1-800-Pharmacyde
Tabby glanced at the calendar on the wall, and then out the
window at the sun low on the horizon.
“Something’s not right,” she muttered, pulling a beer from the fridge
and popping the top. She stepped into
the yard, looking over at the chickens heading to the chicken house for the
night, and checked her watch. “Not
right,” she said again, walking to the garden.
The seedlings were just beginning to poke their heads out of
the dirt, but she knew there would be no harvest this year. She had planted the seeds three months ago
as her father and grandfather taught her to do on the eve of Good Friday. Even though the official Good Friday had
been removed from the calendar, she kept up with the date as best she could and
had decided it was in April.
She glanced up at the sun again and then down at her
watch. She took a long pull from the
bottle, mourning the struggling plants and shaking her head. “I feel insane,” she whispered. “Everything has changed.”
She been over it again and again with friends and co-workers,
but none of them seemed to remember long summer days when the sun set late,
nearly in the northern part of the sky, or the heat. They said this summer was like all the others, and the media
backed up their beliefs. She watched
the plants, silently encouraging them to grow, as she finished the beer.
Tabby sighed, and turned from the withering garden. She tossed the bottle in the trash and went
to the shed to retrieve the feed for the chickens. She filled the bowls, refreshed the water, and scattered some
feed. She remembered when the birds
would excitedly talk and pick up every seed, but today they didn’t come out of
their roosts at all, there was no excited chatter, and there were no eggs to be
had.
She locked the door to keep the chickens free of predators
and stepped back in the house as the sun fell below the horizon. She stepped in her bedroom, pulling a
sweater off a shelf and buttoned it as a shiver worked through her body. She grabbed another beer, remembering days
of working late in the yard and garden, and sat on the couch, turning on the
TV. The local news had just started and
she dropped the remote beside her.
“Happy Summer Solstice,” the busty blonde at the news desk
wearing a pink halter-top declared with an overly white, nearly fluorescent,
smile. “Today the sun set at 3:56 pm
just as usual. And here are pictures
taken all over the world of how the sun lined up perfectly to show things are
just as how they have always been.”
There was a slide show of photos from Stonehenge to Manhattanhenge where
the sun rises or sets perfectly on the Solstice. “Today, July 29th is the longest day, we’ve had 8
hours and 3 minutes of sunshine, actually a minute longer than usual.” She laughed and her breasts bounced, pulling
the eye away from her fluorescent mouth.
“The longest day of the year and here are some photos of how people have
celebrated.” Another slide show
appeared of the average Americans cooking on grills, picnicking in parks, and
wet kids shivering as they played in lakes and oceans.
The news went to a commercial break and Tabby shook her
head. “This isn’t right,” she said
again, walking into the kitchen for another beer. She leaned her head against the door of the refrigerator
listening to the commercials from the other room – “Are your family members
acting strange? Are they saying things
have changed? Are they depressed? Maybe they just need a change …” Music
swelled and the tone of the speaker softened.
“Some studies say up to 30% of Americans are suffering under Fact
Rejection Syndrome. FRS is a
debilitating disorder that often ends in mania and death, but Pharmacyde is the
cure that can change your suffering family member. Signs of FRS are disremembering events, times, and holidays. With Pharmacyde they begin to regain
themselves and reality. The cherry
flavored powder, when added to food or beverages, will aid you to get your
loved one back on the right path.”
Tabby pulled her head away from the fridge and then lightly
pounded it on the forgiving wall. She
briefly remembered summer nights and fireflies, she remembered planting in the
spring and the harvest in the summer, she remembered long hot days, and she
knew she had never turned on the heat in July.
She shivered, and pulled her head away from the fridge. She walked back into the living room,
settling on the couch as the news began again, and pulled a blanket over her to
halt the shivers.
The newscaster with bright teeth reappeared wearing an even
smaller halter-top of the same color, and began casting out numbers. “3400 hundred people died today, most by
suicide, others by murder, and a couple hundred were killed by sharks,
alligators, bears, and large cats.” Another
slide show began and was filled with people attacked in water or on land by
mammals or cold-blooded creatures. “And
in New Jersey, a woman was killed by a sea turtle,” she continued, as video
showed a woman struggling beside a boat as a turtle pulled her down under the
water over and over again.
“What the fuck?”
Tabby cried out, looking over at the aquarium that held a turtle.
The news went back to a commercial break. “Are your family members acting
strange? Are they disremembering events
and times and seasons? We’ve set up a
1-800 number to help. Pharmacyde is the
only way to cure those suffering…”
Tabby thought of what she used to know, how the seasons had
changed, and then glanced at the turtle in the aquarium. She picked up the phone and dialed
1-800-Pharmacyde.
