“It's been three weeks now since you're son has been prescribed Paxil Mrs.Farge, have you noticed any change in

his behaviour?” My family doctor said to my mother knowing my mute tendencies and speaking as if I wasn't even

in the room. “None at all” My mother answered “Is this even possible doctor? For twelve years we've been trying

everything to make Harold into a progressive member of society and for twelve years and countless drugs tried

nothing has seemed to effect him.” “It's a very strange case indeed Mrs.Farge and definitely nothing like I have ever

seen before. There's nothing left I can try any more nothing tested at least.” “Well what's left untested?” “Well there

is this pill just invented from Switzerland, It's been tested on certain animals that display much of the symptoms

you're son shows and all the results have came back positive in rehabilitating lethargic, depressed, antisocial and

incommunicable members of otherwise excessively social species.”

My mother hopped aboard real quick in her desperate attempt to make her son a “real boy”. It was called

Mastperetitine, 100mg yellow and orange capsules. The bottle said “Take three daily.”

And so I followed my mother and doctors orders. The first pill went down with a glass of orange juice. And in a few

hours... nothing. Pill number two: Slight nausea followed by..... nothing. Pill three: Nothing. I went to bed.

When I awoke I wasn't sure if I really did. My senses all worked, I could feel the bed and pillows, the blanket and

sheets. I smelled breakfast cooking and heard my mother speaking to my father. I tasted my morning mouth but I

couldn't open my eyes. I soon realized I couldn't move anything. For most this would induce fear but I rejoiced

knowing I now have an inarguable excuse to stay in bed.

It was only about 20 minutes until my mother called me for breakfast. “Harold hurry up and get in the kitchen, your

breakfast is getting cold.” “I would if I could mother but it seems I'm incapable of moving.” I tried to say but it never

escaped my mind.

Little time passed before I heard footsteps in the hall drawing nearer to my door. I pondered my fathers

disappointment he would face when he figured out his useless son has forgotten how to function his motor skills.

Harold, Harold, Harold... First you drop out of school before elementary is over, then you fail at getting a job, and

making friends, you haven’t even looked for or even shown interest in finding a wife, I'm pretty sure you're gay boy

and now not only is my son a failing faggot he's now a cripple... I wish I drank a lot less that night you're mother

and I decided to fornicate...

Three taps at my door followed by my mothers voice. “Sweet heart breakfast is ready come eat please...Harold?”

“I'd come out if I could mother.” “Do you mind if I come in?” After what I think was ten minutes I heard the the

mechanical function of my door knob move and the door creak open slowly a crack. I figured she was peaking in

worried I was masturbating or something.

“Harold?” The door opened fully and her footsteps neared the side of my bed I could smell her flowery perfume so I

knew she was standing at the side of my bed. “Harold wake up It's time for breakfast and far to late in the day for

you to stay in bed.”

She placed her hand on my shoulder and nudged me gently in her attempt to wake me. “Harold come on no more

games it's time to wake up, get to the kitchen and eat your breakfast...” She nudged me again. “Harold! Get up I'm

not playing a childish game with you! You're 18 years old and you should act it! Get up now or I'll make sure you're

easy sail through life under my wing will end!”

When I still didn't reply she began to worry, or at least I believe she did. She put her hand on my chest and pushed

lightly. “Oh my god, he's not breathing.” I don't know if she meant to vocalize that but she did. She jolted up and

the banging told me she ran out of the room.

I heard her speaking faintly in and out I think she was pacing... “M-my son. He's not breathing...859 Poctes

street...hurry...please...” Was I really not breathing? I'm pretty sure I was.

She ran back in the room and sat on the bed beside me. I heard her crying and a drop of warm liquid landed on my

head. “Harold please wake up I love you please don't leave on me.” What seemed like ten years later I heard the

front door slam open and three pairs of boots rushing in. “Were in here! Please come! He's not breathing!” My

mother shouted hysterically.

The three pairs of boots stomped in. “Please mam step aside we're here to help.” A calm deep voice said. The

blankets atop me were ripped away and a rough hand grabbed my wrist and pressed three fingers semi hard. “No

Pulse! Get the defibrillator!” The same voice shouted less calm. And he dropped my wrist.

One set of boots stomped quickly away. My mothers grief became a full blown panic attack I heard her

hyperventilating and letting free pathetic moans of sorrow. If it was any higher pitch I would have thought an abused

dog was in the room.

My pyjama shirt was violently ripped open and the rough hands pinched my nose shut. I then experienced my first

kiss, only I don't believe most peoples first kiss involves getting your mouth blown into and then getting their ribs

almost broken.

The lost pair of boots returned, a squeaky quintuplet of wheels joined him. “Finally, hurry start her up!” I knew this

was going to be fun when I heard a high pitch squeak comparable to the sound of a disposable cameras flash

charging up.

“Three, two, one...” Two cold metal clothing iron-like things were placed on my chest. “Clear!” My body jolted with

electricity every mussel clenched and every nerve ending throughout tingled with a searing pain.

The metal plates were removed and the fingers were back on my wrist, “Again!” “Oh shit please no not again” I

heard the flash charge up again. “Oh shit again...” I thought to myself. “Three....Two...One...” The cold metal plates

were back on my chest”

“Clear!” It felt as if My blood was boiling and all my mussels wanted to compress them selves as small as

possible, like every limb was locked at once. The plates were removed and again my wrist was squeezed.

“One last time! I hope this works.” I didn't know why my mother was bawling so much she wasn't the one

experiencing shock torture. Plates back on, not so cold this time at least. “” “Fuck fuck fuck

fuck fuck.” “Clear!”

Oh Great I soiled myself this time. Fingers on the wrist...

I heard the static of a radio then“Code blue code blue”. I wondered if that meant “The kid shat himself.” probably.

Then my mother asked the question for me weakly. “What's code blue mean?” The man replied with a voice trying

to hard to be comforting. “I'm sorry mam... It means... he's passed on.”

That couldn't be true if I felt the torture that ass hole put me through I was just ... stuck so to speak right? Maybe I

was dead I guess. Maybe this is what happens when you die. But brain activity stops when you die right? My

nerve endings should be shot right? I wouldn't have felt those shocks if I were dead.

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