(no subject)
Okay 1025 words magic realism for Alinta
Sensibility
The real light forced its way down through the fluorescent glare from tiny windows perched between the high walls and the suspended tiled ceiling. Freedom so near, but unreachable, invisible in all but ones imagination.
“Breanne, what do you want to share?”
Forced back from thoughts of another life, lived, Breanne focused on the lady. She sat with a raised eyebrow, pen poised, ready to record any and all drivel. A hopeful smile believed to be encouraging, tugging her thin lips. No lipstick on those lips as usual. The outfit, though clean and professional didn’t fit well and the blouse didn’t go with the suit. Breanne wondered how anyone could be so clueless on style. Wondered what she would say today as she watched the Doctor’s toe tapping. She felt good, she unsettled the woman; this was power. She pondered how much longer she would be under Doctor Thackery’s care. She had lasted the longest so far.
“Why should I share!” Simple words, not very threatening, yelled for sure, suddenly breaking the silence, but the result was dramatic.
The Doctor was startled out of her seat, sending her chair forcefully to the wall. The reason for the sudden chair projectile due to the speed she had stood up. Catching the yelp before it was emitted she tried to think why this patient always got to her, always found a way to rattle, and lets face it, scare her, without using words that normally would be considered that dangerous. She was terrified. Using the retrieval of the chair as a time to collect her thoughts and calm her heart to a more regular rhythm she carefully exhaled the air gasped previously in. She had studied, she understood emotion and reaction. Yet she was unable to remain detached, analytical, in control. She would at least not let the patient know how strong she feared her. Her smile, now faked, found its way back onto her face and her demeanor controlled, she re-turned to her patient. They’re only words, and not that mean or cruel, she thought to cope with the irrational emotion. She righted her chair.
“Well, Breanne. That was an interesting question.” Doctor Thackery ventured having comfortably re-sat and finished making a few notes. “Are you uncomfortable with the idea of sharing with me, Breanne.”
“Nope,” Breanne whispered.
“Sorry, I barely caught that. Did you say you are comfortable sharing with me?”
“Nope,” Breanne stated with emphasis.
“So which is it then, are you comfortable or not with sharing?”
“I said, nope. Do you have a hearing problem?” Breanne asked sweetly.
“Ah, Breanne thank you for your concern, and yes I can hear your ‘nope’ though spoken at varying volumes, but was wondering why you reacted so badly to sharing. So what do you associate the word sharing with?”
“Nothing,” Breanne replied.
“So sharing makes you concerned that you might lose something?” The lady gently prodded.
“What is your hang-up on sharing?” Breanne asked.
“Interesting choice of words, do you think you have a hang-up on sharing Breanne?”
“Why do you never answer my questions?” Breanne forcefully demanded.
The Doctor steeled herself then gave a nervous chuckle wondering why this yell had not sent fear driving through her stomach as was the usual accompaniment for her, to Breanne’s yell. She gazed at the girl trying to unravel why she was so unsettled by her patient. Then making a decision, she put her pen and notebook down. “What do you want to know?”
The quite ticking from the clock slowly swallowed the room’s silence, as they stared at each other daring the other to break it first.
Breanne thought about the question. What did she want to know first? Then realized there was one thing that was more important than any other. “When will you stop seeing me?” She asked in a voice that nearly broke before the word ‘stop’. Had she let Thackery get to her? She hadn’t done that since she was fifteen and her… and they had gotten rid of her. For her own safety, when it was clear whose safety they were terrified to protect. Had they even once visited over the next, near three years, as she was transferred through two of these places and eight Doctors each eagerly starting out to cure her problem, before passing it on to another to fix. How could they fix the problem when it wasn’t Breanne that had it, but them? Sure she got angry at times, everyone did. It was however, them that reacted to that anger. It was them that became terrified. However, it was Breanne that needed to be fixed. So she pushed them away. Sooner or later she would get angry and it would happen anyway. And if her own… Well, if they couldn’t face her since she changed, who would?
Rachel was staggered. Had Breanne known she was considering herself useless in solving and healing her and that she was thinking of making a request for another to take over from her? However, the feelings of pain and loss she felt for Breanne. Did Breanne fear rejection? Was that the root of the self-mutilation? Or was she bringing her own feelings into the analysis. Was Breanne better off with someone more level-headed and isolated from the problem? What was best for Breanne?
“Breanne, I don’t think I am able to help you…” Doctor Thackery grasped for her throat. She stumbled, and tried to breathe. Air barely trickled in through passages that clamped down, constricted upon themselves. She felt crushed, the walls were closing in on her. Her vision blurred and as she curled up into a ball, waves of fear knotted her chest. Spasms of pain wrenched through her as terror reigned. Pure loneliness washed over her, in all of its empty splendor.
“Doctor Thackery! Doctor Thackery!”
As the blanket slowly ebbed away she became aware of her surroundings. She felt the anxious shaking, heard the worried words, focused on the concerned staff. She restrained from groaning as she picked herself up off the floor.
“We have sedated and restrained Breanne, Doctor Thackery. Are you alright? What did she do?”
