'Agenlintosis...' By; Dani J. Martel.

Chapter 2. 'Not a Coincidence'.

I woke up to the smell of pancakes wafting down the corridor. Before I left for the kitchen, I grabbed a pill from the 'morning headache numbing' pill bottle. Shoved it in my hand, and forcibly put the horrid thing in my mouth. Downing it with some water, from my 'special' water bottle.

I remember when I was six, this thing was reserved for normal drinking. Now, it only gets used for pill taking.

I still remember: the white walls, the self-portraits, the paintings of wilting flowers - hanging in small, wooden frames.

The furniture all in a uniform mahogany wood, or burgundy fabrication.

I started to feel trapped. Claustrophobic, even.

Back then, my father was still in the picture. So while my Mother went up to the receptionist, I sat alongside my father at the bay window.

His cold hard stare, holding mine.

As my mother was talking to the receptionist, I felt my father's disappointment - seething profoundly underneath my skin.

'Was he disappointed in me?' And if so, why?', I kept thinking.

Was there any possible way to earn his respect? In fact, was there going to be a way anyway, ever? I didn't know.

My mother rejoined my father and I, and waited alongside us for my name to be called by the receptionist. It was a long wait...

After what seemed like forever, I was called into the clinic observation room. It was extremely clean. It was so clean, it was frightening. 'You'd think there'd be some sort of fingerprint, or at least something of a handprint on the window', I thought to myself.

There was no mistaking it, this place had an utterly miserable atmosphere.

My Mother said when I was seven that I wouldn't be seeing my dad anymore.

I wasn't surprised. Not at all.

The man never even tried to talk to me. And when we did talk, it would be something along the lines of: 'You finished your chores?', 'Go do this', 'You finished that yet?' Never a: 'How's your day been?', 'Whatcha up to, sport?', 'Oh - What's this, bud?' He never cared about me, not for a heartbeat.

"Uhm... Nurse? How are you going to test me exactly?"

"That's simple, really. First, we shall do a psychological evaluation. Then, a physical exam. Where we look for what could be the cause of your symptoms." She said, staring into my lilac eyes. Knowing that I'll come out positive - or just a really weird kid. "And lastly, if needed, a lab test."

"And how would this 'lab test' work?"

"Well, first the doctors there would insert a needle inside one of your temples. Then, they'd look for abnormalities via x-ray scanners." My facial muscles tensed at the thought of this. "Of course that would only happen if your nurse, or me, couldn't find any major symptoms. But could still find some small indicators of the disorder." She said, understanding I was uncomfortable. My mother squeezed my hand, reassuring me.

"Oh, okay then."

"Man up." My father whisper-shouted, while slightly nudging my stomach.

"Yes, sir."

"Would you like to do the physical exam, or the psychological evaluation first?"

"Psychological evaluation, please."

"Okay, let me go get the questionnaire." She said walking towards the office exit.

"Thank you..." I paused to read her name tag. "Nurse. Carol."

"All good, Kyon. Now, let's get this sorted. Shall we?" And in that one day, my life changed forever.

* * *

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'SPECIAL'?  ARE YOU TELLING ME RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW; THAT MY SON IS CRAZY!?" My father screamed at the nurse.

"He's not crazy, sir." She said, with a calm firmness. "He's just a bit more special  compared to the other children. But sir, I'm sorry. This case, currently it's - it's incurable. Your son's not stuck like this. But he is for now. Pray that our country's fine doctors, and scientists, find a cure."

"Prayer is for cowards."

"Believe what you wish, I will be in my office: Praying."

"Bloody religious people. Bloody fucktards."

"Vernon, what are we going to do with him?"

"You mean, 'what are you going to do with him' ." And he left. He walked right up to that door, and he left. Without any other words, my father was gone for good.

I'll never forgive him for that. 

* * *

It's been six years since he left.

I say I hate him, I say I loathe him. But a part of me still clings to his memory - still believes that we could have been a real, loving family. A special family, my family.

But that could never happen, that's impossible.

Anyways, I should focus on my school work - I don't need Mr. Darkle breathing down my neck again.

I don't understand, if I am above and beyond all the work all the kids my age have to do - why am I still doing it? Urgh, whatever. If it's easy I might as well just smash it out....

Long division? Really - they should have learnt this ages ago. Whatever. What's two hundred and sixty seven divided by nine... uhm. Okay, set up the format - put the nine there and the two hundred thingy there. Okay and then how many nines go into two: zero. Okay nine times zero equals zero. Put that underneath the zero and that's the start of the answer...

"Kyon, how's your homework? You finished it yet?"

"Just starting now, 'Ma."

"Okay, just make sure it's finished before dinner. I'll be checking it just so's you know."

"Got it."

"Good, love ya'."

"Love you too, Mum." After five minutes, my homework was completed fully. My classwork is genuinely pathetic.

* * *

"Homework, thank you." My mother said, arm outstretched towards me. I handed it over, not even thinking about it. She scanned her eyes up and down the page with her librarian-like glasses, with her usual red ink pen.

"Good job as usual, honey." My mother works at a local university, so she knows what she's doing when it comes to raising a young prodigy - just kidding.

"Thank you, Mum."

"It's okay, Kyon. Now c'mon, I made meatballs with grape jelly."

"Sounds good."

I had a marvelous dinner (which I enjoyed very much so because I have crummy school tomorrow), chatted merrily with my mother, and slept peacefully for once in my life. And then the night terrors came...