Sweettooth 248

Sweettooth 248

Samuel Bird

The following is a vivid dream I had. I tried to be true to how I had the dream, without dulling it down. 

Was the world always this orange, or was it all in his head? So very vibrant. The late afternoon fall and just enough cloud cover to make sure the diffused rays could only come parallel to the earth made the light around him warm. A welcoming visual for his first day in this new town. Sugarcane, Texas, where dreams came to die, and maybe himself. Perhaps this time, a careful barrage of medications, social isolation, and deceit could allow him to live with the normalcy that he longed for. His awareness of his fractured mind’s relationship was the curse’s own curse. To be so separate from the world as to psyche without association to it, but then to know that this was what he was doomed to do. He felt shame for how he acted, even if it was based on facts that were synthetically proper to him. How many people who weren’t there ruined relationships with people who were? Whatever was, was passed. Sugarcane would be a chance to live out a lie that could counter the lie he perceived. And what horrors did he perceive? This thought led to another with an imperative action. He reached into his leather coat’s pocket to produce an orange vial with a white plastic lid. Pressing in and twisting, he looked in to see his concerns confirmed. One last pill. Sugarcane was small, but not too small to not have a pharmacy. What time was it? It was evening, and the pharmacy would likely be closed. He couldn’t take the whole pill, as he would need some for the morning to go to the pharmacy and acquire the next. He pulled out a folding knife from his other pocket and pressed the blade between the line that went down the middle of the pill as he pushed into the pill bottle lid on his lap. He slipped to the side, almost cutting his leg, before trying again. Finally, the pill split down the middle. He pinched one side of the split pill and placed it into the bottle, closed it, and put it back in his coat pocket. On the other side, he picked it up and put it into his mouth. He then built up enough saliva and then swallowed the pill with no water. This was a skill he developed at the institution. The institution, not something he wanted to think about. Dr. Barry, what would he think of Dennis now? He certainly would have something to say about splitting the pills. Did Dr. Barry think of him? What a lighthearted name for such a serious man. Dr. Barry seemed to be his god while at the institution. His psyche lay prostrate before the whims and decrees of a short and balding man. He was a malevolent God. Always oppressing in his power. No matter, Dr. Berry was not in sugarcane, and Dennis wouldn’t take his memory. The bus passed a home with an old man and woman out front. They sat there rocking back and forth with a rhythm and ease that frustrated Dennis. They could slip into the world to enjoy it with no concern for being at their own mercy. No, not jealousy but arrogance was called for. How could people like that say that Dennis was not well? In what sense did their delusions hold true? He only lost out because they could better agree upon their delusions. It was then his uniqueness and bravery that set him up as a freak opposed. What if he lied about his imaginary friend, the things he saw alone, and the voice? Perhaps everyone had a voice, but they normalized what it was like to listen to it. Why should Dennis trust them? If he saw a shadow man and the doctor, why should he trust that the doctor existed and the shadow man did not? He could only be convinced he was wrong if he thought he was right to trust the doctor, and if he was right to trust the doctor, perhaps he was right in the first place. Where in the world did everyone else stand to tell him he was wrong? Did Dennis feel shame or regret for not being there? Perhaps, but in this moment, he primarily felt anger that everyone else’s perception was privileged as without flaw, and his own was tossed aside insofar as it did not coincide. The pill. It was still stuck in his throat. Another skill he used could retrieve it. In the back of the bus, he was alone. He hooked his finger down his throat and began to gag as quietly as he could to assure the rumbling engine was louder than him. The contents of his last meal projected onto the floor before him, and to the side of that wet white pile. It was beautiful. The symbol of his rebellion lies festering. It was his world to see and needed no frames or permission to see it as others. He would see vibrantly. He felt a warm embracing feeling instead of the dulling, the sort a child feels as it is held. He closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around his knees, and rocked back and forth as he smiled. There it was, music. Where it came from, if anyone could hear it, it didn’t matter. It took him away. “Boom.” A sound thundered, throwing open his eyelid to look