Shriek Elegance

Lydia is seen draped on her cot, staring at the ceiling. Wickitt sits at the foot of Lydia’s cot.

LYDIA. It’s just a thought. I mean, what would it be like?

WICKITT. Well considering I haven’t a clue what it’s like, I couldn’t tell you.

LYDIA. You’re not much help, you know.

WICKITT. I’m not the one trying to kill myself, I don’t need to help. Besides, if you go, what happens to me?

LYDIA. What do you mean what happens to you? You’re androgynous, you can make new friends easily. Besides, you can go through walls and read minds and turn into a cat and… stuff.

WICKITT. That’s only because I’m not real. And I can only read your mind, you know.

LYDIA. You could be real. You’re here and I’m talking to you, aren’t I?

WICKITT. You’ve also been institutionalized for the past five months.

LYDIA. No thanks to you.

WICKITT. Well sorry Miss I-Can’t-Stop-Telling-The-Guys-In-White-Coats-That-

Wicked-Wickitt-Keeps-Stealing-My-Breakfast-Pills.

LYDIA. I really wish you’d stop doing that. They’re supposed to make you go away so I can get better.

WICKITT. It’d be easier to stop taking them if they weren’t so darn delicious. Sedatives? Muscle relaxants? I don’t think you quite understand the joy a hallucination feels when it when it takes medication to prevent hallucinations. It’s like… fighting a Mexican jumping bean in my tummy.

LYDIA. How is fighting a Mexican jumping bean in any way pleasurable?

WICKITT. I don’t have to explain myself to you. You’re crazy.

LYDIA. That’s beside the point.

WICKITT. Why are we talking about me, anyway?

LYDIA. What else is there to talk about?

WICKITT. There’s the problem at hand.

LYDIA. I don’t really consider my suicide a real problem.

WICKITT. Well it’s a problem for me! I don’t feel like going poof any time soon.

LYDIA. Do human-ish feline hallucinations really go ‘poof’ when they die?

WICKITT. It kind of depends. Harold’s hallucination kind of oozed out of existence upon his untimely demise. Then there was Phelan, Gretchen’s merman… thing. He shlopped.

LYDIA. What’s shlopping?

WICKITT. It’s kind of like… slopping, only chunkier.

LYDIA. That’s disgusting.

WICKITT. You asked.

LYDIA. What about an overdose?

WICKITT. I wasn’t aware overdoses made any sounds.

LYDIA. No, no, no. What if I overdose?

WICKITT. How in all nine hells will you do that? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they regulate your medication here.

LYDIA. I’ll pretend to take my daily doses, but instead I’ll hide them somewhere and take them all at once as soon as I have a huge stash. I think it could work.

WICKITT. You’ve overlooked the small fact that they stand there and watch you swallow them.

LYDIA. Yes, yes I see your point. Well what can you think of if you’re so smart?

WICKITT. You should do something extravagant like… bite off your tongue and bleed to death.

LYDIA. That sounds not only painful but extremely messy.

WICKITT. You asked.

LYDIA. I seem to do that a lot with you, don’t I?

WICKITT. I suppose it’s too much to ask that you have any hidden sharp objects that we can use?

LYDIA. That would just be irresponsible of this place now wouldn’t it?

WICKITT. No harm in asking!

LYDIA. No, you’re right; unfortunately, it’s quite the opposite.

WICKITT. Maybe you could try to escape, like when prisoners try to escape in the movies. They might have some guards on the ready with their guns. Maybe they’d shoot you down on your way out.

LYDIA. We’re in a hospital, not a prison.

WICKITT. There’s a difference?

LYDIA. Good point.

WICKITT. I honestly don’t see why you want to kill yourself. It isn’t so bad here.

LYDIA. Says you. You’re not the one stuck in this little white box all the time. I get to see outside once a week if they’ve decided that I can handle the stimulation of seeing a squirrel. It isn’t easy being paranoid, you know.

WICKITT. Really? You freak out when you see squirrels?

LYDIA. It’s those eyes. Those little, beady eyes. I swear they’re peering into my soul, judging me.

WICKITT. And you wonder why I’m a cat sometimes…

LYDIA. At any rate, I can’t stand this place anymore and I want out. Since you don’t seem to be going anywhere, it doesn’t look like I’ll be walking out of here with their consent any time soon, so it looks like death is my last option.

WICKITT. I never knew what an extreme person you were until now.

LYDIA. I get that a lot.

WICKITT. It’s almost that time again.

LYDIA. What time?

WICKITT. You know, that time. That time with the needles.

LYDIA. That’s it!

WICKITT. What’s it? I know you’re crazy, but usually I can still understand what you’re getting at.

LYDIA. The needles! That’s how I can do it. If I can distract him, you can take his needle away from him.

