Manic

Lunatic

I sat in my chair, knowing nothing. Simply rocking back and forth. The chair creaked lightly, REEAAH.....EERREWW, back and forth, endlessly. It was a simple existence, but I liked it. Sometimes I would intermittently interrupt my rocking with light taps against the arm rest. Tap. Tap. Tap....till I found a secret song inside it, mingled it with the rocking, creating my only form of music. My own personal band, and they played my favorite song, every...single...day.
The door to my dank cell opened slightly, in walked a man who seemed the epitome of tidiness and order. I would soon cure him of that. I looked up at him from my special spot on the wall. The one marred by claw marks and holes carved into the stone. I liked it, it seemed to make so much sense. The perfect perversion of my own self portrait.
I give him a short laugh, his perfect suit a flat, dull gray. It was beautiful, so vibrant and thoughtful. Somehow he knew my favorite color. He smiles at me slightly, squinting. He presses his glasses lightly onto his face. I smile wide knowing the truth of why he's here. In some feeble attempt to cure me of my ailments. I'm not sick. I'm perfectly healthy and I needed no therapy.
The man and the soon-to-be-mine suit, sat down in the only other chair in the room, the one that made no music, and sang no sweet songs. A young child nay older than I comes in and sets a disgusting table in the center of the room.
He places a palm to it and wipes it off. Then wrings his hands in another disgustingly white kerchief. This man was so slow, yet his movements impeccably precise. He sets a brief case gently on the table. Removes a few bothersome things from it, and presses it flush to the end of the table he isn't sitting on.
The man looks me over thoroughly. His smile fading into a big donut "O". He is shocked, likely expecting some Quasimodo in a strait jacket. Instead he sees my handsome face, though I hadn't pressed a knife to my cheek in a long while. So I imagined I looked quite "ragged".
"My name is Dr. Thatch. I have been appointed in the hopes that I can cure your condition."
"Unlike a stick, I am not broken."
He regards me with a curious look before writing something on one of the notepads he pulled from his brief case. My gaze saunters back slowly to my self-portrait on the far wall and I smile, because I no longer see myself hanging on the wall, but instead him.
I feel a slight tingle along my neck. I fling my head back and laugh uncontrollably until Dr. Thatch became nothing more than an afterthought.
Dr. Thatch makes his presence known again, with a cough, breaking my boisterous laughing fit. I look over at him confused. "You don't belong here."
He regards me with a look of calm patience. "And why is that?"
I laugh, "Don't you see it? Your picture hangs on my wall. Can't you hear it? My friends whisper your enigmatic words!"
He smiles and gestures to the walls, "I see no picture." He pinches his ears and tugs, making himself look rather like a monkey, "I don't hear any whispers. Please elaborate as to what you mean."
I look at him incredulously, leaning forward in my chair, "There will be a point where you see as I do, and the whispers will come to you in the dark of night, and when they do I will be the only answer to your fears."
His face never changes, he simply writes something on his notepad. "Why is it that you feel I will come to you for solace?"
I lay back in the chair and return to my rocking. He was like me, naive and blind. I look up at the ceiling, reach out to it. He needs to see as I do, to make sense.
"My mother reads me stories sometimes, comes to me in my sleep, or awake, whenever she feels like. Tells me about the world. Things like who my next visitor is going to be. She told me about you once. She said you were troubled by your daughter's suicide. That it brought you to the brink of sight, but somehow you took a step back. The next morning as she did my hair she told me how I would die:

A tear shed,
For a broken man,
With one exception,
Wait and see,
The world in its
Shattered perfection.

"It made me see everything. Yet I still knew nothing." I looked over at him, and realized I knew something. "Our session is over for the day, but I will see you again. And we will draw together." My eyes widened and a smile was brought to my lips, "Tomorrow I will show you how to see."
Dr. Thatch frowns and looks at his watch, "I suppose it is however I will not be back anytime soon. I am to be going on a cruise in two days. I won't be back till mid-November."
"You will see why, your wife will tell you. I can't divulge more lest I ruin the surprise."
Dr. Thatch sighed and shook his head. "Stop pretending you know things about me, you are simply psychotic, and suffering from an illness I have yet to diagnose. The sooner you realize that, the quicker your recovery."
He began to calmly pack his belongings inside his suitcase. Taking great care that everything was neatly tucked inside before closing the lid. "Have a pleasant day." Dr. Thatch stood up to leave as one of the many orderlies that roamed the halls stepped inside the room. They simply removed the table and walked out.
"Dr. Thatch, first name Hayden." I paused hearing him stop.
Thatch turns confusion pooling in his eyes, "I never told you my first name."
I continued listing off what I knew about Dr. Hayden Thatch, "Your wife is Lucinda Jane Thatch, and you had a daughter Kathryn Mary Thatch, your wife wanted another child but were unable to conceive one yourselves so you adopted a son named Mathew. Your mother died in 88' and your father 89'. You were hired by New Haven medical clinic 1 year, 7 months, and nine days ago, I am the only patient to have been seen by you. Lastly you will die in 1 month and 18 days."
Thatch stared, his monkey look returning mildly. "I don't know how you know that information but we will not be seeing each other again, ever. Now good day Thaddeus." He stepped through the already open doorway and was gone.
"Until tomorrow" I thought.
I leaned back in my musical chair. Thaddeus eh? Meh it would suffice as a name for now, till he came up with a better one. He looked back over to the wall finding again his own self portrait. He resumed his rocking and tapping, slowly lulling himself into a nice mid-day nap.