instead of always talking to myself in my head.

Oh jeez. Like talking to myself aloud is any better.

Well at least I was talking to something other than myself.

And since I expected nothing, the kitten spoke unexpectedly.

"what you've always been doing" The kitten murmured. It's small slack mouth barely moving. It looked like it was suckling on it's mothers teat when it spoke. It was extremely adorable but surprising.

I dropped it in shock and watched it bounce a little. I quickly regained my wits. I felt a little bad for dropping it, but then again it is dead. I picked it up again, gently

"What?" I asked it, not believing it spoke at all. That it was only a sad event made up by my addled brain to help make some sense to things. But I fail to see how a talking dead kitten would make anything make more sense.

"Keep following the maskface, it'll help. I swear." Again I could only just hear it. It was as though my conscience was speaking to me.

I held the kitten close to my chest, ignoring the horrid smell of it. Was that really what I have to do. Follow that fucking mask thing. All that thing has done was lead me into one hellish situation after the next. Shit.

I'll get up and wander around, and if I run into the maskface again I might follow it.

"Please" I heard the kitten murmur.

Whatever.

Doing something distracted me from the reality of the shit that has been happening.

I rolled onto my feet, wincing from the numb searing pain. I spent a moment or two searching for the key and pocketed it and began on my merry way.

The key was somehow very important in the whole scheme of things, I don't know how. But it's best to keep it just in case.

Wait….

Didn't it open the door back into my life. That key provided a way of here. Thank God I didn't lose it earlier. I stroke the key reassuringly. It gain a whole new value that I felt stupid for not noticing before.

I still held the kitten close to my heart as I hobbled my way through the fungi forest.

The kitten was incredibly helpful. Every so often it would whisper directions to avoid the dangers of the forest. Which I didn't what the dangers were exactly because I never encountered them, thanks to the kitten. It also told me how to get out of the forest.

It was a relief after of hours of walking with an incredibly sore foot, to see the dark edges of mushroom land. I dragged up my pace a bit as I near the end.

As it turned out I walked almost straight into another freaking forest. Only a thin strip of meadow separated the two forests.

Tall grass waved gently in the breeze and fireflies lit up the starless indigo night. The only celestial body in the sky was a waxing blue moon.

It was beautiful to say the least.

In the mid point of the meadow was a white wash church that was surrounded by a decrepit wrought iron fence. The walls of the church had large windows that stretched from the ground to the roof. Most of these were broken or completely gone.

I walked closer in awe of the little church. As I moved closer I could see that the church's garden was over run with weeds and toys. It was eerie as a wind chime made out of spoons clattered with the wind.

I decided to take a peek inside since it seem uninhabited and I really needed to rest. I walked through he front gate cautiously. Just above the church door was a sign that read

Capimus congregatio morbus

Maybe if I knew any Spanish I could enlighten the masses of what I thought that meant. I don't know. I'm pretty sure the sign was in Latin. Maybe if I knew any Latin would be more appropriate for translating. Ah well, my nonlinguistic capabilities never cease to amaze me. . I limped inside. It was cool, cooler than outside and almost completely dark. Bits of moon ray shined through to offer a little illumination.

It a moment for me to adjust to the dark, but soon I was able to see an a long table covered with a moth eaten clothe and a countless array of cutlery, pans, plates, cups, and teapots.

All of the dinner ware was in every imaginable mess of color and size, Jumbled in a mess that would have made a hobo wince.

I shuffled along the table grazing my fingers over the chipped china,

A deep ragged breathing startled me.

I stood frozen in my spot next to an impressive mountain of saucers with pale red poppies painted delicately upon them. Oh nooooo.

I could see a slumped figure at the end of the table, and I was only two or three chairs away from it.

The silhouette raised its head and for a sickening moment I was prepared for a puss slobbering monster rat to launch itself at me.

Hey I was ready for anything. Well not ready per say. I think I was expecting some horrific mutated something.

I had absolutely no idea what to do. No physical course of action, no response, no nothing.

The only thing that I did do was prepare my psyche for some new shock to scar the fabric of my conscious.

My heart leapt into my esophagus as the surge of adrenaline made my palms all sweaty and cold.

A boy.

Just a boy.

The relief came washing over my nerves like honeyed milk.

No monster.

Just a boy a few years older then me.

He was a gaunt hollow thing. Like a wraith, he sat stiff like a corpse in his mangy throne like chair. His head cocked at an angle towards me, smiling with all of his yellowed teeth. His hair was a dark tangle mess with no method to it's madness.

As time progressed and I got to know the bastard better, I could theorize that perhaps at one time he was handsome. I could see the remnants of his beauty in his light eyes, high gloss hair, And strong jutting features.

I saw none of that the moment I met him.

Just a bone thin corpse boy.

But thankfully not a monster.

"Martin Aggersion Damien Harett at your obligation" he said to me, his voice rusty from lack of use.

I was startled that he could even move, much less talk, I yelped.

He sprang out of his chair, hurrying towards me a frown plastered on his long face. His stained strait jacket wrapped his arms closely to his frame.

"I must offer my profuse apologies, I have no knowledge of what my mannerism occurred to offend you Madam."

I stumbled back as he advanced towards me with him spouting of like a seventy year old English teacher.

God what a dandy. He always was such a gentleman with his speech.

"Uuuummm errrrr I uhhhhhh" I responded intelligently.

