Welcome To The: BUNK

47

Outside the scented flooded gym, i took gulps of breath, only to relize the smell was lingering in the hall as well. Turning i jogged up the same hall trying to get away from the smell. Can't go back to the bunk, can't go into the elevator the smell was everywhere.like the smell of sickness during the winter time.

"Tip. . . tip wait up!" a strong voice called from behind me. My pounding feet slowed then came to a halt remembering Bruce was following me. I watched him jog forward his white, dust speckled bag slapped his back as he jogged, the same motion my dag would of done if i had it.

"The hall stinks to"

"Yeah, i know"

"The elevator probably stinks too"

"Probably, what if they took a diffrent elevator?"

"Thats a big, what if. I dont want to go back yet"i stated. I probably sounded and looked like a pouting, whinning bunk kid, if a bunk kid was ever that lucky to have the luxury of pouting. . . bunk. . . bunk. . .

"Your doing it again" a hand blurred in front of my sight, up then down, up then down. The pale hand contracsting with the dark colors of the wall. I followed the hand to a arm, a shirt covered shoulder, then turned to face Bruce.

"Your thoughts kill you, dont they?" he whispered.

". . .What?"

"You were doing it again, just like when we were running. You blanked, zoned out"

"What the drag are you talking about Bruce?"

"I have a theory, and-"

"A theory?"

"Yes, whats wrong with that. Don't give me that look" Bruce chirmped.

"What are you, an adult doctor or a white bunk inmate?" i snapped. He shook his head the ghost of a smirk twitched at the corner of his usall grim lips. He raised his arms open palms facing me as to signal to let him continue. I nodded my head and took a step back to show my response. I shifted my weight between my legs, trying to keep presure off my lower back from standing in one position for so long, the forming bruises always kept themselves known with a painful throb every minute or so, it was extraordinarily annoying.

"I have a theory," he started again in the same matter-of-fact tone, chin raised of course to show off his air of arrogance and advanced knowledge. I refrained the urge to smack the back of his head, to send his head back down to a normal raised acute.

"Go on?"

"Well it's more like a diagnosis, a mental disgnosis" he stated.

"Such as?" I huffed my pancient growing thin.

"PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture"

"Your point, doctor?"

"I also believe you have insomnia,"

"Insomnia?"

"A sleeping disorder, someone having difficulty falling asleep" he corrected.

"Is this another diagnosis? Is there some kind of point to this, Bruce?" I snipped at him, but he remained unfazed or unaware of my snippy tone.

"Yes, you never seem to sleep, PTSD can be one of many causes of insomnia. From the videos I've watched, and witnessing your everyday behaviour-"

"Everyday behavior?"

"As i was saying, you tend to freeze up or distant your self from others when a certain word is said or an action is performed. . ." he trailed off as i coutined walking down the hall away from the following smell and him. I stopped and turned towards him.