This is a spin-off of several works I have completed or are currently underway.
This series of short stories will follow a few of my characters through the rehabilitation process until they have their moment of clarity.
Some issues dealt with in thi...
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Dr. Rivera stopped to talk to Ms. Wiley before we stepped outside.
My first glimpse of the outside world in days. "It's really bright."
"Yes, the Sun does tend to be brighter on the outside."
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I followed Dr. Rivera down the sidewalk. Almost immediately, the coiling pain in my stomach began to relieve.
A form of exercise. Finally.
The feeling was short-lived, as I was pretty winded by the time we reached the block end. "This has been fun. A great reminder that I'm the most out of shape I've ever been, thanks Doc." Placing my hands atop of my head, I took a few moments to breathe. "Can't even walk down a fucking block."
Dr. Rivera didn't say anything, just taking a long sip from her water bottle.
"Am I just supposed to talk to myself, then? Talk out all of the shitty feelings?"
"No," she said, with a shake of her head. "But I am interested to hear the thoughts that you do choose to say aloud and the verbiage that you use to say them."
"I've said a few sentences and I've already been analyzed again?"
She gestured toward the curb. "Would you like to sit for a moment?"
"No, actually. I wouldn't thanks." Despite the wind feeling like it was being sucked out of my lungs, the last thing I was willing to do was admit defeat after a single block. "I would rather cease to exist than..." I paused for a moment, remembering that every word I said was being analyzed. And making fat jokes, even about myself, was what was probably getting me into this mess.
"Than what?"
"Doesn't matter. You already have enough to analyze me on, I'm sure you can fill in the blanks."
She gestured toward the sidewalk. "Shall we continue then?"
"Sure. Great."
We continued in silence, the sound of my labored breathing growing louder, despite my best efforts to control it.
"Are we sitting on this curb?" she asked, as we reached the next intersection.
"I love our silent walk. Why stop now?"
"You would rather your body admit defeat for you than you admit defeat first?"
"What?"
"You don't want to sit on the curb because then, for you, that means admitting defeat," Dr. Rivera said. "So instead, you'd rather continue walking until your body physically cannot continue anymore. At which point, your legs would likely give out, and you'd be forced to stop. In which case, you did not admit defeat, your body just simply did it for you."
So I was right. This silent walk had been used to analyze me. "I don't like the way that's characterized and what that implies about me."
