Acid Rain

by R. D Rhodes

  I felt like a cornered rabbit. I sensed the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on end. I tried to sound as brave and certain as I could, “I’ve told you, I’m not taking them.” I protested. “Please, I don’t need them.”

  She shook her head in disappointment. “Okay, we’ll start off the hard way. Kev! Dale!”

  The two men stormed in from behind her and marched straight for me.

  My eyes shot around the room, they closed me down quickly and the only way around was across the bed. I went to jump but was hauled back. I felt the air whoosh out of me as I hit the floor. Their heavy weight bored me down. I tried to move my arms, but they were restrained. I tried to thrash my legs, but I couldn’t get them up.

  “GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME! HELP! HELP!”

  I could only stare at the floor as I felt my trousers being pulled down at the back. A cold hand went over my head and ground my face down until my nose was squashed. A sharp pain jabbed at my ass and stung into my flesh.

  “AARGH.”

  “Ssh,sh it will only take a minute.”

  The searing pain shot through my left bum cheek and the needle prodded in again on the other side.

  Then the anger in me faded away and was replaced by a detached calmness. A voice came from far away and seemed to swim into my eardrums and echo around my head, “We’re going to get off you now, now, now, if you can promise not to be violent, violent, violent. Are you ready for us to get off, off, off?” The voice was low and obscure and sounded supernatural, devil-like.

  “Yeashh” came a muffled voice from within me somewhere.

  I felt the weight lift from me. A hand pulled my trousers back up and before I knew it the door was closed, and I was aware that I was lying in an empty room again.

  I tried to get to my feet but stumbled and fell back on the floor. A great tiredness washed over me.

  Chapter 11

  I awoke delirious. The room was spinning furiously. On my fourth attempt at standing I managed to get to my feet. I tottered and swayed onto the edge of the bed, rooting my feet into the floor.

  I looked at the window. It was still foggy, there was still daylight, but I had no idea of the time. There was no noise coming from the other rooms, or from the corridor, from outside, from anywhere. Everything was so quiet. So quiet that I wondered if it was the drugs, or if I had just dreamed the whole thing up.

  But then I felt a wetness ooze down the side of my chin. On autopilot my left arm came up and wiped it off, and just then I remembered Robert, and all my senses came flooding back.

  Is that why he was dribbling like that? Medication?

  My mind fast-forwarded to breakfast- and all those people sitting in front of the TV, and it all suddenly seemed to make sense.

  Why didn’t I realize it then? Maybe I was too scared to? Or just refused to accept it? Fuck knows but it’s happening alright- they're all out of their faces.

  My temples thumped, pain burned through my eyes, and all the while I could feel an empty nothingness drawing me in and promising safety and comfort.

  What did Kev mean by that? Should I be worried? And what was with the forty-year-old twins at my table? The emptiness drew in again, promising no more thoughts. Promising freedom. Part of me wanted to disappear into it. But I knew I couldn’t. I had to stay with it.

  How long have they all been here? Most of them are older, from early thirties plus. And how long will I be here? Eighteen months of psychiatric evaluation. Should I really just do what I’m told? Will it make things easier? My head pounded harder but I let the thoughts keep coming and tried to hang on to their threads.

  Jesus, what is this medication? Should I just keep taking it anyway? Aw, fuck it! We’re all slaves in this world anyway so what difference does it make, being in here to outside? There’s always someone pushing you around, forcing you to do things. Forcing you against your will to follow orders. What difference does it make if it’s a teacher, politician, your dad or a nurse? The easiest thing to do is to just give in. Some people even say that happiness comes from just accepting your situation and dealing with it.

  No! That’s a cop-out! You have two choices…what choices?..Well, you can either try to get the hell out of here and get as far away from this place as possible… Or you can stay and end up like those zombies in front of the TV. I can phone Mack? No, it’s too soon. What can she do anyway? You’re here by law, of your own doing. They’ve got as much chance of getting out of Guantanamo than you do of getting out of here. You could get a lawyer? But I don’t have a penny to my name! The judge made his decision, they’re not gonna flip it round now.