out the window. A large factory to the side of the town had a large cloud above it that was settling back to the ground. He ran to the front of the bus. “Do you see that?” He asked the driver, hoping for confirmation in the shared reality he had just rebelled from. “The factory?” “Yes.” “If you are going to live here, you have to get used to Sweettooth.” “Are they loud?” “Often, yeah.” Just then, the driver slowed down as he pulled off the road and into the parking lot of an old gas station. “Here’s your stop, kid.” The bus driver said as he pressed the button that opened the door with a puff of air. “I can get your bags...” “I don’t have any.” “All the better.” Dennis stepped out onto the gravel as he looked up toward the cloud above the factory that was now blowing closer to him. A truck pulled in with a trailer full of cows. Four men with ten-gallon hats and dirty cowboy boots stepped out. They wore bright colored button up shirts. “Hello, I’m Dennis.” He said with no etiquette. “Well, Hawdy Dennis, I’m Colt and these are the boys.” “You’re cowboys?” Dennis asked. “That’s what they pay us for.” Colt said as he turned toward Dennis rather than walking into the convenience store. “I see.” Dennis said as he stuck out his hand. He had never seen a cowboy before and wanted to make sure he was seeing one now. Colt smiled a weather-worn smile as he shook it. His rough and calloused hands reassured Dennis from at least one more sense that Colt was real. “You’re funny. Tell ya what, we are going to get a candy bar and a soda to celebrate taking this batch to auction. I’ll get you one as well.” Dennis nodded as Colt turned. They all walked to the door as they saw a sign. “If you're one of em, get the hell out of here!” It said in large markered words. “That’s weird, maybe Maureen is on the stuff.” Colt said as he slowly started opening the door to the convenience store. Dennis saw him pull a revolver from his waist before stepping in to see an old lady pointing a gun at the other corner of the small shop. “Good hell, Maureen, what are you pointing at?” Colt shouted. “Dammit, Colt, you one too?” “One what?” She stuttered as she nodded to the corner. Colt stepped in to look as Dennis followed close behind. In the corner of the shop was a display that read: “Sweettooth Cinnapuffs.” Kneeling next to it was a man in a white doctor’s coat with wrappers scattered all around him. “Sir!” Colt said as the man didn’t turn around and instead tore open a new bag cinnapuffs. “It’s no good, this is what they do.” “Do what?” Colt asked as he kept his gun pointed at the man. “They... well, they just do the same thing over and over. I told him he had to pay, and he bit me!” Maureen said as she held up her wrist to show a mark. The man pulled out the last package of cinnapuffs from the display, tore it open like an animal, and pulled out fistfuls of the snack, stuffing them into his mouth. He did it with a speed and veracity that scared Dennis. The last fistful came back empty. He tilted the bag up to get the last of the crumbs. He then began to shake and turned around with a look of agony and desperation in his eyes. “Sir, how’s about you just calm down and we’ll get the sheriff down here to look at ya?” “More!” The man screamed before lunging up at Colt, who jumped back before placing two bullets in the man’s chest before he got to him. He wrapped his hands around Colt’s neck and squeezed. “More!” He said as every vein on his face and neck bulged. Dennis felt something from behind as the other boys pushed him to the side and pushed the man in the white coat to the side. He fell to the ground, but not before his head struck a freezer full of goodies, bashing his head open. The man lay motionless. “What the hell was tha,t Maureen?” “I don’t know, it’s all the sweettooth guys. They’re evil. I got another one locked in the bathroom.” “Call the sheriff.” Colt said. “You notice the lights are out? I heard a big boom, must have been a squirrel again.” Colt muttered to himself as he stepped toward the bathroom that Maureen had stacked boxes in front of. He kicked them to the side and slowly opened the door. Dennis followed behind him to see the door open to a shorter man in another white coat facing the corner. His hands were held to his chest as he moved slowly from one side to another. “Sir, you alright?” Colt asked. A small drop sounded throughout the bathroom in the silence. “Sire?” Another drop before Dennis looked down to see blood on the man’s shoe. Colt stepped in and grabbed his shoulder, and turned him around. The man’s hands were bleeding from his fingertips as he fiddled with his wrist. Beneath the blood, Dennis could make out a watch. He was turning the watch over and over again as his fingers were wearing down to stumps. Colt jumped back at the sight. “Sorry to bug you, sir. Enjoy your stay.” Colt said with a smile before closing the door. “Put everything you can in front of that door.” Colt told the boys as they