Chapter 1: Call For Help
Tick.
'Clocks are annoying. Whomever invented clocks should be drawn and quartered.' he thought.
Tick.
'ARGH!'
Tick.
"Well, sir, it appears you're never going to come out of that shell today. Nurse, please take him back to his room and give him his mid-day sedation."
"Yes, doctor."
He faintly heard voices, and barely felt hands lift him out of the chair and on to another. He barely felt the chair being wheeled down the white corridor, vaguely recognizing the mad screams, the tortured groans, or the insane laughter behind the doors that lined this wing. He didn't hear the door open, being lifted again, and put on the drab gray bed. He didn't notice the needle prick, or the heavy warmth that followed. This happened all the time, and frankly he didn't give a damn. He couldn't; he wasn't there.
All he could hear was that damn clock that was so far away in the doctor's office.
~~~
I've never seen anything so unusual. I mean, I've seen the condition many times, but not because of this!
He was wheeled in almost a year ago. He was the palest person I've ever seen; sickly, with dark bruises under his ice-blue eyes. I imagined an impish sparkle in them at one time, but now a dull sheen. He had thick white bandages around his wrists and around his head. His black hair was a tangled, greasy mess that hung just below his chin. He clutched a stuffed dog in his lap, his hands tightly squeezing it's little legs. He was obviously heavily sedated by the way his eyes dizzily closed every couple of seconds, lulling around. They wheeled him into my office and waited patiently for me to follow. I sat down at my brown oak desk, pulling out his file that was under a cross-shaped paperweight. His eyes came to rest on the said weight and remained fuzzily fixed there. I opened the yellow file and looked at the lined paper. "Mister…Merton J. Dingle. Hi, I'm Doctor Fields. I hope we get to know each other." I carried on in a professional way, which was standard: Act like you're their friend, and get your job done. He looked like someone I normally would avoid outside these walls, but it was my duty to try and diagnose and cure him. He was my patient now, and it looked like I was his only hope. "So…you're a college man, I see. Eighteen…almost old enough to go to keggers, huh?" I winked. He just stared at the paperweight. His hands pressed hard on the little toy. "You look like a good kid, Merton. You wouldn't go out drinking, would you? Nah. It says here that you are a straight-A student! And you're majoring in Bio-Chemistry? Wow. You're a smart cookie."
A pause.
"That's an interesting toy you got there, Merton. May I see it?"
As expected, he wasn't looking or answering. I got up from my expensive and comfortable chair and knelt at his side, resting a hand on a wheel. I picked up the stuffy and studied it closely. Cute, little, with brown fur…
The chair toppled over and Merton started screaming and crying hysterically. I quickly gave the dog back, and the screaming stopped. His voice hitched and he struggled to a sitting position. He hugged the toy to his chest, and the most curious thing happened. Rapid prose escaped from his lips; I dismissed it for lunacy but recorded it anyway:
"I pursued the white rabbit, but he soon met his untimely demise/T'was a creature that snuffed him, with great, glowing green eyes!"
"What's that supposed to mean, son?"
His wide eyes scanned the room, before slowly turning his head to look at me. It was like those dolls that you see in movies, but only it was not an expression of evil, but of pain and fright.
~~~
Tick.
Time was a nuisance, he thought. 'Too late.'
Always too late. He closed his eyes, preparing for sleep. He knew it was a hopeless cause; he always had nightmares, and they were all about how his insubordination, how late he was…how he couldn't save them.
He was almost asleep when he felt a stir on the bed. He cautiously opened his eyes, expecting another dawdling nurse. What a surprise it was when his stuffed dog stared back!
"Stop staring, Merton, you got to help us!"
Tick.
'Clocks are annoying. Whomever invented clocks should be drawn and quartered.' he thought.
Tick.
'ARGH!'
Tick.
"Well, sir, it appears you're never going to come out of that shell today. Nurse, please take him back to his room and give him his mid-day sedation."
"Yes, doctor."
He faintly heard voices, and barely felt hands lift him out of the chair and on to another. He barely felt the chair being wheeled down the white corridor, vaguely recognizing the mad screams, the tortured groans, or the insane laughter behind the doors that lined this wing. He didn't hear the door open, being lifted again, and put on the drab gray bed. He didn't notice the needle prick, or the heavy warmth that followed. This happened all the time, and frankly he didn't give a damn. He couldn't; he wasn't there.
All he could hear was that damn clock that was so far away in the doctor's office.
~~~
I've never seen anything so unusual. I mean, I've seen the condition many times, but not because of this!
He was wheeled in almost a year ago. He was the palest person I've ever seen; sickly, with dark bruises under his ice-blue eyes. I imagined an impish sparkle in them at one time, but now a dull sheen. He had thick white bandages around his wrists and around his head. His black hair was a tangled, greasy mess that hung just below his chin. He clutched a stuffed dog in his lap, his hands tightly squeezing it's little legs. He was obviously heavily sedated by the way his eyes dizzily closed every couple of seconds, lulling around. They wheeled him into my office and waited patiently for me to follow. I sat down at my brown oak desk, pulling out his file that was under a cross-shaped paperweight. His eyes came to rest on the said weight and remained fuzzily fixed there. I opened the yellow file and looked at the lined paper. "Mister…Merton J. Dingle. Hi, I'm Doctor Fields. I hope we get to know each other." I carried on in a professional way, which was standard: Act like you're their friend, and get your job done. He looked like someone I normally would avoid outside these walls, but it was my duty to try and diagnose and cure him. He was my patient now, and it looked like I was his only hope. "So…you're a college man, I see. Eighteen…almost old enough to go to keggers, huh?" I winked. He just stared at the paperweight. His hands pressed hard on the little toy. "You look like a good kid, Merton. You wouldn't go out drinking, would you? Nah. It says here that you are a straight-A student! And you're majoring in Bio-Chemistry? Wow. You're a smart cookie."
A pause.
"That's an interesting toy you got there, Merton. May I see it?"
As expected, he wasn't looking or answering. I got up from my expensive and comfortable chair and knelt at his side, resting a hand on a wheel. I picked up the stuffy and studied it closely. Cute, little, with brown fur…
The chair toppled over and Merton started screaming and crying hysterically. I quickly gave the dog back, and the screaming stopped. His voice hitched and he struggled to a sitting position. He hugged the toy to his chest, and the most curious thing happened. Rapid prose escaped from his lips; I dismissed it for lunacy but recorded it anyway:
"I pursued the white rabbit, but he soon met his untimely demise/T'was a creature that snuffed him, with great, glowing green eyes!"
"What's that supposed to mean, son?"
His wide eyes scanned the room, before slowly turning his head to look at me. It was like those dolls that you see in movies, but only it was not an expression of evil, but of pain and fright.
~~~
Tick.
Time was a nuisance, he thought. 'Too late.'
Always too late. He closed his eyes, preparing for sleep. He knew it was a hopeless cause; he always had nightmares, and they were all about how his insubordination, how late he was…how he couldn't save them.
He was almost asleep when he felt a stir on the bed. He cautiously opened his eyes, expecting another dawdling nurse. What a surprise it was when his stuffed dog stared back!
"Stop staring, Merton, you got to help us!"