Writing Sketches

[skinstealer]

Pill Bottle- 2023
Algor + Ringor Mortis
Lo-wave with a small dose of Raggedy, Untitled Project
Too many holes.
CW: Heavy dissociation, ableism, medication struggles

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DOCTOR ???: Lo.
 

The fluorescent lights are buzzing so loud.

DOCTOR ???: Lo-wave.
 

I just want to go back to my room.

There’s a snapping sound in front of the robot type’s face, startling him out of his stupor. The TCP in front of him- sporting fingers big enough to create the noise in the first place- is a depression type with an irritated posture.

 

Doctor…what was his name-?

DOCTOR ???: You’re barely lucid. Have you been taking your medication?
LO-WAVE: …it makes me sick.
DOCTOR ???: You must not be taking it right, then. It’s proven safe.
DOCTOR ???: Are you eating enough?
LO-WAVE: I don’t-
 

I don’t like it…

The doctor sighs, rubbing his temple.

DOCTOR ???: We’ll lower your dosage until you get more in the habit of eating.
DOCTOR ???: You need your medication.
DOCTOR ???: You understand?
 

I don’t even remember your name-

LO-WAVE: Yes. Sir.
 

Another sigh, but a nod this time- he’d done enough to get approval.

DOCTOR ???: I’ll need to go over some pa…p…er…work…

When Lo snaps out of it, he’s at the entrance of his apartment, the door still open behind him.

LO-WAVE: …I’m home.
 

No one responds, not that he’s expecting it. That was something left behind long ago, but he’s never been able to kick the habit.

There’s a bottle of medication in his hand.

Why am I holding this?
Oh. Right.
I didn’t bring my bag. I forgot.
So I had to carry it.
People probably saw me.
Hm.


He stares at the bottle for a moment before closing the door behind him, stepping forward and setting the orange pill container on the counter.

It’s a small apartment, same as any other in the facility. Uniform size and layout, varying only in the decor the TCP inhabitants brought to the table. He hadn’t shown up with any possessions aside from a simple phone, a wallet, and the clothes on his back, so it started off sparse and remained that way the entire time he’s been here.

When did…I get here again?
A month ago- no, can’t be, my medication refilled…a few times.
Is it weird to count months by meds refilling?
It works, I guess. I think I still have them-

 

Another jump ahead, this time to him on the floor by his bed, surrounded by orange bottles. After a moment to shake his head, he’s counting each one.

LO-WAVE: Eight.
LO-WAVE: It took them a month to figure out what to give me. Weirdness with machine types. Or something.
LO-WAVE: I’ve been here nine months.

 

He glances up, spotting the mirror hanging on his closet door.

And I’m still not better.
…Whatever that means.

He stumbles back up into bed, leaving the mess for tomorrow. It could wait.

To his surprise, he’s got a message on his phone.

[DIGITAL_HORROR]: hey!
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: do you remember that time back in school when we talked about making games together?
 

...what?
I barely remember school….
But…
Rags wouldn’t lie to me.
We must have talked about it at some point.

[HUMAN_SADNESS]: oh?
[HUMAN_SADNESS]: think there’s a hole there. sorry.
[HUMAN_SADNESS]: i believe you tho.
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: it’s okay, man!
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: we can catch up.
[HUMAN_SADNESS]: sure.
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: in the meantime… i might have a proposition for you.
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: what with your interest in constructs and humanity and whatnot…i think you’re gonna like it.
[DIGITAL_HORROR]: but first, we need to get you a real computer…