Like a dull whisper in the dark of night his feelings were barely audible. An oppressive inner dread that cascaded his senses ever so slightly moment by moment.

Dream or reality? His memory now was a spinning existence of truncated conversations, fragmented visuals followed by sharp pin pricks all over his body.

From the outside he appeared calm, self assured and competent to those around him. But just under this shallow facade, veiled thinly by 500 mg of Thioridazine twice daily, stirred a turbulent storm of soulful confusion.

He starred at the bologna sandwich, smiled at a co-worker walking by and said softly to himself.

“I am not allowing it next time.”

He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed slowly, wiped mayo off the corner of his mouth and plunged his free hand into his coat pocket to retrieve a pill. He popped it in his mouth and took a swig of cherry coke and swallowed.

He finished lunch and walked back to his desk, passing the “Employee of the Month” plaque which proudly displayed his picture.