The Movement

Chapter Three - Part 1

Chapter Three

A bright redness dominated Troy’s shut-eyed vision. He felt exhausted, hungover.

Sweating underneath his covers, he ripped them off with the little remaining energy he possessed. Cold sweat quickly emerged from his goose-bumped skin. Finally, he opened his eyes despite his stubborn resistance. The sunbeam glaring through the wide window was the brightest thing he’d seen in what seemed a lifetime. He grabbed his sheets and quickly covered his body and face to block the blinding light from his eyes.

Moments later, Troy peaked out from behind the curtain with one, cracked eye. Peering around, he began to remember the small room he had been in, surrounded by the blue curtains. He jolted up, looking around for his wife.

“Jessica?” he said in a groggy, cracked voice. “Jessica!”

He felt dizzy and lightheaded. Nausea attacked his insides, his stomach intertwined in uncomfortable knots. He lay back down in his cot to relieve the sharp pain of yellow acid slushing around in his empty stomach. He relaxed in the dark, peaceful world underneath the covers from the worldly cycle of illumination and pain.

“Ugh” groaned Troy.

He heard footsteps approaching from the world outside the bedcovers and blue curtains. A delicate hand reached inside, forcing back the curtains with rusty, piercing screech. Troy’s heart warmed. It was his wife, Jessica. He hadn’t seen her beautiful face in days, or so it seemed. He’d lost all track of time.

“Good morning, Love!” exclaimed Jessica warmly. “I’ve got you some breakfast; I’ll feed it to you. The nurse said you should try eating some real food today.”

Troy hadn’t noticed the large cafeteria tray in Jessica’s hands.

“You have some cold apple juice, yogurt, and a banana,” she went on.

Troy hadn’t eaten in days. He instantly remembered how hungry he was, and sprang up in his cot.

 “Ah!” he moaned in pain.

His stomach twisted once again and he lay back in the cot.

“Relax, sit back, Troy!” demanded Jessica. “Just sit back, I’ll spoon feed you your breakfast, don’t get too antsy, now.”

The cold apple juice cooled Troy’s dry, sandy mouth. It felt good. He swished it around in his mouth, trying to cool down every tooth and nook. The esculent banana was even better, having a solid source of food slide down his throat felt new to him, and it felt soothing, too.

While Troy was enjoying his breakfast feast, the old nurse reemerged from the world outside the blue curtains.

“When he’s finished he’ll need to take his pill again,” she mumbled through her wrinkled gizzard.

Troy’s joyous emotion quickly turned to fear and anxiety. He knew he’d soon return to his haunting memories of his childhood. He did not want to take that pill. But he had no choice.

Troy enjoyed his breakfast and prolonged its duration with intentional delays and by swishing the apple juice around in his mouth. He allowed the banana to sit on his palate until it dissolved into a liquid. After nearly an hour of enjoyment and delay, the inevitable yellow-grained pill was next. The nurse’s aged, ghostly hand held the pill out in her wrinkly palm as it moved toward his lips. He opened his mouth with reluctance, sucked the last drop of apple juice from the straw, and closed his eyes. He acquiesced to the old nurse; to the pill. There would be no fight. He let the pill take over his thoughts and memories once again.