Dear Ansgar,
My deepest apologies good sir, for how late this letter finds you. Many things have occurred, some of which may help shed light onto your situation in Europe. Sadly, I find this to be a rather faint light of hope however. Yet the probability, however slim, does remain.
My story unfolds as such:
It was several months ago, time has become distorted. Possibly two? Time spent on the fourth floor waxes and wanes. Allow a brief description of the fourth floor. I am not sure if I have mentioned that I reside in a retirement center. The center is five floors in total. The first is a series of recreation and congregation rooms, complete with a chapel. The second and third are small, one bedroom, residents. Some equipped with kitchens, others not, depending on the occupants abilities and financial situations. The fourth is reserved for far gone bygones. Its halls are filled with the tortured screams of those searching for their minds, as well as the ramblings or those who dont mind the mind absent. The fifth, which I have never seen, is for the staff.
I found myself on the fourth floor. This came to be through a very quick series of unfortunate mistakes on my part. Firstly, I opted to skip breakfast. I was not feeling well, I do recall, and the thought of oatmeal made my stomach twist. In a place where bowel movements are rigorously monitored, a meal not eaten is as big an event as King Kong. After several half hearted pleas to reconsider, I was granted a tea and left be, although notes were taken I am sure. Shortly after this, I entered into a heated debate with two other gentleman, one of which resides down the hall from myself, the other returns to another home before dinner. The specifics of our argument flees my memory yet I do recall spilling a glass of water, which the care nurse mistook for being thrown. I was asked, politely at first, to retire to my room. Caught up in the moment, I continued my argument with the day nurse. An orderly was summoned and I was taken to my room. Along the way, my flailing earned me a spot on the fourth floor.
The fourth floor is padded from floor to ceiling. It also has a terrible aroma. It stinks of bleach and vomit mingling together. Every door is locked and guarded. Cameras don every corridor and several rooms. It was a Hitchcock movie.
I met a motley assortment of characters during group therapy. One of which struck me as a possible answer to your conundrum. He carried on. His hair was matted and his nails were caked with blood. He barked more than spoke. His greatest flaw was that he lacked the power of conversation but had finely honed his powers of speech. It may to surprise you to find that a man such as this spat out the most thoughtful and poignant observations on life and philosophy with the regularity of Old Faithful. On one occasion where we were sitting in the common room together, he went on about an evolutionary change in human senses and how we perceive them. He deemed it to be only logical. His reasons for this were beyond my understanding, yet I vividly remember his statement "Our pharmaceutical culture has stunted evolution in all physical areas. All that remains with the ability to expand is the mind and the mind will expand. Evolution is only too natural."
Perhaps you, Dear Ansgar, are a new prototype for the human sense? Perhaps you are the next phase?
Do think on this.
Fondly,
Oscar Railey
No comments:
Post a Comment