Kerkhoff 1

Delirium and Pretty Girls

We will soon be rotten, we will all be forgotten, half remembered rumors of the old.

I could already feel the dull pulsing anxiety that precipitated the psychosis. It had been

over 17 hours since my last dose and it was now taking a monumental effort to maintain even a

relative facade of normality. Soon nausea and physical agitation would give way to more

intense psychological hallucinations which manifested themselves in endless variations

depending on the individual. The end result being, naturally, the complete collapse of reality for

the unfortunate invalid. C'est la vie? The line for the auto-pharm moved at such a languid pace

that I was becoming increasingly convinced of some sadistic conspiracy devised with the sole

purpose of maximizing my anguish. But of course that was only my grey matter disguising it’s

petulance as reasonable thought. The brain constantly resorts to childish games in its desperate

search for rationality. 40 million years of evolution made irrelevant within 2 centuries of rapid

modernization. Besides, this collection of poor fellows waiting for their treatment all appeared

to be in a similar condition to myself, albeit in less advanced stages. Far too along in their

process of mental decline for such a consolidated effort at any rate. The aging crone standing in

front of me in the line was muttering what appeared to be a grocery list while aggressively

stroking the arm of her ratty fur coat. Her brief sideways glance revealed a face of fervent

desperation almost completely obscured with thick greasepaint makeup in some grotesque

imitation of a beauty queen. You and me both love. Of course salvation for our wretched state

existed in the form of antipsychotics. A decade after the outlaw of psycho-pharmaceuticals due

to widespread marine toxification, big pharma came to humankind's rescue with the

synthetization of rebozine; a novel compound which temporarily enlarged the mesolimbic

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pathway while simultaneously jackknifing glutamate production in the brain. The only

drawback, or at least the principle drawback, was a vicious withdrawal cycle, the benefits of

which I was currently reaping in spades. Certainly there were other options available. For the

more financially endowed one could receive an injection of nanomites which set up camp

beneath the frontal lobe and continually fried the neurons preventing the neural degenerative

process associated with the condition. The effects grew less potent overtime however, like

some horrible blight, madness always returned to drag you down to the weeds. Sweat was now

gushing off of my body in droves, saturating my frayed clothes and collecting in spongy puddles

in my kicks. I attempted to take my attention off the multiplying anxiety by focusing on the

surroundings. Some luminary had spray painted “consciousness will not tolerate suppression”

on the faux baroque architecture of the extended corridor that housed the pharmacy. Most

likely the handiwork of one of the teleotarian chums, that pesky collective that sought to

disrupt the distribution of rebozine in an effort to realize their goal of a unified populace. Just

as I resigned to collapsing in a heap on the ground, the old crone concluded her transaction and

it was my turn to collect my dose. I shuffled towards the auto-pharm console which was a blue

elongated trapezoid that protruded from the wall beneath the flickering hologram of an overly

gregarious doctor extending his palm with a single pill in it. After a short parlay with the

interactive display that informed me of my overdrawn account, a small hatch slid open

revealing a hermetically sealed package for 30 pills. I ripped open the package and quickly

dropped one of the bronze colored tablets into the back of my throat and swallowed harshly.

Thankfully rebozine exerted its control over the brain swiftly and within a minute I could feel

the psychosis receding into hibernation. Now that I was relieved of my erratic cognitions, more
 Kerkhoff 3

mundane sensations swam forward to take their place. Fatigue, depression, and boredom

materialized out of the fray like malnourished children crying for attention. A trip to the

Hagerston was in order. The cacophony of street noise was comforting after the quiet of the

pharmacy and when paired with the strobing multicolored lights of various shop fronts, the

effect was a beautifully disorienting synesthesia which momentarily distracted the nagging

thoughts. I headed south down the packed avenue stopping on occasion to look at the

holographic advertisements. Eventually I reached my destination and jostled through the crowd

towards the bar while desperately trying to meet eyes with Silas the barmaid. Over the

speakers Kapranos and the boys jangled their guitars to one of their love lorn dance numbers. I

settled in a stool and successfully hailed Silas who upon spotting me, shambled her wiry figure

over and put a small silver case on the bar without making eye contact. I reached into my

pocket and emerged with the ripped rebozine packet, placing it next to the case. She slid the

packet off the bar and into her shirt pocket. I waited until she returned to tending the bar which

signaled the end of our transaction and then clicked open the case to retrieve a pink octagonal

pill. The pill dissolved underneath my tongue and soon after I could feel a wave of euphoria

cascade down my body lighting up my form in an explosion of torrid pleasure. That did the trick.