Oooooook. So yeah, this isn't exactly my normal fandom to write in...hell, I barely even like this book. But I had to do write something for English to do with the story, and this what happened. I like it a lot, and I hope you all do too.

So I walked into that psychoanalysis's office and I sat in that damn uncomfortable chair they all seem to have. I mean, true I haven't been there very often, but when I was there they had the same thing. It's always so stiff backed and annoying and just gets on my nerves. It really does. So anyway, there I was on that damn chair, staring at the doctor or whatever the hell he is and he starts asking me questions. Really deep personal questions like "What did you think when your brother died?" Honestly, who asks that?

It's people like those damn psychiatrists that kill me. They think that they are so cool and smart because they have some goddamn degree. Like they think they can no everything about everything just by talking to a person and asking them damn personal questions like what they think about their younger brother dying.

So I told him "It's all kind of a blur to me." I said, didn't mean it though. I remember how I feel alright, hard to forget that but he was looking so smug in his big comfy chair and glasses that I just wanted to snow him a little. He didn't believe me though, aparently the crafty bastard already knew some of my history. "I've heard that you went around your garage punching all the windows out, is this true?" He asked in that superior tone of his.

"Oh yeah." I said, acting as if I'd had some sort of goddamn epiphany or something. The doc just nodded approvingly like he had done something amazing by making me remember. It made me wanna go up to him and tell him just what I thought about him. I kinda wanted to hit him, he's the type of guy that'll do that to you. I didn't though, just kept talking all respectful, like I actually liked the guy. I was funny like that, I could make anyone believe I liked them even if I hated their guts.

"Yeah, now I remember. I did punch all the windows." I said, still acting as if I was trying to recall it. "I ended up busting my hand and all. Missed Allie's damn funeral on a count of it."

"And, how did that make you feel?" He asked again. That's what really gets me about these doctor bastards, they pretend that they care by asking you "how did it make you feel" but you know damn well that they don't care. It's kinda depressing in a way, seems that the only people who ask you those sorts of questions are the people who are just trying to do their jobs and all.

Anyway, I decided I wasn't gonna jerk around anymore so I just answered. "It made me feel pretty damn lousy." I said. I meant it to. "I mean...not that I like funerals anyway, but it would have been sorta nice to see Allie one more time before they buried him in that damn graveyard."

"I mean, you didn't know the kid. If you did you would have understood. He was so damn intelligent and just so...good. You know you didn't see many kids as good as him, you still don't." I said, and all he kept doing was sitting there and nodding his head. Those types of things show you that they are pretending to listen but aren't really hearing you. God I hated him right then, I didn't even know the guy and I hated him.

I kinda slipped into silence after that, I couldn't really think of anything to say after that. It's funny, I have so many things I could have mentioned now but when it actually came time for me to talk about it in front of the damn psycoanalysist I drew a blank. I guess you just have to be in a certain mood for that type of thing, and I didn't really feel like going into it with this phony doctor.

"I'm sure it must have been hard." He said, that's the other thing about those damn doctors. They always try to talk to you like they know exactly what you've been through and exactly how it feels. "It must have been hard not being able to say goodbye." He said all matter of fact like. They always gotta make things seem so...scientific.

It was probably the least bit of emotion I had ever heard from anyone asking about a dead relative yet for some reason I started to cry. I don't know why I did it, God knows it wasn't because he was so damn good at his job. I bet he felt smug though, I bet you he did. Bet he was going back to all of his doctor buddies at the lunch table and telling them how he got some kid to cry. Probably thought I had opened up to him or something.

He must've though I'd actually had some sort of breakthrough because he told me it was enough for the day. That must be one of their stupid psychiatrist tricks, just when they get you to open up they send you away. I don't know what they're trying to pull there, you would have thought that that time was the best time to get some good work in. Instead they send you away just when you're beginning to feel connected to the bastards. It boils me, it really does.

So anyway, he told me I could go then, smug face and all, putting his damn glasses away in his breast pocket. That's what's always gotten me, they always put their glasses away when you leave, as if they didn't really need them to begin with. They probably don't, they just probably want you to think they're some kind of intelligent and they wear glasses to do it. They're cunning bastards, they really are.

So I shook his hand and I thanked him for his time. I wish I hadn't though, because, honestly, it really didn't do much for me. I just wanted to get the hell out of there so I shook his hand and I walked out. And all I could think of is how I'm gonna have to go back to that phony next week. God that really sucks.