  But there has to be something! No, there isn’t. You don’t really have anything, do you? No relatives. No loved ones. No possessions. Nothing! The only thing you really own is your mind and your soul. If they take that then you have nothing. If you can’t think, if you can’t follow your own thoughts and live independently, doing what you think it is right, then you’re not free. And from one morning here you know they don’t want people living independently.

  My torso bobbed on the edge of the bed. The tide of blissful numbness washed in ever closer. But the thoughts kept coming and I kept reaching out for the rope and getting pulled away. Quotations from people I had read or heard in the past filtered in as I tried to make sense of it all. Just then a warm wave washed through my body and I fell back into the mattress. I turned on my side. Acid and vomit surged my throat and were swept back by a gulp of saliva. Hold on, captain! I cried in my head, but humour was hopelessly out of place. This was serious. What am I going to do? I wondered. And why am I suffering like this? All my life since the age of ten I’ve had to suffer. What did I ever do to anyone? A shitty dad and a fucked-up home life. Never had any friends. Nobody ever knew or understood me. Then I try to sort it all out and fix it once and for all, and I end up in here! It’s just one hell to the next! Why does life, why does my life have to be so full of shit and suffering?

  God is supposed to be loving and forgiving! Well, I prayed and prayed when I was younger, and it never stopped! It just went on and on. Why? Fucking WHY?

  I felt the tears running down my face. Running cold down my nose and mixing with snot and running the saltiness into my mouth.

  Then something I’d read in the bible a few years before punched into my head. Jesus said “Cherish not the flock of sheep that follow the crowd, cherish more than any other the one that runs away, and goes off course.” Or something like that. And he said that those that suffer are the chosen ones. But that doesn’t apply to me, does it? Does it apply to me because I am suffering? Am I meant to learn from this in some way? Cherish not the flock of sheep that follow the crowd. Cherish more than any other the one that runs away. What is that supposed to mean?

  I thought about it. What is the world if it’s full of people following orders and not listening to their own minds and conscience? What are people who don’t follow their own feelings-the one thing that makes them human? Robots, that’s what we become. Pointless, unloving, unfeeling robots that can only follow a given set of instructions and obey them mechanically. The nurses here don’t seem to be very human. They don’t seem to care about us. They don’t show love or honesty or conscience. They don’t do what is right. Jesus, you’re not giving them much of a chance, you’ve hardly been in here a day! Yeah, so what, I know that they don’t. They’re just following their job duties; why else would they act like that? And my dad! After every time he did what he did, he would apologise and say sorry, and he did look sorry, but then he did it again. Was he weak because he couldn’t just do the right thing and follow his conscience?

  I twisted and turned. Another round of rotten phlegm tickled my throat. I was sure I was gonna throw up, but nothing came out.

  Jesus always talked about the suffering and the downtrodden and the runaway sheep. Are they maybe the ones who will help lead the human race to elevate themselves? All the best poets and writers and revolutionaries, and people, honest people, have to s
uffer in one way or another. No. That’s not it. I don’t fucking know! All I know is I’m stupid as fuck and know nothing. I’m rambling and make no sense. But you know you can’t blame it on the drugs, you know you’ve always been fucking stupid.

  I retched, trying to get something out, but I only spat saliva. Back in this situation again! Here. The bathroom yesterday. The bedroom on-suite every night and every morning in my old “home.” My mind fragmented into jigsaw pieces of all those previous times.

  I tried really hard to think of any real breakaway sheep that I had met, any people who had thought for themselves and frayed from the crowd. Or even just did the right thing for others besides themselves! But I struggled to think of anyone. Those kinds of people only existed in movies and in books. But what are you fucking thinking? No, you know you’re right! The nurses here, the mechanical movements of those office workers slouched at their desk- people just follow the crowd and get sucked into it all. No! Is that the way it’s going? Is that the way it is? The humanity in us has been replaced by machines and mechanical thinking and following instructions?

