Those who've been
to a memory
clinic would know that it's impossible to quieten down your mind
whilst they prepared the drugs.
Those who've been
to a memory clinic would also know that any advice given for
quietening down your mind was equally as useless.
Who needed advice
when they've got drugs in the air to tranquilize you.
Not to mention
your brother died here because some jack-ass messed up the dose. The
thought itself doesn't bring as much pain or anger as it did three
months ago, maybe it was this renewed purpose for coming here or
maybe the pain had just dulled from the dose of morphine I had this
morning.
Either way, as I
sat on the plastic chairs and watched the skyscrapers outside swirl
with fluorescent lights, their reflective mirrors detailing the misery of all that walked below. I felt at ease thoughit wasn't a pleasant
ease, it was a sluggish, synthesized calmness that simply slowed down
the pace of my thoughts and blanked them out.
So, they
changed the chemicals again this time. I mused as I sank back
into the plastic chair, wondering how is it that the air still
managed to smell like a bucket of bleach.
'This place
stinks like hell, why do you even go here.' Margo's purple lips
twisted into a disgusted grimace as she surveyed the clinic, 'Jim
wouldn't have wanted this.'
'Jim's GONE.'
I bit hard on the second word, willing my eyes to contain the tears.
"Kannan...."
"214B."
I peeled myself off the chair and headed towards the small room
located at the back, it was a closed room with sterile metal walls
and a single bed covered in cotton sheets situated in the center of
the room. A tray positioned precariously on it, its clear liquid
still as shadows as a guy with a Mohawk prepared the dosage with
precision.
"Hey."
I said.
He looked up and
gave me a perfunctory nod.
Well hey, I
tried. I sat down on the bed and swung my legs over and leaned
back, not that there was a terrible lot to look at in this room. My
thoughts were slow enough now that it just revolved round in a
mindless reverie, Mohawk guy was obviously new. The syringe were
poised between his second and third fingers, he looked at me.
I waited.
"You're
Jimmy's brother, aren't you?" The syringe stayed still whilst he
talked.
"That I am."
I agreed affably, it wasn't the first time someone had asked me this.
Especially the new ones who were always far too cautious with
everything they do.
"You know
why he went over?" Mohawk guy set down the syringe on the metal
tray, eyeing it with something close to disdain.
Ok, he was
obviously not new. Not even the others employees have spoke about
this, his death wasn't even discussed amidst their inner circles and
certainly not to me. I was vaguely aware of the constriction in my
throat, my mind warning me to back away and follow the normal
procedures. This was too risky, to start unravelling things again.
Remember what
happened last time, remember Go? She's going to castrate you and then, she'll kick you for good measure.
"An
over-dose." I responded by reflex, it was what I've been done
but even an idiot would've known an overdose wouldn't make a body
disappear from a room.
His look told me
as much.
"Who
are you then?" I opted instead, hoping to shed some light on his
identity. "Are you going to admit the drug today?" I nodded
to the syringe, innocently sitting on the tray.
"Who I am
doesn't matter. We live on two separate planes of reality, in fact,
I'm not even meant to be here. I'm breaking a rule to see you, so
stop being such an ungrateful brat." He delivered in a monotone,
wiping his hands on the pair of ripped jeans.
"I'm not a
brat, dick-head." I replied in the same manner, standing up
swiftly, a wave of unforeseen anger pricking my forehead. "Don't
ever call me that again."
"Calm down,
kid." Mohawk guy peered into my eyes, his demeanor total
opposites to his appearance. He was more suited to working in one of
those tall skyscrapers, with polished mirrors that reflected our
miserable lives.
"If you're
in such a hurry, why don't you tell me and get the fuck out?" My
mood irritated, this room started to shrink and converge on my
senses. My body felt tight, as if bounded by ropes and the guy's
cryptic attitude certainly didn't help.
"I can't
tell you, because this isn't something I can tell you, you will have
to experience it I'm afraid." He said.
"Experience
what, what are you talking about, is this some phony joke?" I
rolled my sleeves up and prepared to beat the daylight out of him,
Mohawk or no Mohawk.
"Everything,
this. Look I don't have much time, thanks to you being a total
idiot." If someone's demeanor could change within seconds, then
he just nailed it. It was as if he shed a layer of skin, revealing
who he really was or maybe it was just another façade. He
slouched forward, slumping his shoulders towards the ground, lines
and creases appeared on his previously marble face.
It took my a few
seconds to close my mouth and found coherent thought.
"W..who are
you?" I stuttered, moving back a few steps.
He muttered one
word before...promptly disappearing into thin air, or fat air, or
anything sort of air. He just disappeared.
What was that
all about?
I wondered if
this was some elaborate plank set up with hidden cameras, or if the
Mohawk guy was only a hologram projected to test me. If so, did I
fail that test or pass it? Why did they do it, what do they want with
me? What if this was all a conspiracy against me? Were they waiting
outside, was this an ambush or trap of some sort?
The good thing
about back alley clinics is that, no one don't quite care about
correct procedures . Walking out of the room attracted no attention
whatsoever, the receptionist flickered her cat ears as a greeting and
I walked out.
Out of all the
technology they've developed in this god-forsaken city, why do they
have to come up with a way to grow cat ears. It's just odd. Not
to mention utterly useless as thr human body can't adpat to the world
as cats do.
I
started violently at the sound of a slamming doors, my nerve endings
seem to tingle with apprehension at every microscopic sound. Stalking
out of the alley as fast as possible, breathing in the brisk, night
air that was also laced with the smell of grease and sewer waters
before setting off towards our apartment. I sniffed at my clothes,
the smell of bleach and anti-bacterial air-freshener inevitably
drenched into the cotton and sighed.
Time to buy a new shirt, and this one only lasted three days.
A.N: Just out of curiosity, to those who are following this (I love you all
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