Martin Aggersion Damien Harett paused and tilted his head in such a way that his brow cast his eyes in shadow. The effect was startling, as if he had no eyes.

"Do you by chance, speak any English?"

Think spooky Dracula voice when he said this.

"Yes" I muttered

"Smashing, I haven't conversed with any sentient being for oh such a long age."

His head popped back straight and his eyes twinkled in the faint light. His smile large and seemed almost forced.

"Do you know any dialect of Gibberish or French? Both the same one way or another. Or what about Mandarin…No? I thought not. Cant even vocalize any style of Gibberish." He rapped his foot on the dusty wood floor.

French? I cant even speak Spanish and I'm half effing Mexican. What a Gringo, eh.

"Well all for the best in the end, I can't speak a lick of Chinese. Would have made for a wonderful banter though."

After the geyser of words erupted from him he relapsed into silence. His wide eyes staring intently on me cowering against the table. I could see the white rimmed around his irises

He shuffled closer to me.

"Say, would you be a gentle lady and help me shed this article of bondage. The last person put it on in such a confounding manner that I cant seem to get it off."

He said this so imploringly that all previous caution escaped me. A little boy I was reminded. A child like me. His face so sincere with wanting.

HA HA HA

What a fucking comedy that is my naivety.

"Okay" I ventured, further displaying my incredible linguistic ability.

The kitten was muttering some nonsense that I couldn't quite hear. I placed her carefully down on the rickety table. Didn't occur to me to question why I didn't understand her.

Martin uttered some happy laugh sounds as he jigged a bit on the spot.

He always would make odd little sounds to express his mood. Snorting giggling, squealing and a whole army of resonances made up a second langue for him.

It me a while to fuss with his strait jacket. It was made with an off white cream colored canvas. Really quite beautiful grey stitching swirled decoratively into gothic hearts and swirls. The rings that held the boys arms close to him were made of a gold like metal. I wasn't sure. For all I know it was gold.

To me it seemed extravagant to make a strait jacket so handsome. You put lunatics into strait jackets. To retain them from hurting themselves or anybody else. I mean…..

Wait

To restrain.

Lunatics.

Oooh oh oh

The implications of freeing Martin from his Strait jacket caught up with me the moment he wiggled out of my grasp.

Well he was still wearing the thing. It's just that his arms were now unbound. He danced around me laughing hysterically.

"My greatest thanks, thank you Thank yooooouuu my kind lady." he sang as he twirled around, impersonating a ballerina. The long sleeves of the strait jackets whipped around humorously.

He caught me up into some ballroom brigade, dragging me across the church. Singing ditties on the spot. Praising me or commentary on my lack of clothing or general lack of hygiene, though not unkindly. I think.

He deposited me in a chair that immediately threaten to break and reclined against his own chair chortling and out of breathe.

"Ah ah aaah, Lets discover what Mr. Rabbit has designed for tonight's consumption" He sighed as he settled into his chair, clapping his hands excitably.

" You know I do think it's one of his wives again. He serves one of them up from time to time. When they displease them or eat their own children or simply because they won't fuck him."

He began humming a tune , twitching as if nervous.

I adjusted myself until I was sitting properly in the chair.

"Tea" He announced loudly, looking towards me as if I would comment.

"Wha-"

"Tea is what got me into this rather difficult situation" he interrupted. He looked very solemn, his haggard form sitting bolt upright and his face contorted to only the faintest of uneasy smiles. Like it hurt to smile.

"If you have not noticed I've been ostracized from society. Placed all the fucking way in the central location of nowhere. Bounded and watched for by Mr. Rabbit. I suppose this whole endeavor was charming for a time. But…"

Martin pursed his lips and tilted his head towards me.

"I've grown to loathe this place." he whispered.

He grabbed a rusty cleaver from on the table. He began to fiddle with it, twirling it on it's tip, throwing it up into the air and catching it.

"Do want to know I got so crazy? How I rotted apart till I was insane? Why they call me a lunatic?" Martins eyes grew very wide, his grin manic.

He took my brief moment of silence as a confirmation. Martin never lets you talk unless your quick and sharp. He was perfectly happy to keep the conversation rolling without any help from me. Eventually I learned though.

"I lost the time."

His grin completely gone by now.

"I lost the time and I was late to the Tea Party"

"Well" I ventured.

"That's not too bad." Oh, god. I saw his cheek flinch. What did I do? For a eerie moment he was perfectly still. A stoic statue, if you will. Only that muscle right next to his nose twitched uncontrollably that lifted his lip into a snarl.

Martin Shot up and slammed the cleaver into the table.

"I lost the time, my dear. And I was late to a perpetual Tea Party." He growled.

"Mother was the hostess and she was most displease with me, to say the least. Mother was never pleased with me but this one took the cake." Martins Arms gestured wildly around as he illustrated his point.

"She then burned all of my headwear, all of my hats." He choked.

"She knew I was making them in secret. Consorting with the whores of haberdashery."

He moaned wretchedly as he slumped in his chair.

"I could see it in her eyes, Oh those eyes. Everyone's eyes. They knew, they knew. I tried my best, you must believe me, but once I took that first sip of tea, which was an excellent Asian blend by the way. Once I took that first sip I snapped."

He was bolt upright once again livid in every erratic movement.

"The rest you can say was history."

He sat there with labored breathing for seconds that lapsed into minutes.

"Your hair wants cutting".