  Then was another knock on the door. The third knock of the day- it only came when they wanted me out to do something or to take an order. You see! You’re nothing but a prisoner to their routine, to their every whim. Your whole life depends on them. You’re exactly the same as everyone else, you’re going to end up a robot too. The worst thing is there’s no way out. It’s the same outside with school, bosses, jobs and the whole of society. If you fight against it, they put you in jail, or in these places, or you end up sleeping in the streets, or are silenced some other way. Maybe the only way out is suicide.

  The door opened, and my master stood there again. Though she looked blurry, I could see she’d thickly re-applied her mascara. Somehow the thickness of it seemed to conceal her, making her eyes look cunning and ratty.

  “Aisha?”

  To my surprise, her voice sounded clear. I was coming round again. But I could tell from her tone and by her searching gaze that she was trying to decipher how sedated I really was. The room had stopped spinning so much but I still struggled to keep my eyes on her and my head up.

  “How are you feeling, honey?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “I brought you some water. Would you like some tea?”

  As she came closer, I managed to make out her distinctive, pretty features- those long legs in her skinny designer jeans, that long swan's neck, her breasts pronounced under her tight white shirt with the top two buttons undone. Those shapely pink-rouged lips. Then I noticed for the first time the clear plastic cup in her hand. Not so long ago she had pinned me down and stuck me with a needle against my will, and now she was being nice.

  “What do you.. want?” my voice sounded gravelly and hoarse and I didn’t recognize it at first as my own.

  “Can I come in?”

  The question threw me aback. I was sure she was already in the room, standing right next to me.

  “It doesn’t matter if I want you to… or not,.. you’ll do it anyway, ..so what are you fucking asking for?”

  I closed my eyes and when I opened them again she was standing back in the doorway. It gave me a fright. What just happened? I wondered, and my confusion was compounded by the fact that Sanders had a baffled look on her face too.

  The slight lines on her forehead creased as she frowned, then the look wavered and she came towards me, looking at the floor as if trying to plot her next move. She stopped next to the bed and held out the cup.

  And she stood there, looking down at me through those illuminated chestnut eyes. Standing within an arms-length away, as if she was goading me.

  Just then I felt a rush of strength, I don’t know how or where from, but I could actually feel it rising up in me and bringing me back to life. I reached out my hand to collect the cup. Bent back my elbow. And launched the water straight into her face.

  “Ah!” she screeched, springing back, but her reaction was too late. It impacted flush with her nose, flying outward and soaking her eyes, her hair, her shirt. “You bitch!” A hand flung out from her side, but halted in its tracks inches from my face, and hovered back. Her eyes were wide with fury, the muscles within both cheeks twitching like there was an insect living underneath her skin. The droplets ran down her forehead and glistened on her mascara.

  “Do that to me again, and I’ll kill you.” I said.

  The tension spread from her cheeks to her lips. She first bit the trembling lower one down, then clamped them both tight.

  “Are you threatening me?” she said.

  The silence stretched out between us. She kept floating in and out of my vision, but I focused and held her stare with the utmost concentration. The white walls melted into a milky, translucent background with her at the core. The centre of my world. I knew my vulnerability and I couldn’t give in. …

  …Finally- what seemed like aeons later- she exhaled through her nostrils. The color in her cheeks returned and her eyes switched back to a calmer, more disciplined glare.

  She thrust a long white finger into my face.

  “You don’t want to mess with me lady, trust me. Group therapy is in half an hour. GET READY.”

  She picked up the empty cup from the floor, swabbed her face with the back of her arm, and stormed out of the room.

  Chapter 12

  “Right everyone!” Kev’s voice boomed down the corridor, “You all know the drill. No fuckin’ about! No runnin! And no one dare go for the stairs!”

  He let his words linger in the ensuing silence. Not one of us moved in the line.