jumped into action. “Maureen...” “I don’t know Colt. Something is wrong. These boys came in here like that and wouldn’t stop. They were like wild men.” Colt looked around in complete confusion. “Anyone else come by?” “No, sir, I am not sure if there are more of them or not.” “Right, well, we need to figure something out. Can you handle yourself, Maureen?” Colt asked as she held up her pistol and smiled a wry smile. Colt looked around. “What could have caused that? Do you think they put drugs in those snacks he was eating?” “No sir, I’ve had them for months.” She said. “I can’t believe he ate this entire stand.” “Half.” “What?” “Half the stand. The other side was for this new candy they have coming down the pipeline.” “Well, if their current snacks are that to-die-for, you’ll sell out in no time.” Colt said as he turned to walk out, gesturing to all the other boys. “What do we do now?” One of the boys asked. “Well, we don’t know what’s going on, and I need to check on my lady.” They all hopped into the truck as Dennis followed them before stopping. “Well, get in, kid. Make yourself less useless.” Colt said as he started up the truck, and Dennis climbed in. Colt rowed through the gears down the road. Dennis looked up to see the cloud from the factory spreading as they drove into it. Colt slowed the truck down before slamming on the brakes in a parking lot to a feed store, before everyone jumped out. They all began to walk toward the feed store as Colt looked determined. They walked toward it, and toward it, and finall,y Colt and all the boys started walking past it. “What? What am I doing?” Colt said as he looked confused and angry. “What do you mean?” Dennis asked. “I wanted to go into that store.” “We can go.” Dennis said. “No, I mean I can’t seem to stop walking.” Dennis followed next to him for a minute. “Oh, I see.” Colt said. “Everyone, stop walking.” Dennis stopped, and they all kept going. “Alright, kid, run up.” Dennis ran up to Colt. “Kid, you gotta go into that stor and ask for a lilly, make sure she is okay.” “Okay, where are you going?” “Well kid, I think I have some bad news for me. Grab my gun from my hip and get over to that feed store.” “Wha...” “I’m not getting prettier with old age!’ Colt said as Dennis nodded, grabbed his gun, and stopped. “Take care of her!” Colt said as he and the rest of the boys walked off into the woods. Dennis looked at where they had been before turning to the feed shop and running. Walking to the store, he saw a closed sign, but pulled the door it opened. Walking into the store, he saw piles of boxes littering the aisles. In the walkway were two young women who were folding and placing clothes on the shelves. “Hello?” Dennis called out. Neither of them responded as they continued to fold the clothes and place them on the shelves. “Does one of you know Colt?” Still, neither of them responded. Just then, one of the girls finished folding and placing her pile of clothes. She became irate as she grunted and screamed, just as she pulled off all the clothes on the shelf, scattered them around, and began to fold them and place them on the shelf again. “Hello...” He said one last time, and with a little more hesitance. A violent sound to his rear made him jump in the silent suspense as he turned to see a young lady. She was wearing an oversized black jacket, a medical face mask, and had long brown hair spilling out. She tried to slam the door closed as the hydraulic boom fought her. Once closed, she placed her back to it as her blue eyes darted around the store. She breathed heavily for a few moments as she looked around. “You, are you normal? Everyone, something is... Wrong!” Dennis didn’t know how to respond, but he knew the lie she would appreciate most. “Yes, I am normal.” He said as one of the workers pulled all the clothes off the shelf and messed them up again before starting to fold them once again. “But, they aren’t.” “What is going on?” “I don’t know.” Dennis said. “Let’s go out and look around...” “No!” She interrupted. “He is out there, a man. He has been chasing me.” “Does he know you are in here?” “No, at least I don’t think so. I need you to call for help. Dennis walked to the telephone hanging on the wall, pulled it to his ear, and heard the anticipated silence. “Dead.” She through her head back in frustration. She then sneezed. “Sorry, I’m getting over a cold.” She stepped closer to him, still trying to understand if he was safe. Once closer, she looked down at the workers. “Them too, huh?” “Yes, I came to help one of them, but it looks like she was already like this.” “We should try to help...” The masked woman said before stepping forward to grab the worker’s shoulder. “No!” Dennis yelled before grabbing her arm. “They get violent when you stop them.” The woman stepped back and nodded as she caught her thoughts. “Great. Wonderful in fact. What do we do now?” Dennis looked around the shop to find bags of grain, veterinarian medication, and farm