placebo ovenbird In this small room you have banished the darkness—a projector pricks the ceiling with stars, a pink heart glows in the nearest socket, your clock face does its best impression of the rising sun. But the light can’t reach your eyes, dark with terror, a flickering fear that smothers and blinds so you can’t find your way back to yourself. I’m trying to call you home but you can’t hear me over the screech of your own thoughts, each one a loud insistence: you’re going to die. I can’t talk you out of your panic. Your heart is tripping over its own feet in its haste to flee from death. Your mouth gapes open like you’re trying to drink the air. Your voice is small and weak and airy, like you’re almost a ghost already. There are no careful, reasoned words that will slow your frantic breath. Sometimes, to heal, a little magic needs to be mixed in with the medicine. I’m going to have to cast a spell. A spell requires objects that can be transformed into symbols. It requires incantations and theatrical flourishes. It requires skilled sleight of hand that prevents you from seeing past my ruse. I present a powerful medicine, shining capsules swimming with liquid potential. What they contain doesn’t matter. What I tell you is that they are medicines that will help you sleep. They will calm your galloping heart. They will quiet the screaming thoughts. “Will they work all night?” you say in a voice waning towards a whisper. “Yes,” I say, “they’ll help you sleep all night.” I watch you swallow the story I’ve crafted and sweetened with sucrose. Then I feed you images one by one: the soothing rush of a river, the softest fur on the inside of a rabbit’s ear, a tap on each toe that lets tension flow into the ground. I tuck a plush dog into the crook of your elbow, fabric and fiberfill given a name that means “noble guardian” by someone who knows the power inherent in a perfectly chosen title. I close the spell with a kiss. You sleep and when the magic cracks in the darkest hours of night I can place another yellow capsule on your tongue and conjure the whole spell anew. I turn my own depleted body towards sleep and let my powers of illusion steep in the deep water of dreams. 250930 what's it to you? who go blather from