Screaming Faces Michael Futrell
It has been years since my last episode; the medicine worked wonders. I no longer hear voices or see things that aren't there. But now, ever since I was let go from my job as a butcher, my medicine is no longer covered under my health insurance. Now, I am forced to ration my meds to the point where, from time to time, I will have small episodes, such as hearing whispers and seeing figures out of the corner of my eye. I know these figures are not real, but they seem so real, so very real. Every day, the episodes grow worse. Due to rationing my pills, the whispering has now turned into shouting. I fear I will soon begin to see things. This morning, as I took my daily walk through the woods near my house, I heard my name being called, "Frank, Frank." I looked around, startled. The voice was one I could not recognize—one I had never heard before. As I looked around, I spotted a stray dog. I glanced at the dog, and it began to talk to me, calling my name. "Frank, you can finally hear me! I notice you on your walks all the time, and you pet me and rub me as you walk by. I was wondering, could I live with you?" Ignore the dog; just ignore it. I knew it was not real; yes, I knew it was physically there. I saw the dog every morning on my walks, and I indeed rubbed it and played with it, but there was no way it could actually talk. Still, the dog followed me throughout my walk, as he usually did. This time, he was talking instead of barking. It was eerie and unnatural. It annoyed me, because I knew it was not real. There was no way it could possibly be, but, as I continued to walk, the dog continued to talk. "Frank, why are you ignoring me, Frank? I know you can hear me this time; I can see it in your eyes, Frank. It's cold out here, Frank. Can I stay with you, please?" Even on my way back home, the dog still talked. It started to irritate me to no end. I knew the talking was a hallucination, even though I saw his lips move with each passing word. I finally snapped as I neared my house. I began to yell at the dog, reminding him he was not really talking to me, that he was some regular old mutt, and that I was just hearing things because I do not have my meds. His feeble attempts gave me a good chuckle, though. I don't know what I expected out of yelling at the dog. I guess I was hoping that, if the dog knew that I knew it was a hallucination, then it would stop. Or maybe I was trying to keep myself from believing that the dog was talking. Nonetheless, the dog responded, "Oh Frank, you can be so cruel. I walk with you every morning. I 27