tools. He stepped toward the register to see food in a glass display. He reached in to grab two hamburgers. “Hear,” he said, turning to the woman. “I’d pay but you know.” She grabbed it and placed the wrapped sandwich in her jacket pocket. Thanks, but I am not hungry right now.” He nodded as he looked around. Water. He grabbed it. A veterinarian bag. He grabbed it, emptied the contents, and placed it in the water. He then went down the aisle, grabbing food and placing it into the canvas bag. “Not sure what we are doing next, but this seems smart.” He then looks behind the register to see a line of rifles. “Ah, that might not hurt.” Walking toward them, he looked down to see a few pistols in a glass case. “A little lighter,” he said as he grabbed a shoulder and sent it into the display. After shards flew across the front of the store, he reached in and grabbed a six-shot revolver. He looked the gun up and down. “Forty-four.” He then walked behind the counter to look at boxes of ammo. He then followed the calibers from smallest to largest until he found it. He grabbed all four red boxes and put them in the canvas bag. He then pulled six rounds out, opened the cylinder on the revolver, and loaded them in. “Do you know how to use that thing?” She asked. “Nope.” He said as he slammed the cylinder shut, as he had seen it in a film. “No, we need some sort of plan.” “Well, I am not going outside.” Dennis nodded as he looked around. Nothing seemed to be of help, so he tried looking up. He saw a cable going up the ceiling. He walked toward it and pulled it. A set of stairs came down with some effort. He then grabbed the bag, gun, and gestured for her to come. They both stepped out onto the roof to see the sun just start to touch the horizon. He sat down on an air conditioning unit as he looked out at the sunset to remark how little time had passed from when he first stepped off the bus. He took a deep breath as she sat down next to him. He began to be deeply entranced by the green-hilled expanse as her question called him back to himself. “What is your name?” “Me?” She nodded with some confusion at his response. “I’m Dennis.” He said with some strange feeling to be called back to be himself after all that had changed. “You?” “Lilly.” She said with some hesitation. He nodded as he looked forward. “What is going on?” “I still don’t know. He said as they watched a car speed by in what seemed like over a hundred miles per hour, before it went out of sight. Then, Lilly jumped as a screaming crash of smashed glass was heard from where the car was headed. “But, it seems to be affecting multiple people.” “It is affecting everyone but me, and now you. Why do you think that is?” Dennis looked to the Sweettooth factory to see that the cloud was no longer there. However, he also noticed the air around him seemed a little dusty. “Why are you wearing that mask?” He asked forward enough to make her uncomfortable. “I was feeling sick this morning. Why?” “I think that is why you are unaffected.” “What about you?” He leaned back and felt his pill bottle in his jacket pocket. The world was just a little too vibrant for him. He pulled it out, saw the half pill, and washed it down with some of the water from the bag. He took a minute to breathe and look at the sunset before the dullness set in. “Why are you different?” She asked. A familiar pain came to him when he heard that sentence. “I mean, why did you break into the store?” He thought that was a strange question as he had opened the door. “I’m not like other people.” “No one person is like everyone else.” “Yes, but...” He leaned forward as his brow knitted in frustration. “Everyone else is close enough alike to be called a person.” “What do you mean?” He smiled a wry smile. “You know, it sure is strange to be the only one who is normal.” She nodded as she looked into his turned-away eyes. “It’s okay to be different.” “No!” He said. No, same is good. The same makes people get along. The same makes people know what to expect from you. Sane makes people understand you.” She nodded as she tried to identify if she had misheard his last sentence. “This world isn’t worth fitting into.” She said with some rebellion. “Yes, but I’m not made to fit into any world where there are people.” “Well, it has served you well today.” She said as she leaned back on her hands. “What’s your story, Dennis?” He looked back up the treeline. “I came here to Sugarcane for a fresh start.” “Here? Wrong move. I am trying to get out of here. This place is terrible.” “It isn’t how good or bad a place is, it’s about the memories you have to a place.” “You had bad memories somewhere else?” “Only.” He said as a flash of memories came across his mental periphery. They sat in silence for a moment. “Well, Dennis, I hope you can make a few good memories here.” He nodded as he looked at her. Her eyes were the deepest blue he had seen on a person. Just then, he realized her presence was warm, and she seemed