Disclaimer: I am not an elderly Japanese man who makes wonderful films. Sorry everyone.
A/N:To tell you the truth, I have no idea what this is about either. So if you have any insight, tell me please. o.0
Therapy is Wednesday
by Undercooked
The rainsplash upon the layers of Earth cured her ears of their restlessness.
Her ears were always restless this time of year; her inane life became so disturbing in the fall. But when it rained the world turned right again, and she could finally sleep.
Sleeping had ever been hard for her, ever since she had been little. She had nightmares about spirits chasing her and sludge in her hair and a man with too many arms and a dragon. Where these dreams had come from baffled everyone - drawings of their leavings papered her walls.
Therapy was every Wednesday, and she walked there in the rain, even skipped a little.
Dr. Jung would be mad if she were late.
When she passed the bus stop she saw someone sitting there, looking dark and forlorn. She thought she would like to wade into that melancholy and lay down for a second. A moment later she passed a woman under an umbrella looking harried, drawing along two children, screaming at them, and walked more quickly. She didn't need any more restlessness in her ears.
It was halfway to the office when she decided that she wasn't going to therapy this Wednesday.
She didn't need it, really - it was just those dreams. She could dream if she wanted to, couldn't she?
Turning around, she made her way back the way she had come. Quickly past the umbrella mother with her poisonous tongue, quickly past the hedges and houses and false tranquility. She sat down in the bus stop and waited for something to happen.
She was always waiting for something to happen.
"Where are you going, darling?" asked the forlorn figure without looking at her. She didn't look either - didn't want to break the unspoken stranger code.
"Nowhere," she replied.
"Me, too," he said, for judging by the voice it was obviously a he.
"Oh," she said softly.
"Where are you supposed to be, darling?" he asked, pity in his tone.
"Therapy."
"Where are you really supposed to be?"
She did not know how to respond, because she did not know. A burst of muddy water lapped at the curb as a car passed. The rain sluiced from the roof of the bus stop in near silence.
"Um, mister?"
"Yes, darling?"
"I'm scared."
"I know," he said, his voice more pitying still. "I know you are."
Just then, the bus swam up the street, steaming and puffing, and he stood as it stopped.
"I just needed to know that you were alive and still broken enough to see me," said the stranger. "I just wanted to see you again, darling."
As the bus pulled away, she cried softly.
Maybe she did need to go to therapy.