WICKITT. Why would I want to do that? I like being around.

LYDIA. Fine, I guess I’ll get it myself then.

Keys are heard unlocking the door.

WICKITT. Looks like this will be quite the show.

Enter Glen, the institution worker.

GLEN. Alright Lydia, it’s about that time again.

LYDIA. You’re looking particularly dashing today, Glen.

WICKITT. You’re right, he is.

LYDIA. Hush, Wickitt.

GLEN. Still talking to Wickitt, are we?

LYDIA. Y-yes, she’s quite the bother.

WICKITT. Hey!

GLEN. Just a quick injection and you’re finished.

LYDIA. I see you’ve brought the whole kit with you today.

GLEN. I have a couple of others to visit before I leave for the night. I figured it’d be easier to carry it all with me rather than go back to the fridge.

LYDIA. Good thinking, Glen.

WICKITT. I must concur.

GLEN. And that finishes that. Have a good night, Lydia. Try not to let Wickitt get to you.

WICKITT. How rude.

LYDIA. Thanks, Glen, I won’t. Say hi to Steph.

GLEN. Will do.

Exit Glen.

WICKITT. I don’t understand what just happened. You didn’t do anything.

LYDIA. Didn’t I?

WICKITT. When did you get your mitts on that needle?!

LYDIA. Practice.

WICKITT. You were a hooligan before you came here, weren’t you?

LYDIA. I might have been.

WICKITT. Don’t do anything silly now. Don’t we have fun together?

LYDIA. You give me headaches sometimes.

WICKITT. My apologies. I have that effect on people sometimes.

LYDIA. But I’m the only one who can see you.

WICKITT. Touché. I was just trying to make you feel less victimized.

LYDIA. It didn’t work.

WICKITT. Points for trying at least?

LYDIA. Well, I suppose. I’d feel mighty awful if we departed on a sour note.

WICKITT. Hey now, I’m not ready to go anywhere. You just put that needle down you silly girl. There isn’t even anything in it! You’re batty.

LYDIA. Goodbye Wickitt.

WICKITT. Now you just hold on one minute, little miss! I am not ready to leave yet! Just put the needle down. Wouldn’t it be funnier if we stabbed a squirrel with it? Wouldn’t you like that? I promise we can do it next time we go outside. It’ll be fun, we can make a game of it. I mean, I’ve never been one for games because I often lose, but it would be a great ego boost for you! Imagine winning over and over; I just wouldn’t know what to do with myself. Oh Lydia, don’t look at me like that, let’s go to sleep, a good night’s rest will clear your head right up, I pro—

Lydia and Wickitt die.

There was light. Nothing harsh, just a calm, encompassing red glow that engulfed St. Mary’s Hospital’s prized charity product with comfort. A pleasant ring resonated throughout the smooth plastic, skirting across its surface, taking a leap of faith and dissipating into the thick air. The moment was pure ecstasy for the day-by-day pill dispenser, followed by a less enjoyable moment of being tossed carelessly into a large plastic bag to fall upon the heap of other, equally as disappointed objects.

“That comes to $42.76, please,” the mirthless cashier mumbled. The lazy droop of her face dispelled any illusion of ambition. Collecting the money from her silent customer, Patty, as labeled by the nametag pinned to the breast pocket of her dull beige polo shirt required by all employees, haphazardly lifted the plastic bag and passed it into the hands of her respectfully patient client. The pill dispenser was exhilarated at the sudden movement.

The tall, slender woman carefully placed the plastic bag in the passenger seat of her modest vehicle. Witnessing such a creature slide into the driver’s seat would have sent the poor pill dispenser into fits of Shakespearean medical jargon (seeing as how it has never quite been properly educated in the ways of Shakespearean poetry). Unfortunately, the opaque plastic bag, as well as the butt end of an outrageously large bottle of pomegranate and mango body wash obstructed the view of the small pill dispenser.

The small car weaved through the streets with flawless determination like a sea otter at play. The sun’s rays shone relentlessly upon the landscape, occasionally flirting with the edges of large, fluffy clouds and small, thin and wispy ones alike. In fact, the sun’s taste was so diversified it even took to butterflying with the small flower petals gliding through the air. The trees danced gleefully as the wind wrapped itself around them in an intimate waltz and it seemed the small jingle of laughter was always present just on the outskirts of audibility. If asked, the pearly white pill dispenser would have described it simply as a beautiful day.

The motion stopped and the dull rumble of the engine ceased. Gingerly grabbing the bag, the Amazonian woman climbed out of her seat. The breeze encouraged her already unruly black curls to be even more disobedient, which they promptly agreed to as they swung down in front of her face and obstructed her dark chestnut eyes from doing what they did best, much to their dismay. Brushing her slender hand across her olive forehead, she pushed the curls back to their original position: wrapped behind her ear. The curls would have to think of a new plan of attack if they were going to win the war against the chestnut sentinels.

