Verbal Medicine is a product of the collective ‘Writing Game‘ (CEO project).

Verbal Medicine 2

In the back of the police cruiser, Stephen felt like a caged animal. Handcuffed. Volvo abandoned. This was no longer his kingdom. Nor his phylum. Fight or flight kicked in. Stephen tried to pretend there was a Third Way. Transcendental Meditation as taught by David Lynch in his MasterClass. But Stephen’s mind-body was too far gone. Panic. Blinking eyes. He squirmed. He murmured. The police officers no longer understood his language.

Stephen’s machine-brain. Orb of light. I am an insect thinker. Praying mantis. Ready to decapitate the copper’s head. The police officer in the passenger seat grinned at Stephen. “You like football?” he said. “You like bloody Brighton, don’t you? They’ll be relegated soon enough.” Stephen did not understand a word of it. Sounded like television.

“A cactus is what I am,” Stephen thought. Thirst. Drought. The sea is a desert. Seagulls are coyotes. Prickly pricks. Geological time.

Stephen is dragged out of the police cruiser. Kicking and screaming. The walls of the cell at the station are made of limestone karst. He is alone. Tribe of One. Neanderthal urges. To draw. To speak.

A police officer rolls an orange into Stephen’s cell. The bright color nearly blinds Stephen.

Citrus.