Written for Friday Fictioneers.
He spoke calmly, with a grinding in his voice, explaining that this feeling of being disconnected from my surroundings was a normal reaction for someone with my condition. “Desensitization” he calls it. But I know this crowd will trample me if I don’t escape. The couple in front are both infected with a deadly disease. I start to tremble; the nausea begins; now the sweating. I know the signs all too well. I feel smothered.
I turn to him and plead for my return to sanity.
“Your 55 minutes are up Brad. See you next week.”