The pill dispenser felt as though it was rising forever when its human handler rose from the low-sitting vehicle. Just when it was beginning to enjoy the rhythmic sway of the bag, it was jolted to an uncomfortable stop accompanied by the also uncomfortable sound of two pieces of metal gritting together. After a few more jolts of movement, the rhythmic sway began again, lasting for about the same duration of time as the previous session and ending, once again, with a jolt. The pill dispenser was hoping that this would not become a regular occurrence as it wasn’t much one for the unpleasant jolting.

The light returned.

“Shiabahn?”

“Yes?”

“Oh, it is you. I thought it might be that weird gardener again.”

“There was a weird gardener in our kitchen? Honestly, Hammond, I go to the grocery store for an hour and you’re letting weird gardeners in our house…” The ever-present laughing that was once just out of reach had come to fruition as the two embraced, chuckling at each other. If it could, the pill dispenser would have smiled and perhaps even chuckled along, but being made of plastic and lacking any muscles and tendons to help with said chuckles, it just wasn’t going to happen.

“Mommy! Mommy, Claire poked me in the eye.”

“I did not! She ran into my finger!”

“Nu uh! It’s bad to lie, Claire.”

“You are so annoying.”

“Claire, stop that,” Shiabahn knelt down and examined the large hazel eye. It appeared that the damage was minimal and they wouldn’t have to amputate. Nodding in agreement with herself, Shiabahn cooed, “my little Evie, your eye is fine. It was just an accident.” Eve scrunched up her nose and put on her toughest face, looking at her big sister.

“I think you can forgive me,” Eve said smugly.

“No honey, you can forgive Claire,” Hammond corrected.

“That’s what I said!” Eve reassured confidently, though her flushing cheeks betrayed her sureness.

“I’m sorry you ran into my finger, Eve,” Claire apologized with a grin. Eve’s small face lit up and the corners of her mouth stretched back to her ears. Hugging her sister quickly, Eve scampered outside to the backyard to finish her tea party with Sir Prince Charming, better well known to her family as her favorite stuffed pig dressed up in a conductor’s uniform.

Having gotten used to the new light that had befallen it, the pill dispenser took in the entire exchange. It did not know much about family, but from what it had learned during its early days of creation at the hospital, this was it. The pill dispenser tried to grin but settled with letting Eve’s grin speak on its behalf.

Shiabahn and Hammond emptied the contents of the shopping bag onto the counter of the kitchen island. Just as the pill dispenser was freed and permitted to explore the texture of this new surface, its old foe promptly returned its butt end to its original position- the ‘Wednesday’ lid. The pill dispenser thought and thought, finally coming to the conclusion that the bottle’s only redeeming feature was that, had the pill dispenser a nose, it would have found its odor delicious. It was a true rivalry in the making.

Just as the pill dispenser was formulating an elaborate rebuttal to the offensive butting-ins of the body wash, its thoughts were rattled. Shiabahn had picked it up and begun carrying it through the air. She placed it on the counter next to the kitchen sink and glided away. It looked (as well as a day-by-day pill dispenser can look) upon its new surroundings. It was a beautifully decorated home, the light oak cabinetry contrasting with the dark, lustrous granite countertops and tied together with a soft bamboo floor. But nothing had been quite as beautiful as the window above the sink. This window had quickly become the pill dispenser’s favorite pastime; it was a window into a new world. Looking out, it could see the perfectly groomed grass, surrounded by small rock beds on either side intertwining with dark mulched patches. All around were large, exotic plants exploring the very depths of the color green to create an immaculate mosaic of shades. Splashes of color broke up the green wall as flowers grew on branches and snaked across the ground. The pill dispenser felt like it was in paradise; it could look upon this scene forever.

Snapping it out of its daze, Hammond shuffled over to the sink, setting down various orange bottles near the pill dispenser. Twisting the white lids off, Hammond discarded them to the side and placed the bottles back on the counter, now shooting his fingers toward the pill dispenser. In an orchestra of pride and stiffness, the pill dispenser’s daily caps snapped open with some help from Hammond’s thumb. It let the air rush into its containers, sighing silently and motionlessly to itself at the feeling. Then the sound of dissolving capsules clashing with plastic filled the air. Hammond poured the appropriate doses of the medication he had opened into the pill dispenser, taking care not to double dose by accident. When he had finished his task, he snapped the lids shut once again and put the orange bottles back into their cupboard of origin. It was during this mundane task that the pill dispenser had made an important discovery. The discovery that the names of the patients on all of the bottles were in fact only one: Eve McIntire. The pill dispenser was no expert, but it was sure that the amount of pills it contained was simply too much for one normal little girl. Feeling a twinge of concern, it decided to push the foreboding thoughts out of its mind and to enjoy its new life in this paradise.

