When I was growing up, I used to have a really hard time eating broken food. For example, one time the pop-tart my mom had made had a little bit of the corner missing. I immediately freaked out and starting crying. I couldn’t handle it. I know it must have been psychochology wrong with me. By the time I was 13, my parents took me to many specialists in my best interests for this along with many other reasons.
Well, these specialists told my parents I had a variety of different amounts of social disorders including mild autism, ADHD, OCD, and many many more. I was then put on a few “mild” medications. These medicines helped me immensely.
When I was 16 I remember one interaction I had with my father. I walked down to the kitchen for a midnight snack, my dad was in the kitchen cooking. “Hey Bradley, just made some chorizo, want a sandwich? “Sure” I said to him as his warm smile shined in my vision. He was the best chef I’ve ever known. As he toasted the bread we talked about the football, “Those damn bills” he said in an exasperated tone. He finished the sandwich up and as I was about to grab mine he said, “Hold on a minute buddy, There’s only enough for one sandwich” As he cut the sandwich in half. “No problem”, I thought. I can share.
As I took the first bite though, I couldn’t describe what I had tasted. It was an earthy taste, cold, alive. On my sandwich I saw maggots inside. I spit out what I was chewing to see alive maggots crawling. I looked at my hands to see something traveling through my veins. They had infiltrated me. I looked for my father but he wasn’t there anymore. He had vanished, I started hyperventilating “MOM, MOM HELP ME” I yelled with hopelessness in my voice. Nobody heard my cries. I started scratching my body, looking everywhere to find where they were. When I looked up I wasn’t in my kitchen, no I was in a cemetery.
The maggots were gone. The sour taste in my mouth had disappeared. “Please someone just help me” I kept saying with less conviction. I couldn’t handle this. I needed to go home. I needed to be with my family, my parents. I started walking towards the gates of the cemetery, wearing only my pjs and cozy shirt I didn’t know how long I could take this cold. “how did I get here, and what was up with those maggots?” I said not believing what was happening to me. As I walked past one grave head I noticed something odd, a singular flower was sitting on the top of the grave. All the other graves looked decrepit and diseased. This grave was relatively clean. I read the name and was surprised to see my name. Bradley J. Noel. “What the fuck is happening”
Nothing was making sense. how I got here, why am I on a grave. I look closer at the flowers. who could’ve put them there? a note was attached it read, “your family is next”.
That’s when I woke up to my mother screaming at the EMT to save me. I had a my first seizure that day. It would not be my last. Later at the hospital I was talking to my mother about what I had seen. I kept out the part about the graveyard. I figured she didn’t want to hear that.
My mom just sat there crying. When I finished I asked her where dad was. She looked around the room with a look of anxiety. “Bradley, I didn’t want to tell you this now.” She said, the walls slowly closing in and my body tensing up. “Your father died this morning”
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