Free Detour from Normal by Ken Dickson

bed onto a waiting gurney, which was soon bumping down an outside ramp to an ambulance. As the ambulance pulled away, my excitement grew over the possibility of finally sleeping. The paramedic questioned me along the way, taking copious notes on his indestructible Panasonic industrial laptop. Suddenly I yawned and moments later yawned again. Fear overtook me as I remembered how the strange seizure had started earlier.
    I warned the paramedic that something was about to happen. I don't know if he heard me—things progressed much faster than I'danticipated. This time the shapeless darkness coalesced into a monstrous form, which reached into me and snatched my life in a suffocating grasp. My puppet strings went slack, and my limbs fell lifeless once more. Soulless eyes watched me as countless seconds ticked away, increasing the future potential of my suffering with each tick. When he was confident that my pain would be unbearable, the monster released his grasp. Life rushed back into me, and the pain was magnitudes worse: a thousand bees stung me from my torso to my extremities. I gasped in despair as I awaited relief, flexing my arms, legs, feet, and hands to speed the process, but the pain was unrelenting.
    We arrived at Pinecrest and the paramedics rolled my gurney through the main entrance, helped me from the gurney, and then shockingly left me standing alone while they filled out paperwork at the receptionist's desk. With my muscles still partially numb and still in terrible pain, I could barely stand. While swaying and staggering as I tried not to fall, I continued to flex my extremities to ease the pain.
    Beth had followed the ambulance, and by the time she arrived at the reception area, the paramedics were on their way out the door. My pain had finally subsided, but I was left with the memory of two seizures—the second much worse than the first. I knew it was only a matter of time before another started, and I dreaded how painful and debilitating that one was going to be. I suddenly felt in fear for my life.
    "I have to get something to help me sleep right away," I yelled to Beth. An ominous feeling overtook me, and I knew danger was imminent. Beth was escorted to a side room where she answered questions and filled out forms with a social worker. "Can we skip the paperwork? Can someone help me?" I pleaded furiously. It seemed that no one was sympathetic to my desperate plight.
    I didn't know it then, but at Pinecrest I was no longer an emergency room patient; I was simply one more mentally ill person to whom no one paid much attention. I didn't realize it, but Pinecrest was a psychiatric care facility. There they witnessed people like me acting out like clockwork. I was a television rerun that everyone had seen a hundred times.
    I was outraged at how long it was taking to fill out the forms. In short order, time for me had once again run out—the warning signs had multiplied until there was no doubt of my impending doom. My life was going to change in moments if I didn't think fast.
    "Beth, I need help right now!" I insisted. The monster was coming for me, but memories of the paralysis and pain were still fresh in my mind, and I wasn't going without a fight. A plan formed in my mind as his heavy footsteps approached. He was less of a specter and more real with each visit, and this time, I could almost feel his hot breath as he lunged for me. The plan went into effect: I ducked and dodged; I avoided his grasp any and every way I could. I never rested, never sat or stood still for fear of becoming his easy prey. I never thought about or repeated the same action long enough for him to decipher the pattern. I paced and I chatted with people in the lobby, never quite able to finish a conversation before I had to change tactics or "change up" as I called it. One by one, I scared them all away with my erratic behavior. I grimaced and strained my muscles in the corner of the room, trying to beat the monster by sheer brute