Screen Time

Here is my contribution to Paul Stewart's challenge:

'So,' said the doctor with a pen and paper in front of him, 'you decided to see me because...?'

Kendall was losing his patience after such a long day and the difficulty he had trying to book this appointment. He did not appreciate the slight sass he heard in the shrink's voice. 'I'll get to it, but you won't believe it. Just give me a moment...'

He really wanted a strong cup of coffee right now, but he had to get this out.

'I think that I am a character in a story.'

It took a long time for the doctor to respond, staring at the notes he made and looking over at Kendall sitting forward in the plush chair. Did he say...?

'Did you even hear me? You listening?'

'Yes, I did hear you. It's just...I have never, in all the years of my practice, heard anyone say anything like that. It is...a new one.'

This made Kendall smile. He was pleased that he would have some sort of control over this talk.

'Right? Good. Real good. You have a new one for your papers. I knew you'd like it.'

'And can you explain what you mean?' The doctor was focused on the paper again.

'Well, you see... I feel like I am not in charge some days when I am not working. I feel like I am just a character in a story that ends up on some page online, y'know like Medium or something like that. And then, I am tossed aside when they don't need me anymore.'

The doctor was smiling now, still making notes; still looking away from his patient. 'Please go on'.

'Well, it got really bad on the weekend when I started to write online again and posted another haiku. I put one of my weekly pieces up and started to feel like I was being...erased.'

'Erased...'

'Yeah,' Kendall leaned back and took a deep breath, 'erased. I could almost smell the pink rubber when I went to bed that night and I thought that was it for me. And then, I woke up...and...'

The doctor looked over at Kendall. He had to rub his glasses to focus on his patient. It was hard to see him.

'Go on, please.'

'Well, I felt like I could just... Sorry,' he coughed and coughed. 'I feel like I should have some water or maybe...'

The doctor finally looked carefully at his patient, a difficult thing to do as he noticed how faint Kendall was. He could see through him and note the pattern of the chair. The light yellow blended with his complexion and the doctor thought of the ghost stories his grandmother told him when he stayed at her place on long summer vacations. It was an innocent time, way back then. He swallowed and did not speak.

'It's happening to me now. I feel that... I feel it... I...just...'

And he was gone.

The doctor, a man with his Ivy League diplomas on the walls to prove his qualifications, ran out of his office to vomit and wonder if he had lost his mind. With both arms resting on the rim of the bowl, he waited a moment before flushing (he did not trust his stomach). And it gave him time to ponder what it was all about...

And he looked into the bowl.

He could see his reflection in fluorescent light.

He saw the light above his head begin to replace his face and smelled an eraser going to work.

He wondered if anyone on the floor heard his last scream.

*

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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