A White Pill: A Short Story
I used to wonder why we had to take a white pill every morning. The government forces us to have them. To make sure we are taking the pills, they made it illegal to skip your daily doses. They will charge you $500 for one day, and my mother always thought that was too extreme. I miss my mother. They say she died in a car crash, but I'm not sure if I believe that story. I'm suspicious about it because of how my mother acted before she passed. She used to say she could hear voices and see people, and when my father and I would look, we would see nothing. My father asked his coworkers if they have experienced anything like this, and they suggested to report her to the City Hall just fora checkup. My mother went, and on the way home she got in
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Like, your one minute sad, and one minute you feel like you're on top of the world?”
“Yeah, sometimes, I guess.” I say awkwardly. How does he understand me? He opens his mouth to speak again, but is interrupted by the loud PA speaker’s voice.
“Please excuse the announcement. An emergency assembly is going to begin within fifteen minutes. Can every teacher please lead their next class to the gymnasium please. Thank you.” After the speaker has quieted, the boy said a word that I personally would not like to repeat.
“What, it’s just an assembly?” I ask him.
“No,” he starts, “they're having an assembly because of you. Listen, it’s clear already that you're not normal, and they want to stop you from doing anything that they see as dangerous.”
“I don’t do anything dangerous! I don’t plan to do anything dangerous!”
“They don’t care,” he shushes me, “you are different, and that scares them.”
“Why an assembly though?” I respond in question.
“You’ve been to one of these before. They tell the whole school about how they should report strange behaviors, and all of a sudden your friends are telling the principal about all the little things you do. The little quirks you have that you didn’t even notice will be tied against
Like, your one minute sad, and one minute you feel like you're on top of the world?”
“Yeah, sometimes, I guess.” I say awkwardly. How does he understand me? He opens his mouth to speak again, but is interrupted by the loud PA speaker’s voice.
“Please excuse the announcement. An emergency assembly is going to begin within fifteen minutes. Can every teacher please lead their next class to the gymnasium please. Thank you.” After the speaker has quieted, the boy said a word that I personally would not like to repeat.
“What, it’s just an assembly?” I ask him.
“No,” he starts, “they're having an assembly because of you. Listen, it’s clear already that you're not normal, and they want to stop you from doing anything that they see as dangerous.”
“I don’t do anything dangerous! I don’t plan to do anything dangerous!”
“They don’t care,” he shushes me, “you are different, and that scares them.”
“Why an assembly though?” I respond in question.
“You’ve been to one of these before. They tell the whole school about how they should report strange behaviors, and all of a sudden your friends are telling the principal about all the little things you do. The little quirks you have that you didn’t even notice will be tied against