all too familiar. “Give me your hand.” He said as she laughed and pulled her hand up for him to grab, as she grabbed back. He squeezed it for a moment with his eyes closed. He noticed it felt soft and small, before starting to let go only to not feel her do the same. He opened his eyes to see her looking right at him. The golden rays danced across her iris as they glistened with some message at you. “Sorry, I was just checking if you...” “Well, whatever you wanted to know, perhaps the answer was yes.” He tried not to smile as big as he did. They lowered their hands to the air conditioning unit they sat on, as they were still clasped. He thought of the last time he felt touched. The Doctor was restraining him, running into people in his episodes, but this was different. This was, well, a woman. He thought back to the closest he had felt in a co-ed psyche ward as a child when one girl jumped and gave him a hug before the nurse could pull her off him. How could he be thinking about other things when something so wonderful was happening? “You’re real.” “Real what?” She laughed. “Prett’ty.” He said with a stutter that stole away any pretended charisma. She laughed as she grabbed his arm with her other hand. “I’m glad I found you.” He breathed in a breath as a new man, a man who was the most delicious of things, wanted. He nodded as he noticed how far the sun had slipped in the time he was glad his hand didn’t slip from hers. “Well, we'd better go downstairs.” She squeezed his hand with some fear. “Alright, but you better be ready to help me.” “What is going on?” “Well, with how strange everyone is around here, one of the police officers may have taken a liking to me. That, or perhaps something I did, has caught up to me.” He laughed as they sat there. They sat and talked for what seemed like hours as the sun fell back to the West and the stars met them. “Well, night cover will help us.” He said, trying to sound like he knew what he was saying. They stood up and walked down the stairs. He threw a few more things in his canvas bag before looking at a can of beets. Beets, he ate those at the institution. It was his favorite for some reason. His head cocked to the left slowly as the world around him spun the other direction. How peculiar. They seemed to have a life of their own. Inside, the beets, and what was on their mind? “Dennis, let’s go.” She said, pulling his coat. “Yes.” He said trying to save himself from seeming so strange. They walked toward the front as they saw that one of the windows was smashed out. He tried to open the door, but it was locked and needed a key to be opened from the inside. He thought that was strange but decided not to dwell on it. He stepped through the broken glass as Lilly stepped out behind him. He stepped a few steps into the dark before hearing a rush and the thud of Lilly’s body. He turned as fast as he could to see a man in a police officer’s uniform holding her down and trying to grab her wrists. “Stop.” Dennis screamed to no avail. He ran forward to push the man, but he weighed a lot more than he did, and pushed him back before tearing at her arms more. “Stop!” He screamed as he sat back in the dirt. He shot up, and pulled the six-shooter up from his side, and pointed it at the officer as he rolled on the ground with Lilly. Finally, in the last roll, he ended up on top. Dennis pulled up the gun to point at the man as he grimaced his face and pulled the trigger. The revolver was flipped up and hit him on his temple as he closed his eyes in wincing pain. He opened his eyes to see a blurry scene. The man was slumped over dead on Lilly. “Lilly!” He screamed in concern for the first person to make him feel as he did for her. “Lilly!” He yelled as he pulled the dead policeman off her to see her beautiful face. He tried not to be caught up in it, as it was such a terrible moment, but her face was beautiful, even if it had a look of horror. Her blue eyes, that dark hair, that smile. Smile? He looked to see that the mask had been torn from her face in the episode. “Lilly?” He said as he stepped backward and felt disgust. She shot up and ran at him, screaming words too loud for him to hear. She grabbed his arms and began to shake him as she leaned to bite him before her body jolted, and she fell back. One stumble, and then a collapse. He looked down to see the muzzle of the revolver once again flipped up. “Lilly!” He yelled as he dropped the gun and ran to her side. He looked over her quivering body to see the round go straight into her chest. She twitched for a few more moments before going cold. “No!” He yelled as he grabbed her head and placed his forehead to hers. Tears poured from his face to hers at the loss of the first thing she ever had. What horrors. All he wanted was to feel normal, and now... He got just that. He was normal. Now, it was just everyone else, and now, finally, her. He looked around her to feel a sense of disgust again. It didn’t fit. She was too