The atomic bomb: Was it dropped justly or was it muscle flexing by the United States of America? Before one can answer this question they must first analyze the time period in which we are talking about. There was continuous fighting in Europe and America was fighting the temptation to get involved in another …
History! Will hated history more than anything. It was simply mindless dribble about the things that happened a while ago, none of it really mattered. Will pushed the paper away and began looking around his room. It was only a matter a seconds before some thing would catch his eye and he would be able to procrastinate freely. Around and around he went,(the great thing about Will’s chair was that there was exactly the right amount of grease that it would spin freely, but would stop just before you got to the point where he felt the need to vomit.)
The chair stopped. Will was facing his shelf. It was the same shelf that had been there since he could remember, (well excluding that one point in his life where he had decided that Goth was the thing to be. Everything in the room had been dismantled, painted black and covered with various … gothic things) but then, there it was. Will jumped out of his chair, and instantly tripped and fell on his face. When he got up, holding his nose to stop the bleeding, he continued to walk towards the shelf. Finally he made it across the long span of 10 feet that separated his desk from the shelf.
Will, not thinking, picked up the book with his right hand, the hand he had been using to cover his nose. The cover of the book was now, literally, blood red. But this simple lapse in concentration could not stop Will, this was the book he wanted and he’s be damned if he didn’t read it now. He became so engrossed, he was reading at a fevered pace. Turing the pages faster then one would think was sufficient to read 2 full pages. But he was in the zone, there was no stopping him. The blood, still dripping from his nose on to the pages, was coming faster now. (Some of the pages now had cool abstract images on them because the way the blood had splattered, become mashed by the pages the dried.) (Others were just really gross because a glob of snot had been pushed out by this one huge spurt like 5 minutes ago.)
Finally, he had finished the book. He looked up and hours had passed since he had been writing his paper. But Will didn’t care, he had just read the best story ever written. He got up to go to the bathroom. While washing his hands, he fixed the part in his hair (completely ignoring the fact that there was now blood all over his goatee, shirt and pants.) He walked down stairs to get a snack. He had missed dinner by a few hours because of the book. Coincidently, as he reached the last step, his father had just been pointing to the window telling his wife that he thought it was about to get them cleaned. (The soot from the train tracks behind the house made it a necessary process every year.) Will’s dad had been standing directly at the bottom of the stairs, and his finger had collided with Will’s left eye.
The sudden shock of the force against his eye caused him to miss the last step, falling again, this time landing with the major force being to his forehead. While there were no lacerations, Will’s forehead was quickly becoming a dark brown shade that could mean nothing but bad news. Will’s parents however never saw this sudden change in skin tone, they had become instantly focused on the blood that was covering their son. Will’s parents tried to talk to their son, but the blow to the head had caused him to lose consciousness.
Will was on his back, bright lights shining on his face. AHHHH! The sudden beam of light into the left eye c aused him sever shock. His instincts kicked in and his hands shot to his face to cover his eyes, ripping out an IV and jerking some of the machines measuring his vitals in different directions.
It was dark. There was a faint light emerging from what must have been under a door. It was hard to tell. The hit to the eye and the sudden flash off light had damaged his eyesight. There didn’t seem to be anyone around. It was a pure white room. The sheets were beige but very faint do to several washes with bleach. Will sat up and began to climb out of bed. He was halfway to the door before he had noticed the heart monitor that had begun to follow him. After it was disconnected he exited the door.
White. Everywhere. Almost like the white tunnel that people describe when they talk about their “near death experiences.” There was another door further down to the right. He walked slowly towards it. A doctor passed him going the other direction. He spun around to see what he would do, Will wasn’t sure where he was but the doctor might be able to tell him. The doctor was walking with determination at a fast pace. Will had to run to catch up. He managed to grasp the doctor’s shoulder. As the doctor turned, right away Will new some thing was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but this wasn’t right.