  “Okay then. Let’s go.”

  H e marched the eight of us out through the entrance doors, past another male nurse protecting the staircase down. He led us along the next corridor and down the length of the building until he stopped outside an open room. He stood aside. One by one the patients made their way in.

  It was like I’d stepped into some seventeenth-century log cabin. Everywhere you looked was stained dark wood, their varnish shining when caught by the light. The skirtings running along the navy blue carpet, the window sashes, the panelling on the wall decorated with ornate little flowers, the intricate cornices on the ceiling- you could see the expense and detail that had gone into everything in order to impress, and the darkness of the carpentry, the furnishings, and the carpet made everything feel really cosy.

  I followed the others towards the circle of wooden chairs, where a skinny lady in her fifties was already sitting. Wide-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of her nose and she tilted her head back and peered down through them, slightly cock-eyed, as she watched us coming in. Below her auburn fifties’ hairstyle, the pink-white earrings in her elfish ears matched with her necklace. A loose, hippyish, purple skirt came down to her knee-high boots and from her emerald green top, two thin arms poked out, showcasing three different sparkling bangles on each wrist. She was sitting open-legged, and as we got closer, she placed her hands on her knees and pushed them together.

  “Afternoon, folks!” she welcomed.

  I took the last chair, next to the comatose twins I’d sat with at breakfast. The brisk walk from ward four had woken me up a bit, but sitting in that warm and comfy room acted like a sedative on me. I shook my head and pinched my forearm to keep my eyes open, and followed the circle round with my eyes- each face plump and fleshy from the drugs, or lack of exercise, or a mixture of both. There were two other women there, one who’s face was covered by her long dark hair as she sat slouched forward. They were all slouched forward. Or slouched back. Spines bent like a group of hunchbacks and cripples and all their eyes rooted to the floor. All except for one man who’s left eye kept blinking as he cautiously watched the woman holding the class.

  Behind the dark-haired woman’s head, the large window overlooked an allotment. Different bushes, shrubs and potted trees were enclosed within an overgrown hedge in what had probably been a patient-led scheme at one time or another. And beyond all that a dila
pidating, triangular-shaped building stood in the distance with birds flying around its roof.

  Kev poked his head in the doorway. “Okay then, Cindy?” he grinned.

  The woman smiled impatiently. Her eyes glassed over. “Yes. Fine. Thank you.” she replied curtly.

  “Alright then.” Kev nodded slowly. “Dale will just be waitin’ outside if you need anything.” He stalled a few seconds while he stared at each one of us, then softly closed the door.

  The woman he’d called Cindy waited, her palms resting on her knees, as if she was making sure he was gone. Then suddenly her annoyance vanished, and her face lit up. She smiled at us through pale grey teeth. Her eyes brimming with enthusiasm.

  “OKAY THEN, EVERYONE!?

  HOW ARE YOU ALL DOING TODAY?!!” She sang in a rapture that filled the room.

  The group remained quiet. I bit my lip to suppress my snigger. But looking up again, and seeing the sadness in everyone’s eyes as they remained fixed on the floor, I saw that there was absolutely nothing to laugh about.

  Can they even respond? I wondered. How far gone are they? But something directed my attention back to the woman by the window, her face now poking out from her hair, except she wasn’t a woman- she was just a girl. Her fresh, young skin was almost porcelain and along with her tiny features-small frame, small nose and mouth, big brown eyes on little cheeks- it made her look even younger than her sixteen or seventeen years. Her eyes darted to Cindy then back again and she bent further over, dipping her head to make the smooth, black curtains of her hair again fall over her face, concealing all but a secretive gap down the middle from which she nervously chewed upon her nails.

  What kind of place is this for someone her age? I thought in alarm, trying to hide my shock but unable to stop looking. I knew I was only a few years older, but she just looked so innocent, so child-like. She continued to bite her nails and pick them in turn- but a shrill, singing voice brought me back.