Down the dim hallway, three stacks of cardboard boxes slithered across the wooden floors. Despite never leaving the ground, a thumping noise came from the boxes.
No, more like behind them.
Indeed. It was small child, wearing a significantly oversized blazer jacket over pajamas. Wearing plastic black frames with a curly mustache attached to it, the child's face was contorted from the tips of the curls occasionally invading either the left or the right nostril.
Finally reaching the destination, the child cried with glee and opened the bedroom. With a finally push, the stack of cardboard boxes gave way and tumbled into the room, the last box moved only an inch for it was the heaviest.
"Oh come on!" The child cried, "why is it so hard being an adult!"
The child huffed and started to kick the spilled items and the heavy box further inside the room. Almost there. The child was almost ready to start working.
The child sat on the cooled wooden floors. Setting two boxes across from each other, the third box was flattened and laid on top of the other two. The items that spilled from the box were meticulously laid on top of the makeshift table. Three notebooks, a cup of writing utensils, a calculator, a stuffed animal maid cat, father's watch, a pair of child-safe scissors, and mother's old phone found somewhere under the couch.
Ready?
The child scribbled something on a piece of paper, folded it three times hotdog style, then proceeded to tape on face to another to form a triangular prism.
DOKTOR C. TARAPEST
"Finally!" The child clapped, "Dr. C is ready for business! Kitty, make sure you answer the phone! I wouldn't want to be impolite to the people I help!"
"Yes, Doctor."
Dr. C rose from the office chair and walked leisurely to the French windows. Dr. C proceeded to fix the blazer's cuffs and headed towards the wall of books. One finger traced and tickled the spines of encyclopedias and rich literature. The doctor continued to walk throughout the room, steeled shoes pressing deep into the lush carpet. The only sound in the office was the ticking of the large clock hanging above the entrance door and Kitty cleaning the room.
Brrrring!
"Doctor, a patient will be coming in just a few minutes."
"Ah, is that so? It must be Clarice, correct?"
"Yes, Doctor."
Clarice was the first patient of the night.
YOU ARE READING
Not a Therapist
General FictionA child pretends to be a therapist. The child is pretty successful, helping many of the clients with their problems.