pure, too good to be here. To be bled out on the ground of a feed store in the town, she needed to escape. Life offered him one good thing, to take it just as fast as he could care for it. Here she is, or was, and now not. Dennis stood up and looked around. Something was terribly wrong, and he didn’t understand it. What he did know was that it did not affect him. For the first time in his life, he was the sane one, and now he could care for others as he was cared for. Or rather, he would care for others better. He turned to see Colt’s truck. He thought for a moment, but didn’t know how to drive with a trailer or a manual transmission. Next to it was a small grey sedan. He ran to it and smashed the window. Pulling up the lock, he opened it and got in just in time to sit on the broken glass. He looked around and found a key in the cupholder. He put it into the ignition, and sure enough, it started. He put the car in drive and floored it as the peddles from the gravel kicked up behind him. Where was he going? To the only other variable that seemed off. He passed the last outskirts of town before turning into the drive for the factory. He saw a booth with a board sticking out over the road. Flooring it again and ducking, the car snapped the board. He drove right up on the sidewalk, slammed it into gear, and threw open the door. He jumped out before remembering the revolver. He grabbed it, and then jumped out again to run into the large front doors. With just a few lights on in the hallway, he saw framed newspapers of large occasions for the company, awards, and photographs of the employees. He ran past offices and desks before running toward the only part of the building he saw completely lit up. Throwing open the last glass door he saw large vats all around him. He stopped to listen and look around but all he heard was his own pounding heart and gasping breath. Finally, once it slowed, he heard the sound of a drop. He pulled out his revolver and walked around the vats until he saw a man in a long white coat like the men from the convenience store. He was standing in front of the chalkboard, but this chalkboard was not green, but red. Just then he heard the dripping again to see a small puddle at the man’s feet. Dennis slowly moved to the side of the man with his gun pointed up. As he came to the side, he saw the man’s hands were worn down from the first or second knuckle as the bones scraped across the chalkboard. “Hello?” Dennis asked. “And what is it for you?” Dennis was confused. “What do you mean?” “your vice?” “Vice?” “What were you doing when it got to you?” “What got to me?” “Well, it’s called Sweettooth 248, but you would know it as that yellow dust that must have got to you.” The man said as he didn’t slow down grinding his bones against the chalkboard. Dennis looked down to see yellow dust on the laboratory floor. He looked up to see a portion of the roof was blown off. “That’s the problem with formulating something under pressure and in large batches. One bad weld, and poof.” The man said. “What was in there?” Dennis asked. “Sweettooth 248, like I said.” “And what was it?” “What was it? It was the pinnacle of consumption. It is the end result of how we live.” The man seemed to feel Dennis’s confusion. “Why do you eat?” The man asked. “To stay alive.” Dennis answered. “No, your body wants to stay alive. Why do you eat?” Dennis didn’t answer. “Because it tastes good. Why do we sleep?” “Because it feels good?” “Yes! Because we are tired. Not because of what is best for us, but because of how it feels. We don’t know the objectivity of what is right for us, we only know the subjectivity of what feels good to us. Our bodies give us a series of qualitative experiences based on how well we can achieve the needs of the body. For example, we live for offspring so you can bet sex is pleasent.” Dennis looked at the man in confusion for how he was so calm. “When we lived in mother nature’s world, this was fine. We would eat as much as we could catch, sleep as many hours as didn’t keep us from catching, and have as many offspring as we could support to do the same. Are you with me?” Dennis nodded knowing the man seemed to know his response. “Stimuli and response. It kept us alive, balanced, and satiated. Can you think of any problem with this?” “No.” Dennis said. “We then grew the power to think. We learned how to get what we wanted. However, it was not the wantings of the objectivity, but the subjectivity. Not what was good for us, but what felt good. Contraceptives made sex without offspring, entertainment heroism without fighting, and drugs reward without effort. From our experience, what felt good was what we lived by, and specific ideologies didn’t help this. Many even defined what was good by what felt good. Sure, after the fact they added all these qualifiers, but once we make pleasure the goal, it takes over. Do you know what we do hear?” “You make snack food?” Dennis responded. “No, our distributors