Short Stories (Multifandom)

Five Pt. One

My body was a test subject to what the modern world chemicals slowly did to the rest of the population. I'm going through what only few know about.

Canned foods that sit in warehouses, grocery stores and later someone's cabinet until further notice, hold a chemical called Bisphenol which coats the inside of the cans to insure that the food stays 'fresh.' That's why when you open a can of green beans, the vegetable's green color looks heightened, that's also another chemical. Tip: boil your canned vegetables for an hour before eating or, don't eat canned vegetables at all.

That's why I took up gardening at age 14.

I'm a real science geek. Mainly on foods and how they've developed over the years. Saying the word 'developed' shouldn't have to be said at all. Food is food. Creating new recipes is perfectly fine but when you mix genetically-modified ingredients into a dish, that's another thing. Food shouldn't be genetically-modified at all. The soil Earth has given us should be enough to grow what you need to grow. But apparently, that's not worth it anymore.

Space, population of said space. Free pasture, farms, new buildings and technology. A scientist should stick to what they know, culinary chefs shouldn't have to worry about adding an extra hour to their cooking time and- SNAP!

"Dammit," my pencil breaks. "Thanks."

"Brendon, don't forget to take your oils!"

"Yes, ma!"

Usually I don't mind oil, except when it's in the ocean polluting our fish and the very thing that helped form Earth's continents and function early civilization. But everyday I'm forced to take, though I do have a choice and my choice is to take the oils, detox supplement oil of three variations that all taste like dirt. One of which I put 12 drops into a glass of water, downing said water with the rest of my pills, supplements and vitamins. What a morning.

"We'll need to sanitize your clothes and have Lacy set up your ozone layer,"

"Ma, don't call it a layer."

"Okay, okay. Here, open," I open my hand and she place 3 pills down onto my palm. I don't know what they're called or what they're for, but my doctor said I needed to take them. I've learned to trust their judgment, all 5 of them. I have 5 doctors who stretch out all across Arizona, one being in Las Vegas which is just a lovely trip in its own.

"Alright, let's get you ready," my mother hands me a bristled brush for me to dry brush my entire body. Doctors say it helps my skin and body detoxify and stay younger during the process of my 'ozone layer,' which is just an infrared sauna that also emits ozone around my body. Sweating out the toxins also did the trick, so why won't it doing anything for me?

I still do it, but sweating through your boxers or briefs is an unsettling feeling. There's also that thought that if I stopped sauna therapy that I'd suddenly cripple up and die.

"30 minutes, I'll be back later."

I don't talk much but when I do it's usually sarcasm, or to tell somebody off or to my laptop when a movie is on, or show, I don't mind.

"Should we push your hyperbaric session to 9? Doctor Lee is coming today," Lacy, my cousin, has actually been my savior throughout all of this, mom included but as soon as Lacy heard, she flew right back home from Italy, totally ditching her fiancé and fantastic life.

"I guess, but that'll fuck up my routine." My routine is simple, yet complex to others.

Wake up, eat breakfast with a side of pills and oils and a glass of gross oil dirt water, dry brush, sweat, shower with prescribed body wash, shampoo, conditioner and facial wash; take a nap until lunch then have another set of pills and oils and gross oil dirt water, watch a movie while waiting for one of my doctor with an exception of Doctor Peach, who is quite literally addicted to peaches, she's a healthy woman. Hyperbaric therapy at 6 in the evening every Thursday, but today at 9pm. Eat dinner with a final cup of gross oil dirt water, then it's time for bed.

Hyperbaric therapy is the medical term for oxygen therapy. Every Thursday I crawl into an inflatable tube for an hour, hooked up to tubes that basically, give me oxygen. I'm surrounded by oxygen for an hour because my body hates me. My lungs? Yeah, no, screw those. They work 75% of the time and luckily, I don't need an oxygen tank. Doctor Hank said that was a miracle.

When I was 11, I was a sucker for autumn. I'd go outside and rake leaves on my own all day to create the biggest pile, only to jump into it and lay there buried for a good hour.

All five of my doctors say that's what led to where I am now; hating autumn for eternity, drinking gross oil dirt water, taking a dozen pills a day, sweating balls for 30 minutes every single day, and misdiagnosed with Lyme disease.

This'll be split up into different parts that's why it's so short. Get ready for a lot of medical terms.