Glitches are Unjustified

“Take them.” The doctor said as he handed me the pills. “I know that these won’t provide you with a ‘sudden alleviation,’ as the majority of my patients expect from these drugs. It takes a long time for an enormous loss to be forgotten. Naturally, you can’t forget it forever. Even your mother wished for your happiness, right?”

“I agree, doctor.” I recalled that she used to ask me this question: “Ana, will you ever forget me if I’m away from you?” And I firmly asserted: “No, never.”

She replied, “No, you must.” We should at least attempt to forget them, even if we are unable to when people must forget us, by being mindful of what they are doing. Like how death divides us.

“Only four pills?” I questioned.

“Because you have to come again tomorrow. It’s olanzapine, and may cause addiction.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

I walked out of his office after that.

There was no light outside that I could see; it was pitch black. Night fell.

I waited for a bus while standing at the bus stop. Nobody was there, and the street was completely deserted. I clearly recall that nobody was there. In the distance, I noticed a ginger cat crossing the street.

I eventually discovered a bus a half-hour later. It was about 11 o’clock at the time. The color of the bus was black. It is as bright as the lights inside the bus. But nobody was present inside. I was by myself there. I then went inside.

I was thinking of my mother, who loved to cook while sitting in the window seat. And I often observed her cooking.

But since she had died. My depression started to set in. I couldn’t concentrate on my life—I became increasingly worried and upset about everything.

The bus abruptly resumed its journey after jolting and screeching. I could see there were black trees outside the bus.

She was beautiful, with blonde hair and hazel eyes. To me, she was everything.

I took another look out the window. Despite the icy wind waves that hit my face, that scene was peaceful.

The trees passed by as the bus was in motion. I see a person standing there. Since they were all dressed in black, it was difficult to tell who they were. When the bus drew close to them. She was my mom. She was my mom! And she was waving at me.

The bus then abruptly came to a stop. I came perilously close to hitting myself with my front seat. As I was sitting in the next-to-last seat.

Without delay, I quickly turned to look outside once more. And nobody was there.

“I think the engine’s dead. It often goes off. I don’t know why this happens all the time.” Said the driver, without even looking at me. “Sorry to say, but you need to go to your home on foot.”

“No—it’s okay.”

I stepped off the bus. And on the way home, I felt insecure. And there were street lights then.

But when I had left the street lights behind. I had fastened my speed. And someone behind me too—fastening their movements.

I slowed down—they too. I stopped. And it was a man.

“Sorry—excuse me.” He said and walked his way.

I inhaled deeply. Took some time. I then turned to face the rear. My mom! Behind the streetlights, she was there, smirking at me. That terrifies me.

I ran as quickly as I could to my home, which was not far from the street where I was.

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The sound of chopping that I heard was hardly audible. It caused me to wake up from sleep. It was nearly 2:20.

The sound was coming from my downstairs kitchen. ‘Have I locked the door?’ I wondered as soon as the notion crossed my mind. But then suddenly, I recollected that I frequently forget to close a window. I opened the door of my room. It creaked open. And then I heard something heavy fall to the ground.

I flinched. And made a slow, steady approach to the kitchen. On the floor, I discovered a broken plate. Its pieces were scattered all over there. And I heard someone scratching something down the table.

And the thing appeared. It was a cat. A cat! The same cat I saw at the bus stop! I gasped deeply. After that, I just sat on the floor and breathed. And observed the cat snooping around my kitchen. The kitchen was pitch-black. My eyes could only adjust there because of the moonlight.

I stood straight again. And when I turned: My mom!

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“I saw her yesterday at night in my kitchen, doctor.” I said. “She was there wearing that black attire. She was staring at me. She wasn’t smiling at all.” I paused. “I believe she’s alive! She is alive! It is a kind of glitch that’s happening to me. She died 3 months ago, but I feel that she’s still with me.”

“I know,” the doctor said. “This often happens. You see, when we think about a certain thing nonstop, we are just fascinated with it. And on occasion, we get much further into it. That is precisely what you are experiencing. That is as a result of your sentiments, feelings, and profound love for your mother.” He paused. “But—What did you do when you saw her last night?”

“I—I…” I hold it for a minute or two and saw the doctor in his eyes. He was different. He was curious. He wanted me to answer. “I don’t know—I don’t remember.”

“Huh—okay.” He said. “It’s fine. I am giving you the medicine of yours. But remember that the medicine won’t work unless you want them to. You need to forget her. You understand me?”

“Hmm.”

I left his office.

The following night, I thought about the doctor. The way he said ‘you understand me?’ was very peculiar. It was not like asking, it was an order. I got out of bed and researched olanzapine medication. And I found; The symptoms of mental health disorders like seeing, hearing, feeling, and anxiety can be controlled with the aid of olanzapine.

I took the laptop with me to the bed to read more about it. I tried to get as much information as I could.

I read more about it while sitting on the bed with my laptop. Gathered as much information as I could. Even when my eyes were sleepy. I kept reading.

And then I fell asleep. My eyes opened at about 2 o’clock again. They were hurting. And I have locked all the doors and windows this time. Yes, all! And there wasn’t a window opened at that time. I was sure. The lights were off in my room and the entire house. Because of my habit. I knew that I have locked all the ways for coming inside, but still—the thing that woke me was the sound from my kitchen again. This time, it was the noise of something hitting constantly. Hitting on the chopping board again. Like someone was chopping vegetables on it. It was a familiar sound to me.

I opened the door of my room. That time it was terrifying—not because of the dark, but…..

I again walked slowly towards the kitchen. But I waited—I waited this time on the stairs. The first thing I did was breathe—breathing. And I then decided to just peek from the stairs. I breathed again—and moved my head a little forward to see my kitchen. I noticed nothing. I noticed nothing—but—she was there holding a knife and slowly hitting the chopping board again and again, while she was looking at me. She knew that I was on the stairs, watching her. She was staring at me without blinking.

I rushed upstairs. She was following me, too. I quicken my speed. She did too.

I sped up the stairs. She was also chasing me. I increased my pace. She also did. She was gripping the knife hard in her hands.

I locked myself in the bathroom. She was very close to catching me there. I kneed down on the floor. And breathed. In, out, in, out. Then—after a minute or two, there was silence. Deadly silence. I switched on the lights.

She started knocking on the door hardly. Louder. Louder.

I made a quick decision and instead of crying there—I opened the drawer and took the pills out of there. She kept knocking. I attempted to take one pill but—but I accidentally dropped the other pills in the sink, too.

I was scared. I was frightened. Her knowing was getting louder. And in a hurry I picked the other three pills but—I discovered one pill was broken or opened, it was undefined. Its drug inside it was quite visible.

I had opened it—it was—filled with the drug completely. I picked the other pill—I opened it; it was too.

They have overdosed. They have overdosed! The capsules had been tampered with and the dose was made much higher than the normal dose.

And as far as I had read—an overdose can cause hallucinations.

The knocking continued, and I discovered that it was the doctor. The doctor! He did this! The entire thing.

I looked in the mirror and saw myself. And I thought for a while—I had thought of the question that remained; why?

And then—the knocking stopped.