Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Schizophrenia, Multiple Personality Disorder, these are the words used by twelve years of psychiatrists to reduce John Faust from a person, to a patient. That's also their reasoning for the cocktail of medications he pops into his mouth every morning, today is no different.
A sigh escapes John's lips as he washes down the horrible bland tablets with a glass of water, his thoughts blurring and flitting away into the empty abyss he has grown accustomed to. The buzzing of his brain continued as he made his way out his sparse apartment, down the decrepit stairs, not registering the greetings or noises of his neighbors as he exited the dilapidated building, the early morning air greeting his dour face.
Barely a fleeting thought graces his mindscape until a familiar chime brings him back to reality, the door to The Brown Bean closing behind him as he steps into his workplace. "Hey! Wow, you look like shit, been dreaming again?" the sing song voice of his boss- Stephanie pipes up. John's glazed grey eyes drag their way across the empty coffee shop, settling atop the apron wearing red-head manning the counter. "Always." he uttered, his voice croaky and brusk, as if he had just risen from bed. "Go in the back, wash up a bit, run a brush through that birds nest before any customers start complaining about being served by a zombie." his boss joked, but even through her tone he knew she meant it.
A slight smirk graced his stubbled face as a comb ran through his tangled black hair, "You really do look like shit Jack." he mumbled to himself. You really do need to take better care of yourself. Jack's jaw grew tight as the voice whispers from behind his ear, "The voices are not real. Focus on your own. The voices are not real. Focus on your own." he muttered, repeating the mantra his psychiatrist insists he use, even if he thinks it's ineffective. After a few steadying breaths and a splash of water, Jack returned to the front, as ready as he could be for a day of serving subpar coffee to annoying customers.
You should be paid more to put up with these idiots. A voice hissed, as John stood there, a smile plastered on his face as a stern man in a suit berated him about getting his order wrong. YOU GOT HIS ORDER WRONG?! THIS FUCKING BALD HEADED TWAT WAS TOO BUSY TALKING ON HIS PHONE TO EVEN REMEMBER HIS OWN GODS DAMNED ORDER, YOU SHOULD PUNCH HIS FUCKING LIGHTS OUT. The rictus upon his face faltered, if only briefly, as he thought to himself *I think it's time for an increased dosage, or a new medication, they're getting noticeable again.*, only for his customer service smile to take back over. "Yes sir, I'll get that fixed for you immediately and here's a refund on the house.".
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As his day dragged on a couple sat across from the counter, chatting and laughing, flirting and making eyes. Isn't she beautiful? Those blonde locks, her beautiful smile, her MASSIVE ti- *The voices are not real. Focus on my own.* You deserve that, that smile, that feeling. Take it from him. "The voices are not real. Focus on my own." he began to repeat under his breath, his eyes glanced to the clock, a quarter to three, *Fifteen minutes, then I can get home and take an extra dose.*.
C'mon, you know you love those choc chip muffin, take one... or two... okay, okay.. THREE. The husky voice echoed as he waved goodbye to Stephanie, he allowed himself to take a SINGLE muffin, he took a bite as the familiar chime signaled his departure. As he stepped onto the sidewalk he began to focus on himself, shutting out the world around him and trying to deafen the voices that had become increasingly incessant. He stormed his way home to a chorus of You- should EAT - take. HURT pay. "Please. Please. Please shut up." he whispered, *almost home*, just one more crossing! He hurried, the voices gaining in tempo and pitch, almost shouting for his attention.
SCREEEEEEEEEEEEECH-
His head turned just in time to see the car braking, but not soon enough. His body tensed, his thoughts withdrew, only one thought remained *NO!*. Then he felt the metal impact, the steel crumpling around his body, the asphalt giving way to his feet. He could hear the shouts around him, his eyes opened to see the car smashed and wrecked upon his body, his head was filled with nothing but panic... except.
WE. SLEEP.
Thus darkness descended.