Physically, the doctor was just like anyone else. He had the white jacket, he had the name tag, he had the clipboard. But Will knew that he should not be there. Where was his house? Where were his parents? SHIT! He hadn’t finished the paper! (Fuck history and all that jazz, but if he messed up on this paper too, he would probably fail the class.) Why had he only seen the one doctor? WHERE WAS THE ROOM HE JUST HAD COME OUT OF?
Running. Running fast, it was the only way he could get to a place where he would get away and be out of danger. He wasn’t stopping for anything. Not like the doctor was trying to stop him. NO, there was something wrong with him, if he was a doctor, there was something evil about him.
GREEN. Will scanned the area, it has got to be a park or a forest. There was just so much green, he was definitely outside. There still was no one there, he was hiding. He had found a safe place. He sat down to think of what had been happening to him. “Think back.”
There was the paper I was doing for history. It sucked, so I spun the chair. Saw the book and was going to read it for a little, it was my favorite. Wait, the paper, I still need to write it! “Slow down, there is still more that happened”
Yeah, I have to remember everything before I can make more action. But that paper is gonna be a bitch if I leave it to the last night again. I got a D last time I did that. “Focus.” My eye hurt, it was hard to see. There was so little light everywhere. I climbed out of bed, started to walk. Then the white hall, with nothing in it. Then, that guy the one trying to be a doctor. He was evil, I had to get out of there. I ran, and now I’m here. “OK, good. What to do next?”
I have to get home and finish that paper. I mean really it was years ago, nobody cares, but I’ll just do it. Find the train tracks, those will take me home. But there is nothing here, just trees and grass. God, too much stress. After a nap I’m look around. Just hope that guy doesn’t come back to get me. I should be safe from him here. “All right, just a short break. Then on to what’s next.”
“I’m sorry to tell you this. It is always a very hard process and sometimes when you think you are making great progress, out of nowhere a wall emerges. It appears that last night your son hit one of those walls. He hit so hard that he saw no end except suicide.”
Will’s mother screamed and began to cry. Will’s father, consoling his wife, but looking to the doctor for more information. “Again, I’m very sorry for your loss. He was found in his room early this morning. He cut his wrists with a broken piece of glass that appears to be one of the ash trays I have in my office.
“We reviewed tape recordings of last night. Your son can be heard talking to himself. He was repeatedly saying ‘Not you again, you are not a real doctor, get away.’ Then there is silence from when the doctor approximated the time of death. He was obviously tormented by this “doctor” he had come in contact with after the accident.
“This “doctor” surfaced shortly before your son was transferred to me, when he was working with Dr. Brady. Dr. Brady was clearly making minimal progress when he was working with your son. I believe he was probing too hard. I use a more passive method that lets the patient be in a place of their own creation, somewhere they feel safe.”
Will’s parents were left alone to come to terms with the news they had just received. However after 15 minutes, Dr. Packer returned. He did not appear to be in a better state than when he had broken the news, if anything he was worse off. Will’s father got out of his chair so his wife would not have to listen to what the doctor was about to say right now. “Yes, Doctor?”
After taking a deep breath, “We have come across more information about the death of your son. Dr. Brady had given your son a journal to write in that I was not told about. The orderlies went and got the journal for me when I learned of its existence just now. It clearly shows the great torment that your son was suffering since the accident. The journal is almost completely devoted to this “doctor” that was “evil.” There are many mindless rants. But the recurring theme is present in the first entry. It reads:
in his breast pocket. A blue pencil. Why would he
have a blue pencil? Pencil can be erased. Doctors
should be sure of themselves. No need to use pencil.
“From this point there is constant repetition of thoughts and the terror of this doctor only grows. Now generally this would take time to learn what the real meaning would be. However, it has come to my attention that Dr. Brady uses color pencils as he takes notes to keep track of what he sees as connected information. I can only deduce that this was the torment that your son has been fighting these last few weeks has been the embodiment of Dr. Brady when he was first attempting to learn what was in the mind of your son.”