I sit with my legs swinging in a small empty waiting room, waiting for my name to be called. The chair is rather comfy thanks to the thick brown cushioning and sturdy wood frame plus the waiting room is rather calming thanks to the orderly seat positioning and large flatscreen hanging on the white wall playing calming sounds and displaying various colorful and strange fish.
"Mr. Wilks you can come in now".
The door in the right corner across the entrance opens, a short and chubby black woman wearing a casual blue t-shirt and jeans peering through, calling my name with her deep but oddly feminine voice.
"It's about damn time". I say with clear annoyance as I stand up, patting down my black dress pants out of habit following her to one of the many offices.
I enter my therapist's office making sure that everything is the same as every other session as for some odd reason I seem to find comfort in repetition and perfect similarities.
The cream-white walls and encouraging posters are still the same, the small window with closed purple drapes behind my therapist and her modern style shining oak desk are the same, I'm wearing the same g*rren l*ggan shirt and black dress pants with matching shoes I've had since the first session, and my therapist still sits in that familiar wheelchair wearing a Mexican style purple flower print dress.
"Everything's fine Mr. Wilks. Look I even made sure to wear the same outfit I wore for our first appointment so why don't you go ahead and take a seat."
My therapist speaks to me with a calm tone. Her voice is pretty gentle though a little gruff due to her old age, even so I find her sound to be rather calming.
I move to the large brown leather chair in front of her desk responding to the light smile she makes with her wrinkly face with a slight wave.
I feel like sitting but I haven't been told to so I just stand next to the chair, staring at my therapist.
"It's fine just do as you please." She says with a slight smile, trying her hardest to reassure me that everything is fine as she begins to gently tug at the sleeves of her clothes, showing me that things are normal.
I would like to sit down but I don't like doing things unless I'm told. Acting on my own makes me very uncomfortable.
Eventually, after a few seconds of awkward silence she signals me to sit down. I listen, taking a seat after checking how comfortable it would be.
"Good evening Mr. Wilks how has your day been." She speaks to me but I ignore her as while I was checking the chair I noticed a small tear in the leather.
Sitting down I try to forget but I can't as that small tear creates a feeling of disgust towards the chair. Will cotton poke through if I move? Should I try to fix it or at least make it more aesthetically appealing? Should I just sit on the floor?
"Mr. Wilks I'm sorry but there's nothing I can do about the chair." Suddenly I'm pulled out of my trance, responding to her soft word after thinking how I'm supposed to respond.
If someone asks about how your day is your supposed to respond by saying either fine, okay, or bad. If a friend asks this it is fine to give a longer answer and since the old woman in front of me is my therapist I should just give the usual short and honest answer.
"It's fine...anyway's my day has been going fine. How about yours?"
"The usual busy terrible day then lunch then back the the terrible."
"What did you have for lunch?"
"Today I managed to wake myself up early enough to make myself some sausages."
Her statement makes me a little uncomfortable but I have to deal as this is another form of treatment for me. When I was little, all the way I until I was ten I would have these terrible nightmares.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
I would dream of my future as a teenager, adult, or old man and every single time it would end badly with me waking up screaming, covered in sweat. After I turned ten all those dreams I had kept coming true.
I could predict the future because I had lived it and that scared me. It scared me so much that I had several outbursts, eventually at some point I decided that If I let other people tell me what to do and be as boring as possible the dreams wouldn't come true.
My mind suddenly goes into chaos as my thoughts become unclear. I begin to take slow and heavy breaths trying my hardest to calm down, succeeding after two minutes.
"I thought old people were supposed to wake up early?" In a moment of weakness, I speak my mind.
My therapist smiles and presses her boney hands together expressing clear joy "Oh please I'm not that old."
Hearing her response I relax a small bit. She is pretty old though considering she's a little over sixty. Her face is covered in wrinkles and crows feet, with her lush long hair being a light gray. She's also sitting in a wheelchair but apparently she was just born like that.
"...Can we just get this over with?" As much as I understand that therapy is a necessity I also just want to get back to laying on my bed.
"Okay okay but don't forget if you ever need to speak I'll always be here."
.....I guess I can stay for a bit longer.
"I'm sorry, I'll continue the session."
"Alright, so tell me how are you getting along with your new foster parent?"
"Everything's fine. He treats me well."
"...Are you willing to tell me more?"
Should I? I mean I should be honest with my therapist but it's also natural to display a certain level of reluctance. Honestly my recent foster parent has been a good one but it seems I ruined it once again.
"Umm so he's really nice but lately he's been like the rest...I had another outburst. I think my schizophrenia medication may need to be adjusted."
"Can you go into more detail? You can reject if you please, just don't forget that we are going by you're pace."
"I...umm..I..I I saw things after I woke up. It was the usual panic. I remembered one of my dreams and then I felt angry and disgusted, but in a wierd way. Like it wasnt me, like something was trying to get out of me. Everything went black and then I woke up to find Jim on the floor begging for forgiveness while everything in the house was destroyed."
I go silent, trying hard to stay calm listing to my therapist's seemingly endless jotting. The sound of a pen's tip tapping and moving across a papers surface pleases my ears, making it easier to stay calm.
"My arms weren't human. They were long and grey with ugly scales, my fingers thick and round with stone like things lining my palm and fingers, jagged spikes lining their tops. I panicked and moved to the mirror and saw that I had two more eyes, a pair of thin horns, and that my hair had grown to reach my waist. I stared and felt and felt but it was real, I could touch my horns, my horns could touch things...I just...I just don't know."
I once again go silent, waiting for her response, for her to ask me anything because I don't know how to respond but she continues to stay silent, just jotting down more and more notes in her large notepad. At some point I decide to just tell her the news.
"I plan to have Jim admit me into the cheapest mental health clinic today. I'd like to cancel todays session and end it here."
I stand up, ignoring my therapist and begin walking to the usual b*rger k*ng so that I can get a meal while Jim gets over.
Because this is the medical district in my hometown of San-Antonio there's plenty of fast food chains and gas stations next to the small clinics and hospitals so whenever I have to come over for a check up I use some of the money I saved up working to buy an okayish meal.
It's a bit reckless considering how difficult it can be for me to keep a job since I am constantly being relocated to a new family or just left to rot in a foster home but people are supposed to find ways to relieve stress and one of the most common is reckless spending on fast food. Though I really should find a good paying job since I am almost seventeen.
As I walk down the side walk, shielding my eyes as the sun is extra bright and the wind is twice as warm as usual, eventually making it halfway through a cross-walk. Suddenly a familiar headache and feeling fills me. I fall forward, still in the middle of the street, people coming out of their cars to check on me.
"go...away..."
I feel several times worse than usual. Suddenly everyone around me begins to scream and point at my stomach, some of them just yelling nope and trying to run away before going still.
I look at my stomach and see something push up, what looks like my skin piercing through my shirt.
[Become my vessel or die]
Please make it stop...please please please please.
[Become my vessel or die]
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE
[Become my vessel or die]
....I remember now...I remember...I tried so hard...I try...and it still happens.....Fine I'll do it just please let this nightmare end.
My pain disappears and the skin whips shooting out of my shirt begin to recede. I try to stand up but my body feels off. I look once again and see my legs are strange, similar in shape to a wolf. My skin is grey and my body is thick, two pairs of grey arms with blue hands move to feel my legs.
...Why...why...why am I like this?