Clouded Rainbow by Jonathan Sturak

pondered the choice.
    The front would probably be easier to figure out my location. Maybe my car is parked outside with Lois waiting to pick me up?
    He realized, however, that things were probably much more complicated. Roger decided to take the “front” hallway, but just as he began to walk, he saw several police officers heading his way. He wondered if they were on to his escape and were looking for individuals who matched Roger’s description. Whatever their intention, his choice changed to the “rear” hallway.
    Roger hustled down his chosen path. Then, like seeing the ribbon at a marathon’s finishing line, the doorway to the free world revealed itself. He picked up his steps and blindsided a passing nurse. Roger didn’t care, for he could smell the sweet scent of safety.
    As Roger emerged, rays of the setting sun warmed his pale face. He basked in the openness. Roger let his eyes adjust to the natural light as he focused his ears on the sound of distant birds chirping. He felt like a free man, just released from an undeserving prison sentence. As he enjoyed his new freedom, the throbbing pain in his head returned, this time even worse. Then, his right leg locked. It was as if the plug that energized his ailing body had been ripped from its socket. He thought that maybe it was the artificial drugs that had once pumped into his veins, but now were abandoned in his hospital cell like everything else. Whatever the cause, his mind felt overwhelmed as mounting questions clouded his judgment.
    “I’ve got to get home,” he convinced himself. He would do whatever it took to get as far away from the hospital as possible.
    Roger staggered through the packed parking lot. All of the cars started to blend, white SUVs looked black, and compacts appeared as full-sized. He hoped he would find his parked SUV, the mighty machine. He felt safe inside that vehicle and wanted so badly to grip its leather-wrapped steering wheel. Roger made it to the end of the lot and had no idea what to do. He turned to take in the soaring building mocking him, which only strengthened his desire to flee. As his senses shrieked, Roger saw two cars nearby. One was a beat-up sedan that was idling, its exhaust pipes spewing murky, oil-burnt smoke. A junky truck was parked next to it. Two men used the rusty vehicle for support as they conversed. One was a rough looking African-American; the other was a stocky Hispanic man with a shaved head. Roger watched as the men cackled and seemed to forget about the idling sedan. He picked up bits of their conversation, which focused on the bizarre downpours the city had experienced over the past few days.
    Without hesitation, Roger moved toward the deserted car. Normally, committing a crime would be the last thing he would ever consider, but he didn’t care about some street-tough’s junker. He had to take matters into his own hands. His only care in the world was trying to get to Lois. He needed her, and he knew she needed him, wherever she was.
    “Hey, asshole. Can I help you?” snarled the husky Hispanic man as Roger let himself into the running car.
    The man was baffled. He hesitated, as he expected a baggy-clothed hoodlum to be a carjacker, but the man he was watching, one dressed in business clothes with high pants, was not the stereotypical thief. The Hispanic man’s mind quickly refocused on his vehicle as he saw Roger firmly planted in the driver’s seat. He ran to the half-opened window and reached for Roger.
    “Hey! Whoa! Whoa! What are you doing?” he screamed, but Roger slammed the car into drive and nailed the gas.
    The roaring engine mocked the enraged man as a cloud of black smoke covered him.
    “I don’t believe this!” the man yelled as he watched his car speed away.
    It was nearly dark as Roger raced down the urban road trying to navigate the clumsy vehicle. His driving resembled an alcoholic heading home from a bar after a hard day’s work. Roger’s drug, however, was not alcohol;