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|HENRY CHRISTOPHER PYM||
Posted: Jan 12 2016, 04:04 AM
"God I want a drink..."
Scowling as his tray was loaded with some imperceptible goo and a sad-looking roll, Hank made a face and adjusted the collar on the jumpsuit they made him wear. The tracker tied around his ankle itched and he STILL felt like more of a prisoner than most of the people here who actually WERE prisoners. Smelling the goo with a look of disgust, Hank looked up at the server (some low-ranking grunt who'd been assigned KP) and asked, "Ma'am... do you know what this smells like?" smiling sadly, a tired look in her eyes, the grunt said, "Sorry Mr. Pym - I can't smell nothin no more - I been here too long," wincing at her thick southern accent (and how she probably signed up with the military to pay for college - only to wind up here) and almost drone-like expression, Hank said, "Perhaps you'll give this to a soul less fortunate than I,"
Taking the sad-looking roll, Hank shoved his shaggy hair out of his face and headed over to a table in the corner.
"God I want a drink..." Hank had been thinking that a lot lately. He wanted a drink. He wanted wild passionate sex with Jan (which was saying something when you as big a prude as Hank) and - more than anything else - he wanted a PROPER dose of his medication. He felt like he was just BARELY in control. His brain felt oily - slippery - like he could see what it was thinking... and then it would go out of focus. Work hurt. Thinking hurt. And he had to do so much of it - and they WOULDN'T let him drink. What little medication they gave him didn't mix well with alcohol. Something Hank had conquered years ago with his own particular brand of anti-depressants. But they wouldn't give him the chemicals to solve even that problem. They gave him enough standard drugs to keep him working - but not enough to do more than just barely stabilize him.
He was unshaven - he hadn't bathed in days - and his hair was far longer than he usually kept it. Hank Pym was just barely keeping it together... and they were making him work twelve hour days on nothing but soy... goo and bread. Looking tiredly at the saddest of rolls he was holding, Hank took a bite out of it and bowed his head. Why wasn't Jan here? She always made things so much better... and why did he keep having to do such horrible things to all these poor people? He knew why - of course - it was Jan's life on the line. But thinking about it helped him focus.
And it kept his mind off the roll.
there are so many colors in the rainbow
so many colors in the morning sun
so many colors in the flowers
and i see every one