Jake And STS

I walk in. Suddenly everyone is against me and out to get me. Even the pharmacist seems like she wants to kill me. I have my slip of paper in my hand, knowing that at any moment, it might get taken away. I don't have any friends with me, as I can sense they will die as soon as they get close to me. My name's Jake by the way. Jake McKeown.

I go up to the desk and hand in my prescription cautiously. Suddenly I get an overwhelming urge to pace the floor and talk to myself. I have been betrayed.

'Ah, I see,' says the pharmacist. She's judging me. I can tell. 'I see you have a severe case of Shakespearean Tragedy Syndrome. If you don't mind me asking, what strain is it?'

I look down at the floor. 'To be or not to be, that is the question. Whether it is nobler in the mind-'

'I'll just put down Hamlet, shall I?' she says as she types something into the computer. 'Right, you know this is going to be hard work, don't you? And the treatment may seem grueling, but unless you want to live you want to live your life constantly quoting the most depressing teenager known to man, you have to get through this!'

Typical. Another person telling me what to do. I get enough of that. Suddenly an overly friendly girl walks over to me. 'Hi, I'm Chancey, and I have OWS. I've been banned from using this writing site called Protagonize. Part of my recovery, you know? I came here to try to get my ban lifted.'

'Fat chance young lady!' grumbles the pharmacist.'

'That's what you think...Anyway, as I was saying, I'm here to try to get back on Protagonize. I had a bout of STS - Othello Strand - a few years ago. You'll get through it. And if you don't, I can write you into one of my stories!'

'Great...' I mumble. The pharmacist carries on. 'As I was saying, you have to get through this. I'm prescribing you a month's worth of Bill Bryson novels to get your mood back on track, and steer clear of The Bard for at least a few weeks. How many times have you read Hamlet?'

'123.' I admit shamefully.

'Better make it a few months...' she mutters. 'Come back when you've read the Brysons, but not before then! STS is a serious business! And stop calling me Ophelia!'

I honestly had no idea I was doing it. These past few weeks I found I was doing it a lot, so I went to the doctors'. They diagnosed me with STS. Let's just say that I have not been allowed near anything remotely related to anything sharp since. You know, just in case. The girl smiles at me. I hope I get better, for her sake. Wouldn't want her to think I'm weak, would I? Suddenly I get the urge to pace and talk again. Oh God...


The End

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