Welcome Home
by E. S. Strout
Home at last. The trail had been long and arduous, with many wrong turns. Much of the past was fading from his memory, the unpleasant times behind him now. The confinement, the force feedings...
Eli had tricked the White Ones.
Home. Reunited with his family. Looking forward to games and contests with his many friends.
The radiant colors! Rainbow hued sky. Graceful branching silver trees drooping with the weight of their sparkling crystalline blooms. Lilac mist undulating over the gurgling gold-crested ripples of the cobalt stream. And now, pastel gauze-clad maidens beckoned from across the ancient oak railed bridge with their siren song.
“Welcome home, Eli,” they crooned.
He pirouetted across the bridge in a series of ballet inspired leaps and spins. Their outstretched arms awaited...
But something was wrong. A cloud obscured the brilliant sun. Pervasive coarse otherworldly voices drowned out the siren song. He couldn’t move, grasped in mid-leap by an unknown sinister force. He felt a sudden sting. His world was fading away. Home...
Eli couldn’t move. He strained against the bindings. Sweat droplets trickled into his eyes. His blurred vision detected movement. When his eyes cleared, everything was white. The walls and ceiling. The frame structure on which he was confined. The screened and barred windows, anaemic sunlight leaking through. A white-clad alien figure approached.
Eli blinked in terror. “The White Ones. No!”
It spoke.
“How are you feeling, Eli?”
“You speak my language?”
“Why would we not speak your language?”
“I can’t move. Why?”
“It took three to restrain you. The commotion was disturbing the others.”
The figure held up a handful of red and blue capsules. “We found these hidden in your mattress.”
“Something stung me.”
The creature pointed to a translucent plastic balloon dangling from a white crossbar. It contained clear fluid. Flexible tubing snaked downward, ending under a bandage wrapping on his left arm.
“You wouldn’t take your dosages orally,” it chided.
Eli struggled against the restraints. “Please. I must go home. My friends are waiting.”
The entity leaned close. A white plastic rectangle was pinned to its chest, imprinted with stark black hieroglyphics:
EDWIN M. FRAZIER, M.D.
BELLEVUE PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL
It smiled. “You are home, Eli.”
Copyright © 2006 by E. S. Strout
