|The thoughts keep coming at me, buzzing like a giant mosquito; I can't force them away. They said it wouldn't be like this. They swore. The men in white said it was just an outpatient procedure, a thin metal straw placed up the nose. No pain they said, all you'll feel is a tiny crunch. But then the flood begins...
"The patient is performing admirably."
"We've done it; we tapped into his latent ability."
Don't let him panic, get a tranquilizer."
“If he makes it to the hall we’re screwed.”
"Now where did I put that bucket?"
"Hey watch out...”
“Why is that man running?”
"I don't care if you won't let me go."
“Why isn’t that guy watching where he’s going?"
They hammer away at me. I feel each one. I'm immersed in them. They become me and I them; I feel the riptide pull me under.
Drowning, I can feel them pour down my throat and into my very being. I'm choking on everyone and everything in existence. My head hammers to the beat of a thousand nails, each one a piercing bright light driven into my soul.
I run but they're everywhere, more numerous than raindrops in a downpour
What did those bastards at the clinic do to me?
I can’t take this, the agony of knowing, of feeling, of being. I can’t take the cacophony.
Finally, desperately, I make it to the storm cellar. I pull it’s worn oak door open. The cool musty air and the darkness welcome me. The thick walls of concrete and the acres of dirt behind them nestle me. I wrap the tinfoil tightly around my head, the downpour subsides to a trickle. I place my cheek against the cool masonry.
I just need a moment to think.
© Copyright 2011 Sci-Fi Rob (UN: bobsetsfire at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Sci-Fi Rob has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
|Log In To Leave Feedback|