Sugar Pill
The creatures are leering, and smiling. They don’t have any idea what they’re inspiring. They might not have ideas. You might have to have ideas first. You’d have to try first to find out. The smile worms it’s way in. Then you go to work. Then you have to cook some food. Then you call a friend, and talk about what you should do with your time, finding some reason to be together, which you do. Then you see them again. Just one, but they’re a them, and they’re still smiling. Your friend notices you staring, and asks at what, so you don’t say anything. Forget to look at him. There always has to be something in front of your eyes. Your friend keeps asking. So you tell him. He tells you that what was in front of your eyes wasn’t in front of his eyes. That’s one sense that’s gone incongruous. Needs tinkering with. Maybe immediately. Then you’re at the doctors and the doctor tells you that your senses are certainly doing something else. Or were. They don’t have to. The bouncing bits of input all have a consensus. It’s okay. There are reading materials to help bring you up to date. The bottle of pills he hands you rattles in your pocket as your body moves itself home, feeling the ground for sure. That’s going well then. Looking up, everything looks suspicious. Are the trees supposed to move like that? Is that the wind? Yeah. Everything is exactly in order. In bed, you feel your bed, and that’s going well too. You reach for your glass of water, and take a sip, but it’s kind of gross and warm. The pill makes it’s way down your throat. The bed is still there. The creature is in the corner of the room. There’s not much else to do but look at it. It smiles, because it’s always smiling. It knows exactly what it is. You can see that. You think about asking it for advice, but then you remember what it means that it’s in front of your eyes. Turning the tables is important. You take another pill, and then move the glass to your lips exactly right, but there’s no more water. You didn’t realize you had drank all that gross water. There must not have been much left. That makes sense. The creature watches as you leave the room. He’s still watching when you come back with a glass of cool fresh water from all the pipes. While searching for the bottle of pills you hear it rattle, so you know it’s got to be somewhere. It’s in it’s hands. It has hands, and it’s using them to rattle the pills. The stare is broken now though. Seeing it look down at them, you feel jealousy fizzle through you. It’s never looked at anything else before. It brings the bottle to it’s lips, and pours the pills right into it’s mouth. Where’d the smile go? It had to go to do something else. And then it’s back. The empty bottle is on the ground. You know this because you’re looking at it, and it’s there. You look up at the creature. It’s staring at you. That makes sense. A stream of sentence fragments course through your skull. “I’m sorry, that’s all I’ve got”