Days in the McIntire household passed quickly for the pill dispenser. Every day, Eve would swallow its contents and at the end of the week, Hammond would fill it back up. It was the end of September when the dispenser noticed something different in the air. It was a strange sensation, joviality mixed with an underlying dread. It could tell that Shiabahn and Hammond were choosing to favor the joviality rather than the dread. It made perfect sense when Claire was seen hanging up balloons and streamers one cool morning and the dispenser had come to the conclusion that it was someone’s birthday. Unfortunately, it understood the dread in the air, perhaps more than anyone else in the house. Recently, Hammond had been increasing the number of capsules in each of the daily slots of the pill dispenser and every time he did, it could see the disappointment in his eyes. The dispenser was left only to assume that Eve’s condition, whatever it may have been, was not improving.

Like Shiabahn and Hammond, the dispenser chose to push his sad feelings aside and focus on the party taking place. It still didn’t know who the birthday girl was (it had come to the conclusion that it was neither Shiabahn nor Hammond as the decorations were fit for no less than a young princess in a land of unicorns), but was soon educated the minute it saw Eve run by wearing a small pink party hat displaying the phrase, “It’s my day!” If it could, the pill dispenser would have smiled a smile that could rival Eve’s, but since it could not, it settled for peering out the kitchen window at the myriad of colors in complete satisfaction.

Two days after the party was the first day that Eve didn’t run up to the pill dispenser. It was disquieted by the motionless household and hoped that any one of the family would saunter sleepily into the kitchen after having accidentally slept in, but no such thing happened. Only late at night did it see a sign of life stir within the house as Shiabahn crept through the front door followed by Hammond, who was holding an already sleeping Claire in his arms.

On the third day, there was the usual commotion in the kitchen but it wasn’t the same, the pill dispenser noticed. Shiabahn wasn’t dressed and ready for her day, Hammond wasn’t wearing his usual suit and tie, and Claire wasn’t in a rush to get to school. It couldn’t help but wonder where Eve had gone.

On the seventh day, the dispenser had received a confirmation to its assumptions. The house was deafeningly silent until mid-afternoon when the front door opened. It had been peering outside the kitchen window all morning and knew that it had been pouring rain. The soggy figures coming through the door were solid evidence of the dispenser’s observations. Countless figures passed through the doorway almost as if they were a single dark amoeba slipping through a tight fit. Shiabahn walked slowly into the kitchen and began setting up various platters and plates for her guests. After some time, the guests had begun to relax and disperse around the main floor of the house. The pill dispenser looked out its favorite window, hoping the familiar scenery would bring him serenity.

The rain fell harder. Beaten down, the plants in the backyard were weighed down and forced into a drooping position. Some of the greenery had faded due to the sudden cold snap; leaves shriveled and paled in color, some even died. The dispenser couldn’t help but feel that the paradise it knew was gone and wouldn’t come back. As if in one last protest, the snap top for Wednesday on the dispenser popped open. Shiabahn heard the distinct sound and walked over to the sink. Peering down at the small white plastic, she ran her fingers over the days, applying pressure to the cap when she reached Wednesday. She took a deep breath and lifted her head, peering out the window. She looked in sadness at her poor plants, unable to think of them as beautiful. She looked back down to her hand which was quavering on the smooth plastic of the dispenser, never having taken it away. Unable to control herself, she let a couple of tears fall from her dark eyes. It was the perfect opportunity for her curls to have their revenge, but sensing the sadness and respecting the situation, they remained at bay behind her ear.

The window had caught her attention again. Her hand shot up as a bright light shone in her eyes. Adjusting herself to the light, she lowered her hand slowly and leaned forward over the sink, taking in what she could. The sun had fought its way through the dark clouds. The clash in the sky caused the rain to ease, going from a downpour to a gentle fall. Each raindrop caught a glint of the sun and shimmered as it fell into Shiabahn’s perfectly groomed backyard. The plants had ceased their drooping, reaching back up to the sky as the battle against the torrential rain was over.

Shiabahn looked once more at the warm plastic pill dispenser. She closed her grip around it more tightly and picked it up from the counter. The pill dispenser cherished the movement as much as it did the very first time. With one last look, Shiabahn dropped it into another bag, much like the one she brought it home in except there were firm walls around the bag. Staring at Shiabahn, the dispenser nestled in to its new surroundings, relishing the fact that there was no pomegranate and mango body wash bottle crushing its Wednesday. Her dark curls fell from behind her ear, saying their final farewell along with her dark sentinels. She let the flat object in her hand fall and walked away.

There was darkness.