This is a beach on an island in the South China Sea. It's just as much a therapy venue as it is a tourist spot. One thing's for certain, though; no marines will land here anytime soon.
This is a military fort. A variety of units from a variety of armies are garrisoned here; most are medical. They have to be; a lot of medevac ambulances come through here. Most of the warriors here are Chinese...although there are also Somali, Pakistani, Panamanian, Greek, and Danish units stationed here. A few US combat pilots, too, there are.
This is a hospital. It's the reason the fort is here. The blocks are mostly white, with the Red Dharma painted on certain walls. (The dharma is a wheel that's sacred in Buddhism; it's also, more or less, to Buddhism as the cross is to Christianity.) Hence, once can assume that this hospital is not in PRC jurisdiction; otherwise, the blocks would more likely be painted red, and branded, instead, with a hammer-and-sickle.
This is a nuthouse...or rather, it's a mental hospital. It's a place where warriors go when war has wounded their minds. Many live here. Almost as many might never leave here alive.
From downstairs, and from within operating rooms, horrific screams of nightmarish agony can be heard. For some, auditory illusions of machine gun fire can be heard, too. For some, this wouldn't make a bad Frankenstein fantasy...or better yet, an Addams Family one...
In a room on the ground floor, a radio plays. It plays a slow-dancing honky-tonk classic from Vern Gosdin/the Voice: "Do You Believe Me Now?"
On an upper floor, there's a room. Its door is ajar. A stuffed tiger head hangs from a part of it...
Inside, a mentally wounded veteran...or whatever he is...sits on the bed, clad in lightweight white and blue. If he is a vet, his dog tags have been confiscated. For him, though, this is just as well; he's more of a cat person, anyway... (And "cat," in this context, means panther-size ones...)
On the surface, he seems to be in a catatonic state. The staff here, alas, isn't exactly sure what's wrong with him. They shouldn't feel too bad; this guy's parents spent decades wondering similar questions, as they toiled to raise him...with situational help from a just-as-stumped-yet-stronger-willed teenage girl named Roselyn.
Atop the bedside table, an ornamental Tennessee whiskey bottle sits. The label is one of Jack Daniel's. A photo of an actor named Thomas Haden Church, younger and in battledress, smiles and makes an "OK" symbol with one of his hands...
On a wall, a poster hangs. It's of a chupa-cu; a legendary vampiric werebeast from Rio Grande do Norte. It's portrayed wandering a favela in Natal. The poster's captions read, "Wanted: Watterson; Reward: the Rights, for a Toon TV Show..."
A mug sits on the end table. Its caption reads "Celeste for Governor; 1982; Hail to the Jackasses!" (Not to worry; it was not used, by anyone, to drink whatever Tennessee whiskey that might or might not had once been in that Daniel's bottle, before it became ornamental...)
In a corner and near the ceiling, a bushel of "get well" balloons levitate. One of them bears the following caption: "Come Fly with Me...and at 30,000 Feet, I'll Pop for You."
From another wall, a painting hangs. It's of an artist's vision of the Yukon wilderness. A lower corner of the painting bears the following initials, left in gold paint: PAE.
In the midst of the room, a ghost stands...or rather, she levitates. In life, she was a nurse at some hospital. She had a crush on her boss, a doctor. Different versions of the story vary, as to what happened next... The ending, though, is predictable enough; either she committed suicide, she committed self-manslaughter, or she was killed by a mystery assailant. She has not, though, let death become the reason why she stops doing her job. If she's here, she's probably assigned to one of the Panamanian units at the fort. Or rather, she is in theory; whether her teammates are aware of her status as "one of the guys" is less clear...
Today, though, la Planchada seems to have a slightly different amorous interest; and that'd be the patient who lives in this very room. Day by day, she hovers here, sighs, and shakes her head...
"You'd make a great doctor one day," la Planchada half-whispers. "Alas, you'd probably reject me, just as my first boss did. Lord knows you once kept throwing Susie Derkins off the Sears Tower, just to see if she was made of matter..." She giggles. "Hobbes, rumor has it, once dared you to do the same thing just to prove that she grew from a spore... And to think that he loved her more than you did."
Calvin doesn't flinch. It's also unclear as to whether he can sense la Planchada's presence...
She sighs. "One day, I will have you simplified. I'd possess you...except I probably couldn't get you to snap out of it any more than you can." She giggles. "And that's just assuming that this isn't just some act that you'd put on for your parents, or for Mrs. Wormwood..."
Still, Calvin doesn't move...if he can...
La Planchada yawns. "I shalt return." She points a finger at him. "And one day...we will have our sex!" With that, she does an about-face, and levitates right through the wall as if it weren't there...
The door soon opens wider. Through it, a Sinitic nurse comes in and attends to poor Calvin. Over the months, she's been a better mother to Calvin than Calvin's birth mother ever was. But then, of course, Calvin will never be her only patient.
It seems strange, that Calvin has a 1A card...if one will. In older eras of American history, Calvin's mental issues surely would've earned him a 4F card. Several times, Calvin's relatives implored to have him exempt from the Selective Service. Back in Calvin's hometown, it's unclear as to what the locals protest more; the wars, or Calvin's recruitment...
She's got a stuffed toy in her hands. Ornamental ribbon hangs from parts of it. The toy is of a white tiger. It's come all the way from a mystery sender in Las Vegas. (Their surname, BTW, would not necessarily rhyme with "Schiegfried" or "Schoy...") For Calvin, it's a little piece of home.
"This," the nurse speaks, with a thick accent, "in the mail for you." She sets it on another table across the room, near a window. She backs away and heaves a sigh. "Hobbes no good, they say. He still in landfill."
Calvin doesn't flinch. But then, these days, he seldom ever does. A tear, though, does seem to run from his right eye...
"Rest, Mr. Calvin," the nurse speaks again, "and seek peace. For mind, dharma never too far." She scoffs and flaps her bobbed raven hair. "Certainly closer than Stevie Nicks' Texas..." She smiles, waves, and takes her leave, resuming her other-floor duties.
She stops at the door, though. She turns, bends over, and attempts to look up Calvin's hospital boxers... She scoffs and shakes her head. "You still long way from Sharon Stone leg-cross, it seems..." With that, she finally takes her leave.
A part of Calvin's back is exposed. Across it, there's a tattoo. It reads the phrase, "Opposite Day, Anyone?" The lettering is bee-patterned.
Atop the tattoo, a stray bee lands. The bee needs not worry, as Calvin need not. This time around, Calvin won't move. And Hobbes certainly won't lie to him about the bee not being there just to get him to move and be stung...
In his own special way, Calvin is often at peace. He is, in fact, at a variant of that peace now. Alas, his mind is a multiverse. He's often in one of these infinite universes, too far from the American suburbs, and too close to his own heart.
The following compilation of tales will be hard for many to believe. Either way, for as long as one would dare, it shall be their guide through the infinite universes of Calvin's beautiful mind. Feel free to tag along, at your own expense...and to ponder a trinity of billion-dollar questions: what if, what the fork, and Watterson the fork?!
As Calvin dreams, the white tiger doll, still where the nurse left it, sits. Its indigo eyes light up with mystical cobalt-blue light. The doll's head might not be right next to Calvin's...but it soon becomes apparent that the doll and Calvin, as they explore the multiverse of madness with Calvin's mind, that they both share the same visions...or otherwise become codependent of them...