Sensibility
The real light forced its way down through the fluorescent glare from tiny windows perched between the high walls and the suspended tiled ceiling. Freedom so near, but unreachable, invisible in all but ones imagination.
“Breanne, what do you want to share?”
Forced back from thoughts of another life, lived, Breanne focused on the lady. She sat with a raised eyebrow, pen poised, ready to record any and all drivel. A hopeful smile believed to be encouraging, tugging her thin lips. No lipstick on those lips as usual. The outfit, though clean and professional didn’t fit well and the blouse didn’t go with the suit. Breanne wondered how anyone could be so clueless on style. Wondered what she would say today as she watched the Doctor’s toe tapping. She felt good, she unsettled the woman; this was power. She pondered how much longer she would be under Doctor Thackery’s care. She had lasted the longest so far.
“Why should I share!” Simple words, not very threatening, yelled for sure, suddenly breaking the silence, but the result was dramatic.
The Doctor was startled out of her seat, sending her chair forcefully to the wall. The reason for the sudden chair projectile due to the speed she had stood up. Catching the yelp before it was emitted she tried to think why this patient always got to her, always found a way to rattle, and lets face it, scare her, without using words that normally would be considered that dangerous. She was terrified. Using the retrieval of the chair as a time to collect her thoughts and calm her heart to a more regular rhythm she carefully exhaled the air gasped previously in. She had studied, she understood emotion and reaction. Yet she was unable to remain detached, analytical, in control. She would at least not let the patient know how strong she feared her. Her smile, now faked, found its way back onto her face and her demeanor controlled, she re-turned to her patient. They’re only words, and not that mean or cruel, she thought to cope with the irrational emotion. She righted her chair.
“Well, Breanne. That was an interesting question.” Doctor Thackery ventured having comfortably re-sat and finished making a few notes. “Are you uncomfortable with the idea of sharing with me, Breanne.”
“Nope,” Breanne whispered.
“Sorry, I barely caught that. Did you say you are comfortable sharing with me?”
“Nope,” Breanne stated with emphasis.
“So which is it then, are you comfortable or not with sharing?”
“I said, nope. Do you have a hearing problem?” Breanne asked sweetly.
“Ah, Breanne thank you for your concern, and yes I can hear your ‘nope’ though spoken at varying volumes, but was wondering why you reacted so badly to sharing. So what do you associate the word sharing with?”
“Nothing,” Breanne replied.
“So sharing makes you concerned that you might lose something?” The lady gently prodded.
“What is your hang-up on sharing?” Breanne asked.
“Interesting choice of words, do you think you have a hang-up on sharing Breanne?”
“Why do you never answer my questions?” Breanne forcefully demanded.
The Doctor steeled herself then gave a nervous chuckle wondering why this yell had not sent fear driving through her stomach as was the usual accompaniment for her, to Breanne’s yell. She gazed at the girl trying to unravel why she was so unsettled by her patient. Then making a decision, she put her pen and notebook down. “What do you want to know?”
The quite ticking from the clock slowly swallowed the room’s silence, as they stared at each other daring the other to break it first.
Breanne thought about the question. What did she want to know first? Then realized there was one thing that was more important than any other. “When will you stop seeing me?” She asked in a voice that nearly broke before the word ‘stop’. Had she let Thackery get to her? She hadn’t done that since she was fifteen and her… and they had gotten rid of her. For her own safety, when it was clear whose safety they were terrified to protect. Had they even once visited over the next, near three years, as she was transferred through two of these places and eight Doctors each eagerly starting out to cure her problem, before passing it on to another to fix. How could they fix the problem when it wasn’t Breanne that had it, but them? Sure she got angry at times, everyone did. It was however, them that reacted to that anger. It was them that became terrified. However, it was Breanne that needed to be fixed. So she pushed them away. Sooner or later she would get angry and it would happen anyway. And if her own… Well, if they couldn’t face her since she changed, who would?
Rachel was staggered. Had Breanne known she was considering herself useless in solving and healing her and that she was thinking of making a request for another to take over from her? However, the feelings of pain and loss she felt for Breanne. Did Breanne fear rejection? Was that the root of the self-mutilation? Or was she bringing her own feelings into the analysis. Was Breanne better off with someone more level-headed and isolated from the problem? What was best for Breanne?
“Breanne, I don’t think I am able to help you…” Doctor Thackery grasped for her throat. She stumbled, and tried to breathe. Air barely trickled in through passages that clamped down, constricted upon themselves. She felt crushed, the walls were closing in on her. Her vision blurred and as she curled up into a ball, waves of fear knotted her chest. Spasms of pain wrenched through her as terror reigned. Pure loneliness washed over her, in all of its empty splendor.
“Doctor Thackery! Doctor Thackery!”
As the blanket slowly ebbed away she became aware of her surroundings. She felt the anxious shaking, heard the worried words, focused on the concerned staff. She restrained from groaning as she picked herself up off the floor.
“We have sedated and restrained Breanne, Doctor Thackery. Are you alright? What did she do?”