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September 27, 2006

Jim: The Descent

“This is for your little graffiti project in the coatroom,” said the orderly holding me down. The other man handled the injection and the universe spun away to darkness.

I awoke in an isolation room. No furniture, floor and walls thickly padded, a feeding slot on the door. Just like in the movies.

There were no medications with my greasy breakfast or with my flavorless lunch. By dinnertime the voices were back. Hateful, bile-soaked voices ripping through my skull.

More meals passed with no human contact. Only the shrieking voices.

Days became weeks.

I could no longer remember my name.

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Comments

Sounds like my hotel room. But room service isn't sending up crayons.

Posted by: Laurence Simon at September 28, 2006 12:29 AM · Permalink