mind it was useless. A thought would almost start to form, then be quickly smothered by a thick haze. He blinked and continued staring at the mirror.
He turned as the door was closed and locked. He glanced at the door, stared at it quizzically for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and sat on the side of the bed. He opened the drawer of the bedside stand. It was empty except for a few grains of tobacco. He stared at it a second, then closed it and lay down. He looked at the light on the ceiling, then furtively at the wall. He frowned, nodded his head then sat up and looked at the door and the small window in it, his frown deepening. What was it he should remember? What was it that was stuck in his mind ... that was struggling to make itself known? He shook his head and lay back down. He closed his eyes and drifted through a half sleep. It was a good bed. And a thick comfortable pillow. The covers were up around his neck, his hands clutching the edge. He snuggled into the bed, the comfort of a bed and clean sheets almost forgotten, bringing ancient memories vaguely to mind. His bearded face relaxed into a smile as he felt the cool water of the stream on his feet as he stretched out on the grass, his pole beside him. You will never catch any fish like that son. I know Dad, but I just feel like hanging my feet in the stream. I can always get some fish later. The older man looked at his young son and smiled. Maybe you're right Roy. It is a nice day. He continued to look at his only child with, perhaps, a slight hint of envy as the bright sun seemed to make his son's face and blond hair glow. The stream moved with the smallest of sounds, the slight rustling of the leaves on the trees barely audible. Birds flew to and fro deep within the branches and chirped and sang contentedly as they floated and fluttered from tree to sky and sky to ground. Butterflies hovered over groups of buttercups shining amidst green grass.
The boy let his feet hang still as the cool water flowed over them. The warmth from the sun penetrated deep within him. The father smiled, he too responding to the surroundings - the bright sun and the pleasant sounds of a summer's day. It's nice to just lie in the sun and look at the blue sky. He looked back at the stream and the reflection of sky and trees rippled by the movement of the warter. An image drifted into sight and he looked up as a bird reached the apex of its climb - hesitated - sharply defined against the cloudless sky, then banked to the left, glided a few feet, then beat its wings and flew from the man's sight. He looked back at his line where it angled into the water.
The ground felt soft and warm to the boy as he looked straight up, not really conscious of the sky, but vaguely aware of the smell of the earth and grass, hearing the sounds that floated pleasantly through the air. He wiggled his toes and put a blade of grass between his teeth. Maybe in a little while he'd fish. Maybe.
The clanging of the lock dragged him from his reverie. Come and get your medication, Mr. Rawls. Huh? � What? Your medication. Here, extending the small paper cup. He got up abruptly and stepped quickly to the door. She emptied the cup into his hand. Go ahead and take them. He filled a cup with water then swallowed the pills. He looked at her quizzically as she started to close the door. Aaa, how long have I been here? Do you feel alright Mr. Rawls? He thought for a second. I think so. A little shaky. Well the medication will help. He nodded his head and went back to bed as the door was once again locked. He plopped on the side of the bed, then jerked his head toward the door and started to speak. His mouth remained open for a moment, a deep frown on his face, then he shrugged and lay back down on the bed.
He stared at the ceiling, blinking his eyes, then felt something in the pocket of his pajamas as he scratched his shoulder. It was a brown envelope He opened it and took out a yellow form. The first thing he
He turned as the door was closed and locked. He glanced at the door, stared at it quizzically for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and sat on the side of the bed. He opened the drawer of the bedside stand. It was empty except for a few grains of tobacco. He stared at it a second, then closed it and lay down. He looked at the light on the ceiling, then furtively at the wall. He frowned, nodded his head then sat up and looked at the door and the small window in it, his frown deepening. What was it he should remember? What was it that was stuck in his mind ... that was struggling to make itself known? He shook his head and lay back down. He closed his eyes and drifted through a half sleep. It was a good bed. And a thick comfortable pillow. The covers were up around his neck, his hands clutching the edge. He snuggled into the bed, the comfort of a bed and clean sheets almost forgotten, bringing ancient memories vaguely to mind. His bearded face relaxed into a smile as he felt the cool water of the stream on his feet as he stretched out on the grass, his pole beside him. You will never catch any fish like that son. I know Dad, but I just feel like hanging my feet in the stream. I can always get some fish later. The older man looked at his young son and smiled. Maybe you're right Roy. It is a nice day. He continued to look at his only child with, perhaps, a slight hint of envy as the bright sun seemed to make his son's face and blond hair glow. The stream moved with the smallest of sounds, the slight rustling of the leaves on the trees barely audible. Birds flew to and fro deep within the branches and chirped and sang contentedly as they floated and fluttered from tree to sky and sky to ground. Butterflies hovered over groups of buttercups shining amidst green grass.
The boy let his feet hang still as the cool water flowed over them. The warmth from the sun penetrated deep within him. The father smiled, he too responding to the surroundings - the bright sun and the pleasant sounds of a summer's day. It's nice to just lie in the sun and look at the blue sky. He looked back at the stream and the reflection of sky and trees rippled by the movement of the warter. An image drifted into sight and he looked up as a bird reached the apex of its climb - hesitated - sharply defined against the cloudless sky, then banked to the left, glided a few feet, then beat its wings and flew from the man's sight. He looked back at his line where it angled into the water.
The ground felt soft and warm to the boy as he looked straight up, not really conscious of the sky, but vaguely aware of the smell of the earth and grass, hearing the sounds that floated pleasantly through the air. He wiggled his toes and put a blade of grass between his teeth. Maybe in a little while he'd fish. Maybe.
The clanging of the lock dragged him from his reverie. Come and get your medication, Mr. Rawls. Huh? � What? Your medication. Here, extending the small paper cup. He got up abruptly and stepped quickly to the door. She emptied the cup into his hand. Go ahead and take them. He filled a cup with water then swallowed the pills. He looked at her quizzically as she started to close the door. Aaa, how long have I been here? Do you feel alright Mr. Rawls? He thought for a second. I think so. A little shaky. Well the medication will help. He nodded his head and went back to bed as the door was once again locked. He plopped on the side of the bed, then jerked his head toward the door and started to speak. His mouth remained open for a moment, a deep frown on his face, then he shrugged and lay back down on the bed.
He stared at the ceiling, blinking his eyes, then felt something in the pocket of his pajamas as he scratched his shoulder. It was a brown envelope He opened it and took out a yellow form. The first thing he
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