Thread: Therapy

Hi, just a short conversation between a boy and his doctor. It doesn't come from anything longer and pretty much stands alone. It was fun to write, which is why I'm putting it up here. I hope it's fun to read! Any comments/criticisms are much appreciated. I'm not sure how to edit the text to make it easier to read, any comments on that would be helpful as well, thanks!


"You can't always keep things to yourself, you know?"
"Yeah I can. It's easier that way."
"Easier than what?"
"Easier than telling others about what's going on. Easier than explaining all my twisted visions and dreams. Easier than seeing people look at me with those eyes... those eyes that are trying to tell me that it's okay. But those same eyes are full of judgments. Those eyes that are always analyzing me, trying to figure me out."

The psychiatrist and the boy sat alone in a small, cozy room. It was a typical doctor's office, with a nice sofa to lie back on while the doctor sat with her legs crossed in an armchair, tapping her pen on a notepad. There was a beautifully designed coffee table separating them.

"Do I look at you with those eyes?"
"Sometimes."
"I see. But even if it's easier, it's not healthier. It's dangerous."
"Dangerous to whom? Only to myself, right?"
"No. If you hurt yourself, we'll all be hurt. Nobody wants to see you suffer."
"Don't give me that." The boy spat. He had been looking down the whole conversation, and now at this point he finally lifted his head and looked straight at his psychiatrist, glaring at her. "Don't you realize what you're saying? You're telling me to be careful so I don't hurt myself but only so that I don't hurt others, like you. So, you're asking me to be selfless? Think about others, right? But here you are, asking me to do something so that I don't hurt you. See the flaw in your reasoning?"
"There's no flaw. I'm simply asking you to be stronger than everyone else has to be."
"I already am." The boy flinched and grabbed his head with both hands as a splitting pain erupted through his skull and images flashed before him. The pain subsided only moments later.

"What is it this time?" Typical of any trained professional, the doctor spoke softly. She didn't want to seem nervous, she wanted to appear calm in hopes that her composure would transfer to the boy. He had been growing increasingly restless and ill-tempered through the weeks. "Tell me, it's okay to tell me."
"No, it was... nothing."
"It wasn't nothing. I saw you, I know you too well. Tell me," She said again slowly, "It's okay."

"I saw -" But the boy was never able to finish as the couch beneath him gave way. He fell through the floor, slowly as if he were traveling through a denser air. The room gave way and disappeared above him and now he was falling into a darkness that he had come to know so well. He looked up to see where he was falling from but above him was only a single light from a thousand years away. The darkness began to envelop him like a blanket. It wrapped itself around the boy tightly. He cleared his mind and relaxed his muscles when suddenly images began to whirl around him. He was trapped in a torrent of dreams, wishes, and hopes. The sound of the wind whirred past the boys ears as he began to slow down and with a soft thud, he fell back onto the sofa in the psychiatrist's office.

The artificial fireplace continued to flicker behind the doctor and the overly loud ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner began to echo in the boy's ears once again. The doctor sat with a look of concern.
The boy was panting, breathing heavily, when the doctor began to speak again, softly.

"Where did you go this time?"
"It was like a well," he began slowly, painfully, "I kept falling, but almost in slow motion. Images swirled around me and I saw... I saw everything. Pictures of the past, of the future. I saw people hurting, crying, cheering, laughing. And then something wrapped around me, trying to comfort me. But it was horrible. It wasn't comforting at all. It felt dangerous. It felt malicious, like it was trying to engulf me, eat me whole. But I knew that it meant me no harm."

"See, it isn't so bad to tell me the things you see, right?" She said as she wrote something down.
The boy hugged himself and looked down at the floor. She didn't understand.
"Would you like to talk about the images you saw?"
"No."
"It'll help."
"It never helps."
"Let's try one more time."
"Fine. I saw you. I saw you walking to your car and your husband is waiting for you inside. You're surprised to see him, but you're about to be even more surprised."
"Let's keep my husband out of this."
"But you asked."
"And you've never met my husband before."
"This morning... he was wearing a white polo with khakis. I think I saw golf clubs." The doctor's eyes narrowed as she was trying to figure out how the boy knew all this, "you ate... no, you didn't eat anything. You made him eggs, toast, and fruit; strawberries. He wanted bacon though."
"How did you know all that?"
"I told you. I saw everything."
"Okay. What happens after I reach my car?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"There are rules. I can't tell you something that'll change things. It's not allowed."
"I promise I won't do anything differently."
"You can't promise that. I've already seen what'll happen if I tell you."
"What will happen if you tell me?"
The boy smiled, a crooked, twisted smile. "I told you, it'll change things."
"Change isn't always bad, is it?"
"Haven't you realized by now? You can't generalize with me. For me, change is always bad. For me, change always has consequences."

"Am I going to die?" The psychiatrist asked suddenly, speaking quietly with a serious look on her face. What had compelled her to ask that particular question was a mystery to her. The words had escaped her mouth even before she considered asking them. But after the question had formed and found itself between her and the boy, she knew that it was the right question.

The boy grinned. A sudden change had come over him during the few weeks they had been having sessions together. He had been a nice, soft spoken boy. But since the images, the headaches, and the dreams began to get worse a terrible change had come over him. Now the boy was hugging himself while leaning forward and staring at the floor. Without looking up an evil-looking grin crossed his face, "I already told you. I'm not allowed to tell."

I find it interesting, if somewhat familiar; it's idea of time change reminds me of Isaac Asimov's "End of Eternity" in which a select group of people alter time to improve humanity, but are in fact horribly limiting it. It is unique in the fact that, if expanded, it could be made into a story in which he falls into evil and changes time subtly to eliminate anything he doesn't want.

Thanks! I'm going to look into that, sounds interesting.