The October Music, Stanza 2 - Day 7

The Perfect Drug

            It’s small and blue and sitting on the table. Is this really the road you want to go down? Do you really want to rely on medication to free you from the horrors of your own mind? You think back to last month where the walls were bloody and the ceiling spun. You remember last year where that room with pads was in your future. How could this hurt more than that?

            A sip of water – because dry swallowing is for heathens – and the pill is gone. Now, all you can do is wait. You’ve heard from others who have taken it that the effects come quickly, but how quickly can a pill really take ef-

            Something moves in the corner of the room. Your eyes dart over there but see nothing but shadows. You could have sworn something was there. Something sharp and angular. Not a spider. Something else. You sniff and shake your head. It’s nothing, obviously. After all, you’ve been jumping at shadows your whole life. This isn’t something new.

            Five minutes have gone by and nothing feels different. The yelling in your head is just as ugly. The weariness in your bones cuts into the marrow. The relentless desire to simply be done hasn’t gone anywhere. Useless, you think. You spent way too much money on that one little pill and got ripped off. That’s what you get for list-

            There it is again. Something in the corner of the room. You get a better view of it this time. It’s smoky. Not like fire – it damn sure had better not be fire – but more like something swirling around the edge of the walls. You think you see something in the smoke. Impossible.

            Did they give you something psychedelic? Did you just give up half a paycheck just to vibe? That would track with your luck lately. Just another dumb decision in a lifetime full of them. This is why you need the meds, you idiot. Stop spending money on snake oil and just accept that you’re no-

            That was a howl. A howl. You turn and face the corner again. The smoke is still there but thicker, darker, more menacing. The noises are coming from within the smoke and it sounds like snarling and snapping. Like a feral dog, almost. You don’t want to move.

            When the first paw comes out of the smoke, you want to run but your legs are frozen. A second, third, fourth, fifth paw…you are locked in place. Slavering jaws, three of them, push through. A nose sniffs the air. You hope it doesn’t smell you. You pray you showered recently. Did you? You can’t recall.

            Eyes, far too many eyes, follow. Burning red but also black and blue. They are searching. Looking for something. Looking for you.

            What was it that your friend said when he sold you the pill? What were the words you laughed off despite his seriousness? Do you remember them?

​'You’ll never be alone again.'