"Ms. Romaine?"
I turned my head towards Satan – 'Dr. Edgar but you may call me Stan' he says.
He was an older man, probably around his late-sixties. He looked like Freud except with more modern glasses and a douche-like smile. I despised him. I've been here for three weeks and he already diagnosed me with some weird personality disorder along with moderate depression and suicidal tendencies. I personally believe he just throws shit out there just to make more money.
"Why don't you tell me about your day?" He asked with a tight-lipped smile.
He was sitting across from me in a very vintage Elizabethan looking chair. His legs were crossed and his hands folded over my file and his notebook.
I sighed heavily throwing my arm over my eyes while I laid on the awkward chair-bed, "I woke up. I went to school. I went to the book store. I bought some books—"
"Aha! What books did you buy…?"
"I don't know some science fiction book about the upcoming apocalypse."
"Tsk, tsk." I heard followed by an intense scribbling noise coming from his notebook.
'The hell does that mean?' I removed my arm and stared menacingly at his notebook 'I wish I could burn that notebook. I wonder what load of crap he has in there." I scowled.
"So you believe there is an upcoming apocalypse?"
I scrunched my nose, "No, I just like reading about—"
"Why would a young girl such as yourself, like reading about that?"
I ran my hand down my face, "Because. It's interesting."
"Interesting…because you wish it would happen?"
"It'll probably happen regardless, I mean we're using up all our resources and humans aren't the brightest of species – in fact, we're very arrogant."
"Tsk." He began scribbling again.
I felt my temper flare. "Can you stop doing that?"
"Doing what? Tsk." He threw back with a quirk of his eyebrow.
"That stupid noise and your incessant scribbling."
"Well, this 'scribbling' is my job and what noise?"
I stared at him incredulously, "That 'TSK' noise you keep doing."
He stared back, a twinkling in his eye, "I didn't make a 'tsk' noise."
I grumbled. This guy was such an asshole. He's been 'tsking' since day one and it's seriously pissing me off.
"WHY ARE YOU LYING!?" I yelled raising myself to a sitting position.
"Ms. Romaine, take some deep breaths and calm down. It's natural that someone of your caliber would experience these symptoms."
I scoffed. 'Was this guy for real?'
"What symptoms?" I gritted out annoyed at the turn of conversation.
"Hallucinations of course."
I gaped at him, "HALLUCINATIONS!? YOU THINK I'M HALLUCINATING!? ARE YOU CRAZY!?" I screamed.
"There's no need for raised voices…"
I shut my eyes, trying to keep my temper in check. It was obvious since day one that this guy did not like me.
"You know what," I rose from the chair-bed, "I'm out of here." I began walking towards the door.
"Ms. Romaine!" He exclaimed, "You are not authorized to leave here until your hour is up. So please come sit—"
I spun on my heel, "YOU. ARE. AN. ASSHOLE. I would rather throw myself off the Brooklyn Bridge than listen to your snarky little satanic voice! So no! I will not SIT THE HELL BACK DOWN. YOU CAN SIT DOWN and MAYBE while you're at it, you can take that notebook and shove it up your ass!" Panting slightly from my outburst, I fled the office.
Once outside, I began running down the streets of Manhattan and immediately regretted my outburst, especially my choice of words.
'Really? REALLY? You just had to say you'd rather jump off the Brooklyn Bridge! They already think you're suicidal!'
I made it to Central Park where I started walking to calm down. I took in the scenery. The children playing. The shining sun. The elderly couples playing chess on the walkway.
'Why couldn't I be at ease like them? Why couldn't I just have a seemingly normal life?' I glowered to myself.
I walked for hours and eventually took my place on a patch of grass and immersed myself in the noise of city life.
There was nothing quite like NYC – sure most tourist who come complain about the noise, the smells, the hobos etc. but these noises lulled me to sleep – the honking of the taxis, the children's laughter, the occasional New York spat. It truly was a soothing experience for me.
I rolled onto my side, fixing my school uniform in the process and sighed dejectedly. 'I'll have to face Mother sooner or later. Might as well get it over.'
I slowly rose from the grass and began wiping off my yellow plaid skirt. The sun was setting rather quickly, so I knew I had to get out of Central Park soon. It would be idiotic for me to venture around here alone… especially in a school uniform. That makes me an even bigger target.
As I turned to head home, I realized something quite strange.
I gazed at the surrounding terrain. It was eerily unfamiliar and almost ominous.
The trees were taller… the ground was, somehow, harder…but the biggest difference was that I couldn't hear the roar of taxis or the burst of city life. There were no screaming cheers of children or laughing teenagers. No soft mummers of conversation coming from the elderly. No skateboards, no bikes, nothing.
It was dead silent.
My head filled with panic and my heart pumped faster. I frantically looked around and then ran in the direction I thought was home. Trees upon trees kept passing and I kept hoping for a clearing into the streets or a sound – any sound.
As I continued further the trees got thicker and the skies grew darker. My school uniform snagged on branches as the forest became more condensed.
Becoming more frantic and evermore clumsy, my legs gave out and I stumbled over some rocks and down a hill. Rolling and rolling my thoughts and frantic heart beat slowed as I hit my head on a nearby log.
Fading in and out of nothingness. I was out like a light, but not before asking that ever-present question:
'Can this get any worse?'
