Committed (part 1)
Committed - Pt. 1
If it hadn’t been for the rooster sitting at the foot of his bed, cockadoodledooing at a quarter to five, he probably would have never woken up.
“This is bullshit. Get the hell offa my bed!”
He stood, scratched his ass a few times, and shooed the oversized fowl from existence, only leaving a few imaginary feathers behind for souvenirs.
Victor rubbed his eyes and waited until five after six for his morning meds and his breakfast; a boiled egg, one piece of plain toast, and some lukewarm milk.
After spending a morning talking to Jimi Hendrix about life on Mars, Victor settled down in the corner of his padded cell, sucking the traces of toast from his molars. It had been nearly eight months since Victor’s wife and adult children made the decision to have him committed to Newberry Sanitarium. The decision had been made one night as the children went to the home of Victor and his wife, Sheila, for dinner. Victor was of course, missing in action.
He had barricaded himself in the home’s basement, mapping out plots to overthrow the government and forcing whites, especially Jews, into slavery. Victor had constant recordings of Elijah Muhammed playing over and over again, as he typed uncontrollably, producing incoherent ideas of his revenge on white supremacy. After the third week of this lunacy, Sheila had called a family meeting with her children and their spouses. Sheila cried over her baked macaroni & cheese. She knew what had to be done.
None of them had been to visit Victor since his arrival. The heavy doses of neuroleptics Victor had been taking had somehow made him forget about everything from his past, including his family, friends, and his job as a Black History teacher. Victor usually spent most of his time talking to himself, sleeping, or crying over his fear of “Walter”.
“Who is Walter?” you may ask. Walter was an orderly of Newberry Sanitarium who dealt with… let’s just say the defiant patients. Sometimes Victor would scream at and push the nurses around when they came to his room. Walter would always come in and make sure Victor would comply with the hospital’s rules. “I’ll knock some sense into your crazy ass,” Walter would comment each time having visited Victor’s room. It probably wouldn’t have been such a dreadful experience for Victor if Walter hadn’t been Caucasian. Victor never really cared for whites. This was a known fact by everyone who ever met Victor. By Walter overpowering Victor and being white as well, Victor loathed the ground Walter tread upon. “One day, I’mma jack that big, white, smelly skunk up,” Victor would whisper to himself, crying, awaiting the effects of his medication to kick in. Each day, Victor would add to the plan of the previous day, concocting a scheme to murder Walter, and escape from Newberry Sanitarium, to finish and carry out his plan to take over the country and enslave “Caucasoids” once and for all.
TO BE CONTINUED
“This is bullshit. Get the hell offa my bed!”
He stood, scratched his ass a few times, and shooed the oversized fowl from existence, only leaving a few imaginary feathers behind for souvenirs.
Victor rubbed his eyes and waited until five after six for his morning meds and his breakfast; a boiled egg, one piece of plain toast, and some lukewarm milk.
After spending a morning talking to Jimi Hendrix about life on Mars, Victor settled down in the corner of his padded cell, sucking the traces of toast from his molars. It had been nearly eight months since Victor’s wife and adult children made the decision to have him committed to Newberry Sanitarium. The decision had been made one night as the children went to the home of Victor and his wife, Sheila, for dinner. Victor was of course, missing in action.
He had barricaded himself in the home’s basement, mapping out plots to overthrow the government and forcing whites, especially Jews, into slavery. Victor had constant recordings of Elijah Muhammed playing over and over again, as he typed uncontrollably, producing incoherent ideas of his revenge on white supremacy. After the third week of this lunacy, Sheila had called a family meeting with her children and their spouses. Sheila cried over her baked macaroni & cheese. She knew what had to be done.
None of them had been to visit Victor since his arrival. The heavy doses of neuroleptics Victor had been taking had somehow made him forget about everything from his past, including his family, friends, and his job as a Black History teacher. Victor usually spent most of his time talking to himself, sleeping, or crying over his fear of “Walter”.
“Who is Walter?” you may ask. Walter was an orderly of Newberry Sanitarium who dealt with… let’s just say the defiant patients. Sometimes Victor would scream at and push the nurses around when they came to his room. Walter would always come in and make sure Victor would comply with the hospital’s rules. “I’ll knock some sense into your crazy ass,” Walter would comment each time having visited Victor’s room. It probably wouldn’t have been such a dreadful experience for Victor if Walter hadn’t been Caucasian. Victor never really cared for whites. This was a known fact by everyone who ever met Victor. By Walter overpowering Victor and being white as well, Victor loathed the ground Walter tread upon. “One day, I’mma jack that big, white, smelly skunk up,” Victor would whisper to himself, crying, awaiting the effects of his medication to kick in. Each day, Victor would add to the plan of the previous day, concocting a scheme to murder Walter, and escape from Newberry Sanitarium, to finish and carry out his plan to take over the country and enslave “Caucasoids” once and for all.
TO BE CONTINUED
posted by Anonymous at 8/16/2005 11:21:00 PM
1 comments
