text: 05:00 The alarm sounds, immediately he is awake, the sound emitted by this torturous box is a piercing wail breaking the respite which slumber provides. Before the senses can fully adjust reaction slips in, taking over. Instantaneously he is, sitting erect on the edge of the bed, spine stiff, his hands clench the mattress, his feet planted firmly on the floor. He has taken care of the alarm long before his wife could be aroused by it's incredulous scream. It is always just at this moment the gears of his mind begin to turn, he curses the day and all of the ills it will surely bring him. Ageing gracefully is a concept lost on this man. He mutters imperceptibly to himself as he, using his night table for support, rises from his position. He begins his journey to the coffee, the same as he has done every morning the past thirty-one years. He is older now and his routine, perfected over the course of three decades now, takes a few moments longer, and a few more steps than it used to. He is not as young as he once was and knows that by the time he gets to the coffee it is the medication he truly needs to get through his day. Something stirs deep in the recesses of his mind and it makes him uneasy. He questions himself wondering what it is about the medication that gives him such concern after all these years. Having always possessed a strong, quick mind he was not one to write himself notes but his memory is failing him at this moment, perhaps the coffee will jog it. Standing now, he carefully makes his way around the foot of the bed, across the room to the door, he exits, closing the door softly behind him, and proceeds down the hall to the top of the stairs in darkness. Twenty - six steps in all, one more than yesterday. His walk is purposeful as he makes his way, he knows the path through the house which leads to the kitchen well, he has traversed it many times. Mindful of the creaking boards he side steps the soft spots as he continues to the landing at the middle of the stairs. Seven steps. It is at this point lights to the downstairs living room can be turned on. Continuing his decent to the bottom of the stairs he knows the light is not needed and the switch is ignored as he passes. Three steps. The children are long gone as are the toys they would leave on the stairs after abandoning their play. He continues down the stairs, mindful of squeaks, as he descends. Seven steps. There is an oversized leather arm chair on the left, and a part of this high backed wing intrudes at the bottom of the landing. He could never quite convince his wife to move it and that it was a painful intrusion into his life should he come into contact with it. His wife offered a smile and a simple suggestion when giving her response, "Well, you will just have to stay over to the right a bit, now wont you dear!" she would tell him. He smiled at the thought of this, his wife always provided a smile and solution to counter life's inconveniences. As he sidesteps the chair he crosses the living room and makes his way to the front door of the house. He takes smaller, more calculated steps in the darkness though the toys are long gone such is his routine. With the passage of time twelve steps has evolved into fourteen, "thirty - one years" he mutters. He releases a small sigh as he reaches for the door handle, the paper had better be on the porch today. He is tired of telling that kid and swears to himself, for the umpteenth time, if that damned paper is in the driveway again he is cancelling his subscription. As he opens the door he looks down and sees his paper is laying where it should be, on the porch in it's little plastic bag so it would not absorb the morning dew. Slowly, and with a great deal more effort than it used to take he bends down to retrieve the paper. As he closes the door he turns to the right and proceeds through the dining room, twelve steps, and into the kitchen. He makes his way to the coffee pot sitting on the countertop opposite the doorway. Ten steps today, one less than yesterday, maybe things are looking up. The coffee is brewed and waiting for him when he arrives, but first the medication. Again the word triggers an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, hairs stand on the back of his neck. His fists clench the countertop and he blinks, once, and again. He relaxes his grip and reaches for the cupboard containing his medication. He grasps at the unpainted, wooden door, it is grooved and splintered, odd, he thinks to himself. His unease grows as he attempts to pry open the cabinet door, the medication is most necessary this morning. The door is ripped open and he is suddenly enveloped in a bright, intense, blinding light emanating from inside the cabinet. Pain and light are all he is aware of as a loud booming voice demands "Take your medication right fucking now, stop resisting!" There is no resisting, both he and the attendant know this, it is all part of the routine. A speculum is inserted into the orifice that was once his mouth, it is engaged and the loose flesh that made up his lips and cheeks is spread wide revealing a rotting hole long devoid of teeth, most of its tongue rotted away. A watery, acrid substance, a combination of drugs and nutrition, is sloppily poured from a wooden vat onto his garishly disfigured face. They are not concerned with accuracy or dosage as enough of the substance will find its way into his now gaping mouth hole and into his system. It is time for the medication. The realization of what he is comes rushing back to him as the medication runs into his orifice and pools in his throat, he struggles to swallow. The liquid pours over and around what is left of his face, streams through remnants of the matted patches of hair, finally falling through the sluice he is strapped to and recycled into a new vat to be used on the next floor. The medication must not be wasted. He is no longer in his kitchen about to have coffee, all thoughts of his wife are gone now. There is nothing but pain accompanied by light, combined with screams, groans, and wailings of both himself and many others around him. Straps are tightened although there really is no need as his muscles atrophied long ago but it must be done, such is the routine. Its 05:00 as the lid is secured back on his box, the light gives way to blackness and the medication has taken hold. The alarm sounds.