I lay on my back. Sunlight filters through the window blinds onto me. I’m laying on my bed receiving medication. The only sounds are from a clock ticking away in my room and the birds outside.

Calm.

Patient.

Waiting.

I fiddle with a rubber band in my hands while I wait. It could have been snatched off the office desk or taken from documents.  I spin it around and around. An easy fidget toy. It can be bent, spun or most importantly: shot.

Exciting.

Fun.

Stimulating.

I pull it tight around the tip of my finger. Pulling it with my other hand. It stretches until my meager strength cannot put more force into it. I stare at the blank white ceiling above me. I aim the rubber band directly at it. It would fall back down like a falling star onto my bed. At least it should have. I let it go and it becomes a blur. A rocket shooting faster than my eyes can track. Then nothing.

Silence.

Stillness.

Emptiness.

I look around in confusion. The rubber band never came back down. It should have. It had to have, but there was nothing. No sign of it. Like it had fallen through the floor. Eaten by some black hole in my bedroom. I never found it in that sunlit calm room.

Where did it go?