Title: Dark Corners
Author: Marianne Willoughby [
imaginethetruth ]
Rating: PG13
Summary: A conversation between a therapist and a young woman who can't remember freedom.
Author's Notes: This is a short fiction I wrote \o/. Everything about it is original - the characters, the plot, and everything else. This shit is copyrighted....yo. Oh, this is also unedited so be nice :)
The small room is nearly empty, save for a table with two chairs opposite one another. One small lamp on the table lights the room.
In one chair sits a young woman, but her age isn't clear - she could be anywhere from sixteen to twenty-three. Her skin is oddly pale and has an almost translucent quality, as if she is something insubstantial. She wears a simple cotton gray shirt. The colors of the fabric nearly blend in with her colorless skin. Her eyes are shadowed and filled with an odd depth. They are the kind of eyes which can penetrate deep into a person's soul. She looks engaged yet detached all at once - a complicated array of emotions painted on her face. She has the appearance of a person who was once exceedingly lovely, but who has wasted away over the years.
A middle aged woman sits opposite her. The woman's name is Dr. Adams, and she is a trained therapist. Adams looks like what she is - patient and steady.
Adams pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, glancing down at the neatly stacked papers in front of her.
“Your file is very interesting, but there appears to be some mistake. Your name is not marked.”
The other woman laughs dryly as if she is reminded of a private joke. “They've forgotten me, I suppose.”
Adams raises her eyebrows. “But surely you have some kind of alias? A name of some sort?”
She regards Adams steadily. “I did once. Not anymore.”
“But people must call you something.”
She smiles sardonically, leaning forward. Adams holds her ground.
“They call me Shadow.”
“Why is that? Don't you have a birth name?” Adams asks, perplexed.
Shadow smiles again, but this time her expression has an almost bitter quality. “I died a long time ago, doctor. Shadows are all that's left of me.”
Adams blinks. “Ah...I see,” she says slowly. “Well, I suppose we should get started then.”
Shadow nods, smiling serenely.
“How are you?” Adams asks uncertainly. It's a lame question, she's well aware, but she's more than a little perplexed by this particular patient.
“How am I?” Shadow asks dubiously.
“Er, yes.”
“I am.” she says simply.
Adams' eyebrows furrow. “You are...what?”
“I just am. I simply am, because I am, and I won't ever be anything else but what I am because that is all that I am and what I am will never be anything else.” Shadow smiles nonchalantly. “Does that answer your question?”
Adams frowns. “Then what are you?”
“I am myself,” Shadow says candidly. “And that is all.”
“I see...” Adams clears her throat, glancing down at the papers. “Why don't we try something else? Why do you believe that you are here?”
Shadow chuckles dryly. “Well that's easy isn't it? I'm here because I'm mentally unstable and a hazard to public society. I threaten the well-being of those around me, and I need to be locked up so I don't hurt myself or anyone else,” she pauses, her eyes steady. “Does that answer your question, doctor?”
“Er, I suppose so, yes.” Adams' eyes meet Shadow's, imploring and steady. “But do you really believe that?”
“Yes and no, I suppose,” Shadow says thoughtfully. “I don't feel crazy, yet they tell me that I am. How can I believe it when I feel so utterly myself? I don't know what crazy is. All I know is what and who I am. Where's the line between madness and my own being?”
“I think that's something for you to determine.”
“Perhaps,” Shadow smiles, almost patronizingly.
Adams sighs, leafing through the papers.
“Physically you are fine, other than your alleged insomnia. Why aren't you sleeping anymore?”
“The dreams I have,” Shadow pauses. “Well, they scare me. So I repress them. Simple logic, when you think about it.”
“What do you dream about?” Adams asks curiously.
“They aren't so much dreams but flashes,” Shadow says slowly. “Flashes of another life. My life before, my life after, a life I could have had,” she blinks vigorously as if repressing tears. “A life I may have one day.”
“And they scare you?” Adams asks gently.
“Very much so,” she says quietly.
“Do you know why that is?”
Shadow smiles sadly, looking around the room with an almost wistful expression. “This place...for a long time, this place has been all that I know. It's been the only constant thing in my life. Change scares me.”
“Do you feel secure here?” Adams asks, slightly surprised.
Shadow smiles slightly, nodding. “Yes, I must say I do. Nothing ever changes around here, you know? It's almost like my life is on this constant loop. It's consistent, it's familiar, it just is.”
“It is what?”
Shadow blinks. “It is what it is,” she says seriously. “And I've grown to accept that, and even be grateful for it. “
“So you wouldn't say that you resent being admitted here?”
She ponders this for a while, gazing thoughtfully off into space. “I suppose I resent that they sent me to this place, but I am not unhappy that I stayed. I live my life with no complications. For that, I am grateful.”
“So you would consider yourself happy.”
Shadow sighs. “I am not happy, but I'm not sad either. As I said, I simply am.”
Adams studies her, perplexed. “Do you wish to be removed or transferred?”
“No,” her voice was firm. “No I do not.”
“Because you don't desire drastic change...”
Shadow bites her lip, and then leans forward, keeping her eyes level with Adams'. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.” Adams' answering gaze is steady.
“I'm scared,” Shadow's voice shakes.
Adams nods, not breaking eye contact.
“Well, that's not entirely accurate,” Shadow murmurs, her eyes dark. “I'm scared of what could happen to me; what will happen to me if they ever decide to release me.”
Adams watches her, fascinated.
“I mean, what lies ahead?” Shadow says, her voice rises briefly before quieting again. “I wish I knew the answer, but I don't. Only time can tell what will happen to me, but here, time doesn't matter. It is insignificant in the greater store of things. Every day is the same, every hour fading into oblivion. It doesn't matter what day it is of what month of what year. All that matters is that we carry on; that we go on living.”
Shadow glances back at Adams. “You know, I don't know how old I am. I can't even remember my birthday. It's like living in a dream here, and maybe that's why I can't sleep. Maybe because in truth, I'm already living my subconscious.” She takes a deep breath.
“Then suddenly I'll be hit with reality. It'll clash against me, colorful and loud, and this muted black and white dream will slip away from me. I'll wake up disoriented, and I won't know what to do with myself. I've forgotten how to live as I used to, because here I've been trapped in this odd half-life. It's all I know.”
“I will stumble out into the world, and everything will suddenly hit me. I'll have to re-learn everything; reinvent myself. But what if I can't? What if I can't remember how? I'll be alone, more lost than ever. And that-” Shadow looks back up at Adams, a lone tear sliding down her pale cheek. “-is what truly frightens me.”