Unleash Pandora's Box
"It depends if you hold trust on my certainty."
I was once told, long ago, to the point that it is not remembered, that I needed therapy. Serious therapy, therapy that didn't include talking to your doctor about things, things that concerned normal people, whom this person, of whose face I've forgotten, believes do not suits me. I believe that was meant to express the fact that I am not normal, of which you could say, I was half proud of being. I believe this person was exaggerating, by the way, my next door neighbor appears to have problem himself, though what it is I don't appear to know and truly don't in actuality. And so this person, whom I know with certainty doesn't live in this chaotically disordered town, convinced myself, which if you must know was through bribery (which would mean this person cared a rather much, no?), to go see a doctor. I live in a unfitting place for that, my dear, if you're listening. I know you're not.
Reality is seemingly your friend, of which you will snicker at when you see otherwise, and you see otherwise fast, and at that point, reality throws a sharp turn at you when you hit that age, especially in that crazy town, where you're bound to hit some sort of traumatic experience, no exception accepted. Except for maybe making sipping some tea out of a golden-white jar with the reaper, who hopefully possesses some sort of manner, though this state and joyless event (who am I to say if it's joyless or joyful, though?) is probably caused by said traumatic event.
"So, you're Flippy, yes?" says he, nodding his head and I stare. Stare in a rather rude manner, though that's fine, it is.
"Yes, however, are you sure you're capable of this?"
He puts his clipboard down and taps his chin repeatedly, which can get rather pestering, in a thoughtful manner. Titling his head at me, as if I was the weird one, which I normally would have been, but today is an exception, which is odd, he replies, and I take it.
"Yes, I believe, or at least, I think so. There is a certain amount of certainty I possess on that matter, take your pick on whether or not to hold trust upon that certainty," he responds, and responds rather fairly and justly, that I leave the doubt in a comfort pile for a rather hesitant moment before taking back and tilting my head in natural instinct.
"Well then, how much is your certainty? A half sounds good, I say often, however that marks failure for most, thus why I failed my scholar years, you see," I say, and he nods at that and we look at each other in a non-straight angle, which I believe is fit for ones such like us, who belong in an asylum, which this town actually is.
"Ah, well then, I hope I prove 60% certain upon my profession and needed talent; hope that you find that somewhat cheery and maybe uplifting if I may be hopeful myself," says he and so I reply out of necessity at the word "cheery."
"I, whose opinion shan't be held with literally, think that you are at least more than that for you seem to understand this word, this word 'cheery,' of which I've lost grasp of along with maybe hope and true happiness. I think the others agree rather vigorously," I say and he looks but says nothing, and that's fine for it's just a more polite version of saying "I don't wish to talk to you for now."
There's more tapping, which is getting more annoying by each thinking second, and the clock echoes the passing time neatly like Echo herself, though there is no Narcissus here, at least I thought.
"Narcissism is a mental disorder, mister," he says and I wonder how he knew, but maybe it's because he's a doctor, and because I've failed most of what I call my horrible scholarly years, of which I've probably ruined thoroughly for my teachers.
"Well then, is there Echoism?"
"Actually, yes. I believe you know it as onomatopoeia," he says, this time looking up for a small second.
"You know, I have never knew how to pronounce that," I say and he looks up once again, this time sparing my nonsensical conversations a minute, though he looks doubtful.
"Yet you know the story of Narcissus and the nymph Echo?"
"Yes, oddly," I say, and silence follows me. It's eerie every time he looks up from the papers now, like he's studying something invisible clinging on to me. There's a moment's while before he finishes (as I moan "It's about time" silently in my mind) and he looks up.
"Well, Mister Flippy, I do believe I'll have to study your background information a bit more seeing there was no provided background knowledge from my usual database sources until you brought them to attention. Any questions?"
He waved the stack of papers I had brought him as instructed by the government's official papers and I shrugged.
"Nothing," I say, then before moving to the door tilt my head at him and say,
"I just never knew that I would be counseled by someone who needs more counseling than I."
A/N: I've been reading Great Expectations by Charles Dickens and I just loved the style and tone that is allowed to be used by a first-person view, so I decided to try it! I hope it turned out okay, I'm not very good at this, haha. Anyway, this is actually pretty short (though it didn't look like it when I was writing it), so I'll probably try write longer next time.