At first, the hallucinations were entertaining. I looked up at the wall of my hospital room and saw children’s handwriting scrolling down the flat surfaces, like a screensaver. It was never print. Always handwriting, and always the slightly uneven scrawl of children. When I shut my eyes, another colorful spectacle presented itself: big cheap polyester blankets, red and yellow, slowly descending, shedding bits of fluff. Even the grimy grout between the tiles in the bathroom had suddenly become full of entertaining messages: “SLUG BAZAAR,” “JESUS PEEPS,” “WHISKEY TRY IT.”
A Lost Sheep
A Lost Sheep
A Lost Sheep
At first, the hallucinations were entertaining. I looked up at the wall of my hospital room and saw children’s handwriting scrolling down the flat surfaces, like a screensaver. It was never print. Always handwriting, and always the slightly uneven scrawl of children. When I shut my eyes, another colorful spectacle presented itself: big cheap polyester blankets, red and yellow, slowly descending, shedding bits of fluff. Even the grimy grout between the tiles in the bathroom had suddenly become full of entertaining messages: “SLUG BAZAAR,” “JESUS PEEPS,” “WHISKEY TRY IT.”