"Take one pill every morning until seven days pass, then increase your dosage to two pills every day afterwards."
Droning monotone voice. Staring at her medication requisite forms. You'd think she'd at least bother to look at me. Just another guy with depression, so I guess I don't warrant eye-contact.
"...Thanks. What about the other one?" I asked, while trying to maintain the illusion of control.
This time she looked up. Quick flash of florescent light glimmered off her laminated name-badge. It was smudged, but I thought it said Karen.
"Sir, that's the only medication I have from you. If you want to fill something else...?" The other one in the back by the drive through dispensary was now focused on us. Now that we're off the track, he's watching intently.
"Well, um...I mean...I thought I handed you two scripts?" I wondered if I actually had. Did I forget? Did my psychiatrist only hand me one? Fuck! I hate it when it doesn't go smooth.
"Hold on just a moment, sir." Sounds of fingers on a keyboard. The one in the back walks over closer to see the readout on the monitor for himself. I can see the well-worn pharmacy manager button fastened onto his threadbare off-white frock. He takes a moment to adjust his glasses, and waits for Karen to speak.
"Okay, I'm just showing one prescription filling today, sir. There's a note in your file from your psychiatrist, though. It looks like it was faxed over just after you left. I'll print it out and put it in the bag with your purchase." Pharmacy manager gives a slight nod of approval. I start to realize that the woman I'm dealing with is probably a new hire. I guess she's said all the right things. Probably word for word. I start to wonder if they specifically look for people without a soul, or if they remove it during the training process. Just then I hear the Click-Clack of a stapler, and she hands me the brown paper bag.
"Here you are, sir. Have a great day." Fake smiles all around. It never reaches the eyes. I start to head towards the exit of the small neighborhood medicine chain, bag in tow.
As soon as I reach my beat up, maroon, early 90's Buick, I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. I'm parked just a few feet from the entrance, in a handicapped spot. I reach through the open window and grab my pack of Kool's. The sun is shining through the passenger side, and I can feel it on my face. It feels good.
I light up.
Somewhere inside I'm slightly conscious to all the people coming and going from the pot-hole ridden parking lot, but at the moment my attention is on the bag in my hands. I rip it open, and note the folded information packet that comes with every purchase of anti-depressants. I start to wonder what the chance of suicidal ideation is for this medication.
Just then, another piece of paper falls out of the bag and lands on my lap. It's pretty non-descript, just a pure white strip of receipt paper, the one the lady at the pick-up window told me about. I'm looking at it, and I can't seem to make out what it says. It doesn't have any date or time-stamp on it from the computer, it's just pure white on one side, with a gray smudge in the center of the other side.
"What the hell? Is her printer low on toner or something?" I say quietly to myself.
I rub the front of the smudge with my fingers, but nothing comes off on my hands. I hold it up to the sunlight against the windshield, hoping that I can see it more clearly, but it's still indecipherable. Just looking at it makes my head hurt, and I start to feel dizzy. There's a feeling of wet warmth on my upper lip and I check my rear-view mirror to see what's on my face.
"Oh, fuck."
Blood is quickly flowing out of my right nostril and pooling around my mouth. I start to reach for my glove compartment where I think I have either a partial first aid kit or an oil-stained rag or two. Before I have a chance to get that far however, the interior of my car is illuminated by flickering blue and crimson light.
It looks like a state patrol officer noticed that I'm in a handicapped spot without a sticker or a hanging placard. He's parked behind me in such a way that I couldn't leave without pulling up onto the sidewalk surrounding the store, or reversing into his cruiser. I realize that I have to explain why I'm in this situation and also why my hands and face are now covered in sanguine gore.
I've never written a short story before, so I can finish this if anyone wants. I took it farther than I meant to, and I'm out of time at the moment.