make snack food. Here, we make pleasure. Nirvana in a bag or an orgasm in a can. We formulate the compounds that hijack your senses to the extent you can’t say no. The body as an object is crushed under its obesity because it keeps telling the subject that it feels good to eat, and how we make it feel good. Existence no longer became the goal, but these pleasures that were supposed to help us exist. Tertiary values traded for our core will. You know, I had dreams. Chemistry was supposed to be the means for me to save the world, but one year after another, this was comfortable, and I stayed to help this corporation turn people’s taste buds against themselves. I guess I am the pinnacle of doing what is easiest. However, this time we flew too close to the sun. No, at least then Icarus was trying to be close to heaven. Maybe it was hellfire that melted my wings’ wax. One last compound that was undefeatable. Sure, it ruined the world to harvest it and would be terrible for people, but one little dot of it in a month's supply of food, and you could never resist what we offered.” Dennis turned back to look around the laboratory. “You know, I told them we needed to do a smaller batch if it was just for testing, but they wanted enough stock for if it made it past trials. Of course, it would slide past a politician's desk when lubricated with dollar bills. So, again, I ask, what is your vice?” “What?” “Did you not hear my monologue? What were you doing when 248 got to you?” “I can’t remember.” “Doesn’t matter; it clearly didn’t affect you. You must be different. Let’s see, what is a diagnosis that stems from someone already having a flooding of dopamine?” The man asked with some sarcasm. “Whatever it is, it would make you an unreliable hero, even with that sidearm.” “I am schizophrenic and I have a gun.” Dennis said, hoping to answer his question, as well as update him and warn him. “Ah, there it is. You don’t have a vice. Unlike my comrades. Good old Rob and Rich, they got a full blast of 248 to their lungs. Rob was turning his watch to correct the time, damn thing always runs slow. Rich, well, he was enjoying some of our own supply. He knows what we put in those stupid puffs. What an idiot.” “And you?” Dennis asked. “Can’t you see, I was writing on this chalkboard?” “How can you still talk to me? No one else could?” "Intelligence alone doesn’t make you master of your passions, but makes you more aware of the evil they do. Unlike everyone else you met that brought you here, I know what I am doing and can speak differently, but I can’t do anything differently. As horrible as it may seem to you, I feel sympathy for you. The rush. All at once, the greatest pleasure I have ever felt seemed to fry any memories of joy in its brightness. I felt that when I wrote, and as long as I write, I feel it. I tried to stop writing when my finger first bled, but the lack of joy was so painful I couldn’t bear to be without it. I now feel no happiness, but will feel all the lows of that great high to stop. This is where I need your help?” “Me?” “Who else?” The man said rudely. “You need to shoot me. My brain is wired only for this and can never again be a normal person.” “I have never been normal and didn’t mind it.” “Nice sympathies, but my brain is ruined for joy forever. No event will feel this good. I will die of blood loss as my bones are worn down to the point a major artery is ground down. Please, shoot me.” “And then what?” “Well, the backup lights are on, and to convince the town to like us, we supply their electricity, so you will have to travel outside of town to tell someone. Possibly the same way you got here.” Dennis was impressed by how well the man had inferred the situation at hand. He thought for a moment before answering. “Anything else before I do it?” “Right in the brain.” The man said, still not having turned from his work to see Dennis. He pulled up his revolver, pointed it at the man, and pulled the trigger. Right as he did, the man turned to Dennis and still had a surprised look in his eye before the bullet slammed through the soft tissue and tumbled deep in his skull. The man collapsed with that look on his face. Dennis stood there for a minute as the gun felt heavy in his hand. Finally, it slipped from his fingers and hit the ground of the laboratory ground. He stood there with his mouth open, leaning forward and backward. Finally, he collapsed to his knees and placed his hands over his face. He sobbed at everything that had happened. The damaged prospects of a new life, that loss of Lilly, and now this. Did he have what it took to do what needed to be done? Could he do it with no nearby pharmacy to get more of his medication? Everything felt so raw, so vibrant. He felt so scared, lost, and confused that he needed assurance. He needed to know the man was real. He reached out his hand to the man’s bloody hand to grab it. How strange. For some reason, the man’s hand almost felt, sort of... dry.