George was lying curled up on the floor, shaking hard. Strange visions and feelings flooded his mind. The pain, the voices, they were too intense and powerful.
George let out a loud, anguished scream as his body arched up violently. He felt like he was being ripped apart from the inside out. His bones and muscles contorted unnaturally, straining against his skin. There was a burning sensation through his veins like scorching fire.
After what seemed like an eternity of agony, George's body finally went limp and he lost consciousness, slumped on the floor.
When he finally came to consciousness the next morning, he woke up with a splitting headache, worse than any hangover he'd ever experienced. His whole body ached and he felt sick to his stomach.
Groaning, George slowly pulled himself up off the floor, using the wall for support. He staggered through the darkened house toward the bathroom, bumping into furniture along the way. He needed medicine, and fast, before the pain became completely unbearable. He knew he said he wouldn't depend on any substance to feel better but at that moment, fuck it! As long as all the things happening to him just stopped.
Flicking on the bathroom light made his head throb even more from the brightness.George rifled through the medicine cabinet, dumping out all the bottles. But there was nothing stronger than some expired ibuprofen from years ago. That wouldn't even begin to touch this mind-numbing pain he was in. He would have to go out and get something much more potent.
Moving as quickly as his battered body would allow, George grabbed his sweater and headed for the front door. He squinted against the gray morning light filtering in, simultaneously too bright yet not bright enough after being in total darkness. A light rain was falling, adding to his misery.
The headache made it difficult to think clearly, but George knew he needed to get to a pharmacy, fast. He started walking in the direction he remembered the closest drug store being, hoping it was open this early on a Sunday morning.
Each step sent a new shockwave of pain through George's skull. He was hunched over, one hand clutching his throbbing head, as he shuffled down the cracked sidewalk. His haggard appearance and bizarre movements caused more than one passing person to give him a double take, their exacts thought were of a drug addict out of cash to keep up with his life style. How ironic? He was heading right down that path!
After what felt like hours but was likely only a mile or so away, George finally saw the pharmacy's sign through his squinted eyes. He picked up his pace as much as his body would allow, desperation fueling him now that relief was in sight.
The automatic doors opened with a cheerful electronic chime as George half-stumbled, half-ran inside. He must have looked like a madman. His brown unkempt hair was sticking out in all directions, his bloodshot eyes wild and frantic. He moved erratically, staggering between the aisles and startling the few other customers.
"Can I help you, sir?" the young pharmacist asked with concern from behind the counter.
Rather than answering verbally, George simply slammed his hands down on the counter, causing the pharmacist to flinch back in surprise. He started grabbing every medicine bottle his hands could grab from the display behind the counter - sleep aids, anti-depressants, opioid painkillers, antipsychotics, anything and everything.
"Sir! Sir, you can't just take those!" the pharmacist protested, hurrying around the side of the counter.
But George wasn't listening. With an armload of pill bottles collected, some already spilling out onto the tiled floor, he retreated back a few steps from the approaching pharmacist. The young man stopped a few feet away, not wanting to provoke the clearly unstable and potentially dangerous customer further.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, and return those medications immediately," the pharmacist said, trying to remain calm and non-confrontational. He pulled out his phone with one hand, keeping it low but obviously dialing for assistance.
That jolted George back just enough for him to finally choke out a frantic response. "No...you don't understand...the pain..." He clutched at his skull with one hand, accentuating his agony.
"I'll pay, I swear," George continued, already fumbling one-handed to open the bottles amid more pills spilling over the tile. "I just need...all of them..."
Other customers were already scrambling to get away from the crazed scene unfolding in the pharmacy . One older man tried to grab the pill bottles out of George's arms as he shambled by, but George shoved him back with surprising force, growling through gritted teeth.
"Stay back! I need these..." With shaking hands, George managed to get one bottle of extra-strength painkillers open and raised it to his lips.
But before he could swallow down any of the meds, George felt several pairs of strong arms grabbing him from behind. The pharmacist must have called security, as a trio of beefy guards in uniform were trying to wrestle the bottles away. George thrashed and howled in their grasp.
"No! Let me go! I need them, you idiots!" Pills scattered across the floor as George twisted and writhed, fighting with the desperation of a man battling for his very soul.
One of the guards managed to get George in a headlock from behind. For a security person, it was likely a standard subduing maneuver. But for George in his fragile state, with his body already feeling like it was about to shatter from the inside out, it was devastating. There was a sickening crack and a white-hot flare of pure anguish.
George's vision went blurry, tunneling down to a single pinprick of light. His cries of pain and protest dissolved into a wordless animalistic howl. Then everything went mercifully black again as he lost consciousness from the overwhelming torment, slumping bonelessly to the linoleum in the guards' arms.
*******
*Author's note*
Say no to drugs!