Post Traumatic Stress Disorange

  I don't like oranges. I told them that. I told them. It's not my fault; I told them I don't like oranges. I've never liked oranges. Well, that's not true, I liked them once, but I didn't tell them that. I told them I don't like oranges, but did they listen? No. No, they never listen to any of us. Candice doesn't like going to bed at eight o'clock and Maurice doesn't like those ugly red pills they force down her throat. You know how I know these things? Because I listen. They speak, and I hear them. For some reason it's only the patients around here that have functional ears. Maybe that'd explain why they don't listen to me when I tell them over and over and over. I don't like oranges.

    The first time I ever ate an orange, I was a young girl, but not young enough to have never tried one. We were at a local fruit store. That was all they sold, fruit. On the exterior everything in this store was decked out in juicy, colorful delight. Anyone who'd ever been inside though could smell the subtle sour stench of those pieces of fruit rotting at the bottom of the pile. I remember what I was wearing. Want to know what I was wearing? I was wearing a sundress, a cotton one. It was white with little purple flowers embroidered into the cotton. I had ballet shoes on, even though Josie had tried to get me to wear sneakers. I refused to take those ballet shoes off, I mean, why should I have taken them off? I was going to go right back to dancing the second we got home anyway, and I sure as hell wasn't going to dance in sneakers. Josie agreed to let me wear my ballet shoes if she could braid my "messy" hair, though, so I guess my hair was braided that day too. Josie was a gigantic pain most of the time, at least that's what I thought back then. That was six years ago though, and I'm sixteen now, just like Josie was then... and now, when I think about it, if I had a little sister I'd be a pain too if it meant I was doing what I thought was best for her.

    "Samantha?" A nurse poked her face into my room. Her face was pretty. That was the only part that was pretty. The rest of her was too tiny. Tiny and bony and gross. They should have been feeding her the oranges. Or a cow. An entire cow. That's what she needed to eat. It's not fair, how they call us insane. The nurses, I mean. I mean, sure, most of us had things wrong with us, lot's of things... but here I was, looking at a bulimic chick... and the only thing that separated her from the rest of us was her cutesy little white uniform and the emergency sedative syringe she undoubtedly had in her pocket. "It's time for lunch honey. What are you still doing in bed?"
    "Sam." I growled at her. "My name is Sam, for the zillionth time. And I'm not hungry."
    "But its lunch time honey. You have to eat something. I hear there's sherbet today! C'mon, let's go get you something to eat." In all of her perk, she pretended to start to skip away, but turned back around with a frustrated expression when I didn't follow. Didn't I tell you these people had a listening problem? Do you believe me now?
    "Don't tell me I have to eat something." I mumbled "You have to eat something."
    She contorted her mouth into an "o" shape. "Wha-"
    "What flavor sherbet?" I asked with little interest in order to cut her short so I wouldn't have to repeat myself.
    She smiled. She just smiled. Then her eyes turned red and her hair burst into flames. I know you probably don't believe me, because no one ever does, but that's what happened. I'd know better than you, I was the one who was there. I could hardly hear her over the roaring of the fire atop her head, but I saw her lips move, I saw it escape from them. And right after the word "orange" escaped, so did hundreds, no, thousands of ripe, juicy oranges from her mouth. It hadn't been more than a few seconds before they covered the floor beneath me, then began to pile up, swallowing the room and crushing me beneath their weight. And then, I couldn't breath.

    Me and Josie weren't supposed to be going out to the store. Mom had taken the keys away from her because she didn't get home until one AM a few nights before. Mom was mad. Mom told Josie that the only place she was allowed to go for a week was school.
    But mom wasn't home.
    Me and Josie were watching a commercial for Sunkist orange soda. Our air conditioning had broken and it was so hot that our dog Nikki kept licking my legs to taste the salt water that was pouring out of not only my body, but Josie’s too. "Josie?" I turned to look at my older sister.
    "What is it, Sam?" She answered.
    "I've never eaten an orange before."
    She raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? Of course you've eaten an orange before."
    "Nuh-uhh!" I argued. "Mom never buys them, ever. And the only time mom bought them you ate them all before I even got a chance to have one."
    Josie rolled her eyes and looked back to the TV. "What's your point, Sam?"
    The images and bright colors of the juice and the sun and those sweet looking pieces of fruit from the previous commercial burned in my mind, and even on the tip of my tongue. "I want to eat and orange. Can we go get some Josie? Please please please please please?"
    Josie shook her head immediately. "Are you crazy, Sam? You know I'm not allowed to drive anywhere, not even for you. Mom would kill me if she found out."
    "But, but Mom's not here!" I protested. "She's not gonna be home until nine!"
    Josie hesitated for a second, but then answered "Look, Sam. I'm grounded. And if I get caught using the car, I'll be in even more trouble. I'm not getting in even more trouble for something as stupid as going to pick up oranges."
    "It's not stupid!" I hollered at her. "C'mon Josie, I'm so hungry and thirsty and there’s nothing to eat here. I have..." I fished in my pocket and pulled out a couple of crumpled up one dollar bills, counting them. "I have four dollars, so I can even pay for them!"
    After a long moment of hesitation, Josie sighed and stood up. "Get in the car, brat. You're lucky I love you."

