New story!

Good Lord, I haven't updated in forever! To remedy that, here's a tidbit from my newest story. I think it establishes the main character's personality pretty well in just a few paragraphs. It will grow more and more supernatural.

The note read:

George-

Don’t forget to take your pills. I’ll be back late tonight.
-Teresa

Next to it was a small paper cup containing his medication. George frowned, crumpled up the little piece of paper, and tossed it into the garbage. He hated taking his pills, and she knew it, which was why there was always some variation on this note left neatly next to a cup of pills waiting for him every morning. Just once, he thought, I would like her to trust that I’ll do it without leaving some inane note. He immediately felt regretful for thinking something so uncharitable about the woman he loved, and who loved him so much that she was sticking around like this.

George threw together a breakfast of bacon and fried eggs, his favorite. He ate slowly, savoring his last few moments of clarity before he’d have to give into duty and take the goddamn pills. On those days when Teresa was at home, he often used the excuse that he hadn’t eaten yet, and thus could not take the pills least they reacted adversely to his empty stomach. Her usual response was to throw a protein bar at him. Despite her irritation, or maybe because of it, her reaction always made him laugh. Just thinking about it know brought a small smile to George’s face, though it slipped away before long.

The last bite came far too soon. Best to do it like a Band-Aid, George thought. He picked up the cup, tossed back the pills, and chased them with shot of orange juice. His duty to God and country complete, George went to the living room and sat on the couch to await the blurry onset of existence as he now knew it. The pills prevented him from doing anything worthwhile; they robbed him of his ambitions, desires, and motivations. He couldn’t work, couldn’t read, couldn’t write, and could barely have a conversation with someone. All day George sat in the same spot, hardly noticing the passing time, only feeling the oppressive weight of medicated chemicals coursing relentlessly through his veins. But if he didn’t take the pills, he started to see things he didn’t want to see. He’d rather sit blankly on a couch for days than see those things.

George turned on the TV as he always did, but it was more for Teresa’s benefit when she came home rather than an actual desire to watch something. It disturbed her to find him sitting alone in a room staring out into nothing, so he pretended to be interested in the news or pro wrestling or this week’s made-for-TV movie.

A few hours later, he realized that he was paying attention to the TV. At first, the recognition of that awareness was so shocking that it took him a few minutes to even register his shock. He shouldn’t be feeling anything right now. In fact, he should be a virtual vegetable, completely unaware of his surroundings. But when he thought back to the past couple of hours of the programs he’d been watching, he remembered all of it. First there’d been some news about a shooting at a local mall, and then there’d been a talk show with political pundits discussing White House affairs. After that, a courtroom drama about a mother suing her son had come on, and the son had won the case on a technicality. The knowledge that he’d been aware this whole time amazed him, but it also made his gut harden into a knot of worry. Did this mean that his medication was no longer effective? Would he start to hallucinate again? Maybe it was a sign that he was getting better, that he’d adapted to the side-effects of the drugs. George wanted nothing more than to believe that, yet somehow he didn’t think that was the case. After two years of taking those meds, nothing had changed in his behavior and the way he reacted to them. It was too much to hope that such a sudden change marked anything but a potential problem.