By Dan Hoeweler

Charles Adams awoke in the psych ward of Longview hospital strapped to a gurney, spitting, cursing and thrashing at the nurses.

“They’re coming to get me.” Charles thought.

The nurse drew out a large needle filled to the brim with Thorazine.

“Hold still Mr. Adams. This will calm you down”

She injected it into his buttocks.

His vision turned blurry, spasms came across his body, and he quickly felt sedated and finally fell asleep. He dreamed of death, of endless pain.

“Mr. Adams”

He awoke, unable to move his arms or legs, as he was still strapped down. Two nurses hovered over him. Everything was a blur from the large amount of Thorazine they had injected into his body.

This is what happens when you know too much.  They find you, strap you down and inject you with poison.

Looking around the psych ward there was nothing of particular interest. Charles was special.  Charles saw hell.

If there was one thing He believed in it was the existence of hell. He has seen it first hand.  Strapped to that gurney he saw a parade of monsters from hell itself.  He saw bugs, aliens, CIA agents and monsters from another dimension.  The devil stood next to his bed laughing hysterically as Charles cried in pain. He screamed loudly, unable to move due to the restraints. The nurses watched.

“Keep him strapped down, he’s much too out of control.”

The Thorazine wasn’t working as expected. He wasn’t responsive to medication. Mostly the nurses just shot him up till he turned into a walking zombie. A chemical lobotomy is sometimes the least painful way.

The nurses hovered over him to see that he was writhing in pain, his eyes darting around the room looking at objects unseen by most.

They injected him again with some foreign chemical.  Charles was knocked out immediately and begun dreaming of heaven, hell, angels and the devil. His dreams haunted him at times; even in sleep he was damned.

He awoke again with a demon hovering over him.

“Well this one sure is crazy.”

“We’ve shot him up twice doctor and he doesn’t respond.” “Eh, he’ll probably just kill himself sooner or later.”

Charles was in a lot of pain, and no one cared, because he was damned to a fate of the 21st century version of leprosy; it was en vogue to demonize people like Charles. He was a victim of his mind, yet the world saw itself as a victim to his existence.

Deep down inside in places not seen to the naked eye in this dimension Charles was a kind soul. In an alternate dimension, on an alternate course in the fabric of time and space he lived a normal life. He worked full time at the factory raising two lovely children and he loved his family dearly and appreciated his life to the fullest and had many friends who loved him. Charles was living the dream in a place not so different than heaven.

Yet that is in another dimension, on a different course through history.  This is now.  Charles is strapped to a gurney in the psych ward. Charles lives in Hell.