    I didn't recognize where I was at first when I woke up. There was a big mask over my mouth and nose and the air I was breathing in was clean for once. As I blinked my eyes a few times, the rest of the world came into focus. Oh, I thought as I glanced around at the pure white environment I was in, this was the emergency unit of this god damned asylum. No matter what happened, when I woke up, I would still be here. Here in this god damned asylum.
    "She had a panic attack," I heard a doctor who didn't know I was awake explaining to a nurse who didn't know I was awake.
    Or at least, that's what I thought until the nurse, the same one who had came to my room earlier, looked me straight in the wide-open eyes and remarked back to the doctor "that's the little nut's fifth episode this year. She's a lifer if I've ever seen one."
    That's the one thing I really really hated about this place. No, that's not true, there's a zillion things I hated about this place... but that was the one thing I hated most. For some reason, when they all make the decision that you're crazy, all the sudden people think they can say whatever the want around you and you'll be too absorbed in your craziness to even hear them talking. It's actually funny, when I blurt out whatever's on my mind without filtering out the offensive stuff, it's just a symptom of me being crazy... but when they do it, when anyone else in the world does it, it just makes them all the more sane.
    The doctor sighed heavily. "That may be the case if these episodes become any more severe. This one caused her to go into brief cardiac arrest."

    I could feel the cashier roll his eyes as I fumbled with my crinkled bills. Christ, I was ten, and at least I didn't have a sucky job like he did. As soon as the transaction was complete, I stuffed the remaining change in my pocket and skipped out to the car with my two oranges where Josie and Nikki were waiting for me.
    "This is the big moment..." Josie murmured with a grin as I climbed into the passenger’s seat and buckled my seat belt while juggling my two oranges. "The world's only orange virgin, ladies and gentleman, about to eat an orange for the very first time!"
    "What's a virgin?" I asked, scoffing at her silliness.
    "Uhm... Let me peel one for you." She ordered rather than asked, reaching across my lap and snagging one of the oranges out of my grip. I dropped the other one into one of the cup holders.
    "Annnnnd, here you go hon, all set, now all you've gotta do is sink your teeth into it!" Josie announced as she handed it back to me.
    "Just because I've never had one doesn't mean I don't know how to eat, Josie." I answered through giggles. So then, I took a bite. Sweet Jesus, I can't even describe how... content, I think is the right word... how content I felt in that moment. Oranges taste great. Everyone knows that, everyone who's ever tasted an orange knows that. I don't like oranges. I never said I didn't like the way they tasted.

    What I don't like about oranges is the way they killed my sister. Josie is dead, and oranges killed her. Oranges, and Samantha, her little sister. I don't feel like explaining exactly how it happened, because it's too sad and scary and I don't really even know how it happened.
    What I can tell you is that just as the three of us were pulling out of that little store, something hit us on Josie's side. Something big. It wasn't Josie's fault, it wasn't Nikki's fault. It wasn't even the other drivers fault. It was my fault. It was my fault, and it was the orange's fault. I don't remember anything after that until they told me Josie was dead. For some reason, one of the first things I remember asking after hearing that was what happened to Nikki. No one answered me at first; they all just looked around at each other, shocked, or maybe disgusted. The doctor in the room with us told mom that I was in shock and that she should just answer me, so mom, with tears streaming down her red, bloated face, told me that Nikki was nowhere to be found.
    So I don't like oranges. Can you blame me? Oranges killed my sister. Oranges killed my puppy. And now... now the oranges wanted me, too.

