A Hallucination

En route to the Jewel Osco Pharmacy,  which I frequented for refills on my cocktail of psychotropic medications, I collided with an Indian. Not an ordinary Indian, but a Blue Indian: His face was painted indigo, he wore a bright blue three-piece suit, plaid with a plume-like pattern, and wispy robin's egg blue feathers sprouted from his head where hair should have been.

"Sorry," I muttered, scuttling toward the pharamacy window. “What a whimsical, if somewhat premature and un-PC, Halloween costume”, I thought to myself. (After all, there was only one week til Halloween). As I approached the pharmacy window, scanning the store I saw yet more people milling about dressed in blue indigenous garb. Even the pharmacist wore a pseudo-Native American costume I handed her my scripts, she handed me my bag of meds, (Seroquel, Abilify, Lamotrigine, Prozac, Provigial and Klonopin) and I continued on my way.

But a gaping fissure in my reality emerged: As I walked down the cereal aisle Sugar Smacks in hand, a people in street clothes passing before me started morphing into Blue Indian before my eyes. Some carried axes. The aisle closed in around me and I lost my peripheral vision.

At that point, I thought it safest to leave the store. Walking briskly down the aisle, carefully avoiding the Blue Indians and trying not to look too alarmed, I headed home, popped a few antipsychotics, and went directly to bed. The blackness enveloped me as the cacaphony of voices in my head drew me into a dead sleep.