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v. bullet with butterfly wings

v. bullet with butterfly wings

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AMY'S MEMORIES - Fly on the Wall

The psychiatrist's office is clean and orderly, filled with flourishing plants and walls decorated with calming paintings of elegant forests and tranquil beaches. There's a stack of books on the coffee table that separates the two chairs on opposite ends of the room, coupled with an aromatherapy pot. The curtains are drawn but a little bit of the afternoon light still seeps in through the cracks in the fabric. The entire space is designed to be as comforting as possible. But to the patient, the room does little to ease her anxiety.

She waits for the doctor, a forlorn expression on her face as she rests her head on her hand, body tilted awkwardly so that she can lean against the arm of the chair she's seated in. Blank, hazel eyes stare at nothing in particular, some insignificant spot on the carpeted floor, head swimming with thoughts much too dark to ever speak aloud. Still, despite her disdain for being there, she waits patiently for the doctor to return. A moment later, the door clicks open and in stride the psychiatrist, a kind looking, middle-aged woman with glasses perched skin her nose, hair in a ponytail. She takes her seat in the chair opposite the patient and crosses her legs, situating the books and notes in her lap.

Silence passes between them, hanging in the air as though suspended by a string from the ceiling, driving a deeper wedge between the two women. Doctor and patient.

"You look tired." The doctor says, tilting her head as she regards her client curiously, hands folded nearly on top of her books.

"That doesn't surprise me considering my sleep has been garbage." The girl mumbles, her gaze still downcast. She hasn't lifted her eyes once.

"Nightmares again?" The doctor inquires, raising a ballpoint pen to her chin thoughtfully as she waits for the girl to open up to her.

The girl doesn't respond though her silence is enough to answer the question effectively. The doctor writes something down in her notes as the girl finally pushes herself into a sitting position, leaning her head against the cushions of the chair, inhaling deeply as she relaxes against them. Finally, she nods.

"It's nothing new," The girl's voice comes out raspy from lack of use. She doesn't see much point in trying to speak these days. "Same old weird half memories."

The doctor writes this down in her notes, frowning slightly. "Do you still wake up in a panic?"

"Like I said, there's nothing new," The girl leans forward, only to rest her head back on the arm of the chair. "I suppose I'm a little calmer now considering I've seen it so many times but it's hard to say."

"Have you tried going out and making friends? Going on dates maybe?" The doctor inquires, tilting her head to regard the girl, hands still folded neatly in her lap.

"It's kind of hard to get to know people if you don't even know yourself," she replies plainly. "Believe it or not, it's kind of hard to find someone with shared life experience."

"So make something up!" The psychiatrist chimes, the smile returning to her face in full force. "This could be exciting Amy, not everyone gets a chance to start over like this. You can quite literally create a whole new identity for yourself from scratch."