    Eventually, the doctor took of my mask and re-explained the panic attack to me, as if I hadn't been listening to him just ten minutes before as he told the bulimic nurse about it. "You should get some fresh air, Samantha." he suggested.
    "It's Sam." I corrected so quietly that even I couldn't really hear myself.
    He took my arm to keep me steady and lead me out to the courtyard where several patients in the same white gown that I was wearing were sitting on benches or leaning against the building, either engrossed in conversation with others or engrossed in conversation with themselves.
    He lead me over to a wooden bench that I thanked god no one else was sitting on and helped me sit before hurrying back inside to go about his doctor-ly business. I sighed and leaned against the backing of the bench, closing my eyes.
    What if I was a lifer? Deep down inside of me, I knew the oranges weren't really coming for me. I was sixteen, hardly old enough to believe in ghost stories... but even deeper down inside, I knew they were coming for me. They'd already tried five times this year to take me to the same place they'd taken Josie and Nikki.

    The first time they'd ever tried was my first day of school after Josie died. I sat down at a table by myself with my lunch tray because I didn't want to talk to anyone. None of my friends came to ask me why I was sitting by myself. None of my friends told me they were sorry about Josie. None of my friends said anything to me at all. In fact, the only attention any of them paid to me is when they were pointing at me and whispering.
    I hadn't noticed until I sat down and examined my tray that an orange sat in the center of it. One orange. Then, before I knew it, all the other food on my tray had disappeared. And then, before I could understand that, my entire tray was covered in oranges. A few seconds later, the entire table was covered in oranges. I looked up slowly at the rest of the cafeteria where everyone, friends and enemies alike, had gone silent and gathered around me. There was only another millisecond of silence before I noticed that everyone held the same piece of fruit in their right hand. "MUDERER!" one boy yelled as he pelted me with his orange. The rest of the student body instantaneously joined in, shouting words like "KILLER!" and "MURDERER!" as oranges flew everywhere...
    I woke up in the hospital hours later, where I was told I had a colossal panic attack. If you were being yelled at and pelted with oranges, you would have had one too.

    I opened my eyes abruptly and shook my head to ward off that memory. No, I thought, no, I can't be a lifer! I can't live like this forever; I don't want to be afraid anymore! I don't want to be scared and I don't want to be guilty! Yes, Josie's dead, and yes, it's my fault, but surly Josie wouldn't have blamed me... if Josie was up there, she wouldn't want to see me like this. I knew Josie couldn't possibly be mad at me.
    I looked up to the sky and murmured under my breath. "Josie... please, I need to get better." I looked around as a precaution and saw a male patient staring at me with a wide open mouth, either lost in his own insanity or appalled that I appeared to be talking to myself. I turned to face the woods behind the asylum where no one was standing to continue my plea. I sighed and closed my eyes tight. "Please Josie... send me a sign or something. Just please, let me know I can I get better. I know..." I hesitated for a second and took a deep breath, preparing to admit the very thing that scared me the most. "I know that if no one tells me I'm going to get better soon, I'm only going to get worse."
    As soon as those words left my lips, a rustle of branches from the woods caused me to jump a bit and open my eyes.
    I hesitated before standing up and carefully started moving towards the woods, glancing behind me every couple of seconds to make sure no one noticed me slipping away. The rustling continued, and was only getting closer.
    "H-hello?" I called "Is someone there?"
    At that moment, a small, filthy dog poked its head out of a nearby shrub. It was covered from head to toe in mud, so dirty that I could hardly make out the color of its fur coat. The moment it spotted me, its ears perked up and it began trotting joyfully towards me. I immediately recognized it as a Yorkshire terrier from the way it bounded gracefully. For some reason I didn't understand it also seemed to immediately recognize me as Sam.
    "Hi buddy!" I greeted it as I knelt down to pet it. I scratched under its ear as it tilted its head in the direction of my hand with satisfaction. I laughed as a memory came back to me. "That's exactly what my dog used to--" I started to tell the strange pooch, but at that moment I noticed it was wearing an extremely tattered collar with a single tag jingling off of it. It looked like the collar had once contained other tags, but little metal stubs were all that remained attached to the weathered piece of nylon.
    I lifted the one remaining tag in one hand and struggled to etch the dirt off with the other... and out of all the information that had once been listed on the tag, I could only make out one word. Nikki.

The end