***
Wilbur's body was still aching, from when the police had tackled him to the ground. He shivered with apprehension, while reclining in a medical chair at a local hospital.
The voices, which incessantly persecuted him, were acting smug about the arrest. A shrill and childish sounding voice giggled and said, “We told you you were just a crazy person. Police are protective.”
It was warping to Wilbur to be considered crazy, when he knew his brain was being tortured by the government. It was like his entire life was being cast into oblivion, with all the tortures he'd suffered from the government, being dismissed as merely a mental illness. It didn't make sense that clearly understandable voices could cause him physical pain and pressure, without some sort of sentient power, elsewhere, guiding it. The Illuminati had to be behind it
There was a partition in front him, with two glass windows and an open doorway, looking out on hospital counters where two tall, athletic orderlies sat, typing away on computers. One of the orderlies looked in his direction and said, “Maurissa was right. He does have hippopotamus lips.”
The statement struck Wilbur like a slap in the face and a chill went up his spine. Maurissa was his ex-girlfriend and she had said that about his lips, just before she dumped him. They had been alone together, when she had said that to him. How could that wop know what she had said? “Wop,” said Wilbur, in a tremulous voice.
A heavy set Caucasian doctor turned the corner, just behind the counters, where the orderlies sat. He had a large head, which was bald in the front, with thinning black hair along the sides and back, large, strongly pronounced jowls, and a crazed look in his brown eyes. There was a slight beard, growing from the doctor's large jaw line, which resembled the fully grown whiskers of a walrus.
The doctor slapped his cheeks with his eyes set directly on Wilbur. The doctor's approach infused Wilbur with a surge of terror such that he found it difficult to remain seated. When the doctor was just outside the door, he stopped and stared at Wilbur. “I'll be right with you,” said the doctor in a gruff and comical sounding voice. Then the doctor turned to the right and went down the hall. A door opened nearby.
“How do you know about Maurissa?” asked Wilbur.
The two orderlies continued typing away at their computers as if they hadn't heard him.
Wilbur shouted, “How do you know about Maurissa!?!”
The orderly, who had made the wise crack, gave Wilbur a reproving stare and, in a forceful tone, he commanded, “Calm down!”
A hollow knock came from a room nearby. It sounded like a medical instrument striking against bone. The dread of being lobotomized seized Wilbur's mind. He bolted from the reclining chair and ran through the doorway. Immediately, the two orderlies were upon him, tackling him to the ground.
“I want a lawyer! You have to give me a lawyer!”
One of the orderlies looked over to a nurse and said, “Get the restraints.”
“Please don't lobotomize me! I promise I won't protest anymore!”
Adrenaline rushed through Wilbur's veins, making him oblivious to his wounds, as he struggled, but he was overpowered. Soon, he lay there on the ground, exhausted, beneath the two larger orderlies. They forcefully put the strait jacket over his torso, hurting his already injured arms, yanking them into the sleeves, as Wilbur cried out in pain.
Wilbur groaned as the two orderlies placed him back onto the reclining medical chair in the anteroom. “I want a lawyer,” he protested.
“You stay put,” ordered one of the orderlies.
“Please don't give me a lobotomy.”
Now the full extent of Wilbur's wounds settled in and he felt sore all over. He groaned in agony, wishing he could go home and fall asleep in his bedroom again.
A listless feeling of helplessness swept through Wilbur, as the doctor with strong jowls turned the corner and approached him. The doctor crossed his arms in an imperious gesture and he said, “You refused to obey an order from the police. A gag order. That's why you're here. If you were a responsible and productive member of this society, you wouldn't be here.”
Another medium sized doctor, with bags under his eyes, sloth like facial features, and a thick white mustache, entered the anteroom and he waited nearby with a paper cup in one hand and something unseen clasped in the other. One of the orderlies followed and waited beside him.
The doctor with large jowls added, “It's none of your business what I was doing in that other room. Your business is to do as you're told.”
The sloth like doctor approached Wilbur and held out a round pill with one hand and the paper cup with the other. “Take this pill.”
Wilbur was completely overcome by a listless exhaustion, rendering him numb to his previous fears. At least he would be drugged. He opened his mouth.
“Evergreen, ever clear,” said the sloth like doctor, in a sluggish voice, as he placed the pill onto Wilbur's tongue and poured the orange juice into his mouth.
Wilbur recognized he was being mocked by the sloth like doctor and he swallowed the pill anyways. He preferred to be drugged during this experience. His eyes soon grew too heavy to keep open and he drifted into a semi-conscious state.
They lifted him onto a stretcher with wheels. When he sensed them turning left into the hallway, he felt oblivious to his fate. His life was over now.
They ceased moving the stretcher for a moment and waited for something. An electric bell dinged followed by the sound of elevator doors opening. They wheeled him into the elevator and somebody pressed a button. Then there was a sensation of going downward.
“What are we doing with this one?” asked the walrus like doctor.
“This is a fart vessel,” replied the sloth like doctor.
“Exclusively a fart vessel?”
“Exclusively,” said the sloth like doctor with a hint of childish amusement to his voice.
The last thing Wilbur heard was the sound of his own flatulence.