Free Of Royal Descent by Ember Shane

my way across the street and into the restaurant. 
    A short line had already formed before me, some patrons waiting to pay and some waiting to order carryout. 
    I glanced up to the backlit menu board that hung behind the counter.  The menu was exceptionally ordinary and it didn't take long to scan over it.  Despite my hunch that the food would be less than a five-star rating, my stomach growled loudly, eager for the chance to finally digest something. 
    A minute went by , and the first in line, having paid his bill, exited the restaurant.  The line of customers collectively took one step forward. 
    In the past, I've never been one to get bent out of shape while waiting in line.  Not that I like waiting, it's just that I've always been able to ride it out without making an ass out of myself the way some guys do.  I'm sure we've all seen it.  There you are in the grocery checkout, minding your own business, waiting to buy your frozen pizza and ice cream, when the guy behind you starts in with the exaggerated sighs.  The sighs escalate to annoyed observations that there are two lanes open and eighteen lanes closed.  The observations turn into angry suggestions on how to optimize cashier performance that are sprinkled with the color of profane language.  Usually around this time, other customers start to nervously shift their weight, hesitating to make eye contact.  And there you are, holding your thawing pizza and melting ice cream, and considering the possible outcomes for telling the guy behind you to shut his cakehole. 
    Yes, usually I do well waiting in lines.  Usually.
    Maybe it was the fact that I had eaten so little that day and my stomach was overriding my normal behavior patterns ….  Maybe it was the fluorescent lighting that seemed to slightly pulsate, sending waves of confusion washing over my neurotransmitters and making my synapses not synapse properly….  Maybe it was an acute condition of claustrophobia making an appearance amid the close confines of the customers and the counter…. 
    I don't know the exact reason for why the following events played out as they did.  I just know that while another customer exited the restaurant , and everyone took another step forward, I began to experience... agitation. 
    My sense of smell sharpened, triggering my salivary glands, as I closed my eyes and breathed in the heady aroma of freshly seared meat.  I opened my eyes, and we all shuffled forward another step. 
    The lights overhead were pulsating in rhythm to the pounding in my head.  I glanced around at the other patrons who all seemed to be blind to the seizure-inducing light show.  Where they flashing when I first came in?   I hadn't noticed. 
    I closed my eyes again and tried to regulate my breathing, which had become slightly erratic at some point.  I had no idea what was happening to me, but I began to feel woozy.
    "Sir, are you ready to order?"
    I opened my eyes to find myself at the front of the line.  I took the last step forward and splayed my palms against the cool, smooth laminate of the countertop to balance myself.
    "Yes, I want two half-pound burgers plain and a large Coke.  Can I get the burgers rare?"
    The young girl stared somewhat wild-eyed at me.
    "I... uh...," she stammered .  "We're not allowed to do that."
    I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose in an attempt to compress the mound of anger that was rising up in my throat.
    "State law requires we cook the meat thoroughly.  It's a disease prevention thing."
    I opened my eyes and did a quick nod of my head.
    " Fine.  Just give them to me to plain," I snapped, feeling the fury intensify and swell at an alarming rate.
    "Sir?"   The girl was staring at me, color draining from her face.  “Sir, are you okay?" 
    I felt my knees buckle as my body gravitated quickly toward the floor.  My eyes involuntarily closed.  I was waiting for my head to smack the ground when I lost