"Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, your son has a minor case of schizophrenia. He's lost part of his sense of reality,"
The doctor stood in the poorly lit hallway while the two aristocrats stared him down. In his white lab coat and shirt, he held a clipboard with the x-rays of Blake Thompson's brain. He took off his glasses.
"It's only a matter of time until his condition really starts to come into effect," continued the doctor.
"How long do you think?" asked Mr. Thompson.
"I have no idea," responded the doctor. "It could be five days, five months, or even five years. The important thing is, the schizophrenia is present in trace amounts, so it won't effect him as much as it would on full effect."
"Is there anything we can do to treat it?" asked Mrs. Thompson.
"I don't know, ma'am. It's hard to say. I haven't come across anything like this. I would keep him under supervision. I mean, he seems stable. However, there's no telling what he'll do when the condition takes effect... or when,"
There was a long pause while the air-conditioning vent turned on above them. They all felt a chill.
"If I may offer my recommendation," said the doctor, "I would let him rest, keep him away from hostile environments, and reduce his limits. Keep him away from anything that may harm his state of mental well being. However, there's something funny about him. Most people nowadays with schizophrenia suffer from mental retardation and a learning disability. However, his IQ is fifteen percent above average. This child loves to learn."
"He has always loved studying physics and mathematics," said Mr. Thompson quietly. He cleared his throat.
"Your son's going to be alright, of course. The condition presents no harm to his medical condition, so there's no real worry. But he must take this pills,"
The doctor grabbed a large bottle of pills off the nearby table. The bottle had no label on it, but it had "patient 256" written on it in sharpie marker.
"Two a month, at least," he added.
Mr. Thompson took the bottle out of the doctor's hand and read the somewhat derogatory label. The doctor walked down the hallway.
"And Mr. Thompson," the doctor turned. "One more thing."
"What is that?" he responded.
"Blake depends on the warmth of his family,"
The doctor turned and exited out the door. Mr. and Mrs. Thompson could not comprehend what the doctor had just told him. So, they turned to the window and watched Blake playing with a toy train. For once, he was a normal eight-year-old boy. But in the next second, he took his hand away from the train set and ran to the door. Mrs. Thompson picked him up by the arms, having opened the door, and hugged him on her shoulder. Mr. Thompson rubbed his long, black hair.
"It's going to be alright," said Mrs. Thompson.