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Sanguinious
Meteorite
- Joined
- Sep 12, 2015
- Location
- Long Beach, CA, USA
NOTICE: Read at your own risk. This story contains no sexuality
of any kind, and some people might consider it a waste of time.
of any kind, and some people might consider it a waste of time.
“Calm down, Michael,” Dr. Fredriks said in his most soothing voice.
"I don’t care if you don’t believe me! No one ever does, because
everyone forgets, but they fucking move! You can use all the head
shrink crap you want, and you can pump me full of meds until I’m
orange, but you will never convince me that they don’t move!”
Michael was, understandably, furious. He’d gone through so many
doctors that he’d lost count, but they insisted that he’d only ever been
with Dr. Fredriks. Michael had been crazy for well over a decade, and
he was pretty sure he knew a thing or two about doctors, enough that
he’d know if he’d only had one. *’Everyone forgets...’* he thought
sadly, over and over, like a sorrowful moaning scream inside his head.
“Many people have these types of delusions, Michael. It’s normal
for someone with your condition. But if you can stop focusing on them--
stop reaffirming their false validity--you’ll eventually be able to
rationalize your life again. You need to understand, shadows can not
move of their own voliton.”
Michael couldn’t remember why everyone always forgot, and that
bugged him. Dr. Black knew. He saw it. But, like everyone else...
forgot. Same with Dr. Splint, and Dr. Gibson. But no one ever
believed him, and everyone insisted that he’d only ever seen Dr.
Fredriks.
“It doesn’t matter. If I start to think I’m wrong cause of all your
pills, I’ll go back to the station, and I’ll see it again, and I’ll know. You
can’t trick me!”
Michael was very keen to keep his mind as pure as possible. Only
the truest things in his noggin, and he was very wise to the ways of
these so-called psychologists. No bastard would trick him into
believing what wasn’t.
“Alright then, how about I go down to the station with you, and we
can definitively prove that they don’t move. If we both see them, and
neither of us sees them move, then they don’t move. If only you see
them move, then you have to admit that there is at least the
possibility that the movement is in your head. Agreed?”
That sounded good, but… It sounded too familiar to be trusted.
What if it was another trick? But what choice did he have? Maybe if
Dr. Fredriks saw them move, he’d be able to help him find out why
everyone always forgot.
“Okay, fine… But you have to bring a recorder, and you have to
bring your notebook. I don’t want any forgetting going on.”
“Deal. Why don’t we go now?”
"I don’t care if you don’t believe me! No one ever does, because
everyone forgets, but they fucking move! You can use all the head
shrink crap you want, and you can pump me full of meds until I’m
orange, but you will never convince me that they don’t move!”
Michael was, understandably, furious. He’d gone through so many
doctors that he’d lost count, but they insisted that he’d only ever been
with Dr. Fredriks. Michael had been crazy for well over a decade, and
he was pretty sure he knew a thing or two about doctors, enough that
he’d know if he’d only had one. *’Everyone forgets...’* he thought
sadly, over and over, like a sorrowful moaning scream inside his head.
“Many people have these types of delusions, Michael. It’s normal
for someone with your condition. But if you can stop focusing on them--
stop reaffirming their false validity--you’ll eventually be able to
rationalize your life again. You need to understand, shadows can not
move of their own voliton.”
Michael couldn’t remember why everyone always forgot, and that
bugged him. Dr. Black knew. He saw it. But, like everyone else...
forgot. Same with Dr. Splint, and Dr. Gibson. But no one ever
believed him, and everyone insisted that he’d only ever seen Dr.
Fredriks.
“It doesn’t matter. If I start to think I’m wrong cause of all your
pills, I’ll go back to the station, and I’ll see it again, and I’ll know. You
can’t trick me!”
Michael was very keen to keep his mind as pure as possible. Only
the truest things in his noggin, and he was very wise to the ways of
these so-called psychologists. No bastard would trick him into
believing what wasn’t.
“Alright then, how about I go down to the station with you, and we
can definitively prove that they don’t move. If we both see them, and
neither of us sees them move, then they don’t move. If only you see
them move, then you have to admit that there is at least the
possibility that the movement is in your head. Agreed?”
That sounded good, but… It sounded too familiar to be trusted.
What if it was another trick? But what choice did he have? Maybe if
Dr. Fredriks saw them move, he’d be able to help him find out why
everyone always forgot.
“Okay, fine… But you have to bring a recorder, and you have to
bring your notebook. I don’t want any forgetting going on.”
“Deal. Why don’t we go now?”
------
The stairs leading down to the old train station were dark and
mossy, but Michael knew the way by heart. It was out in the middle of
what used to be Boston, before the bombing. They got all the way
down to the station floor before anything happened, which was odd.
And all the shadows only moved when the doctor wasn’t looking,
which was odder.
“Don’t you see it, doctor?! They’re moving all over the place, but
they won’t let you see, and I don’t remember why!”
“Michael, none of the shadows are moving, except when my lamp
tilts. That’s normal. Now do you see that…”
His words trailed off, as the place where the shadow met the light
at the door of the train swelled to a humanoid shape, void of light,
then formed into what could adequately be referred to as a Dr.
Fredriks copy, with a larger than possible grin on it’s face. The
impossibly toothy mouth never opened, but the shadow’s cold,
childlike voice reverberated through the room.
“Hello Michael. I see you’ve brought us another friend. Thank you
ever so much.”
And in an instant, the Fredriks copy had devoured the original, and
absorbed him into it's inky blackness. All at once, Michael
remembered why everyone forgot, and he slumped his shoulders,
knowing that in a day or two, he’d forget about this part, too. The
forgetting was inevitable.
The next day he walked into the Doctor’s offices that took his
insurance and stood in front of the receptionist.
“Dr. Fredriks got eaten by a shadow…”
“Dr. Who? Oh, right, one of your games again. Have a seat and Dr.
Kiefer will be with you shortly.”
mossy, but Michael knew the way by heart. It was out in the middle of
what used to be Boston, before the bombing. They got all the way
down to the station floor before anything happened, which was odd.
And all the shadows only moved when the doctor wasn’t looking,
which was odder.
“Don’t you see it, doctor?! They’re moving all over the place, but
they won’t let you see, and I don’t remember why!”
“Michael, none of the shadows are moving, except when my lamp
tilts. That’s normal. Now do you see that…”
His words trailed off, as the place where the shadow met the light
at the door of the train swelled to a humanoid shape, void of light,
then formed into what could adequately be referred to as a Dr.
Fredriks copy, with a larger than possible grin on it’s face. The
impossibly toothy mouth never opened, but the shadow’s cold,
childlike voice reverberated through the room.
“Hello Michael. I see you’ve brought us another friend. Thank you
ever so much.”
And in an instant, the Fredriks copy had devoured the original, and
absorbed him into it's inky blackness. All at once, Michael
remembered why everyone forgot, and he slumped his shoulders,
knowing that in a day or two, he’d forget about this part, too. The
forgetting was inevitable.
The next day he walked into the Doctor’s offices that took his
insurance and stood in front of the receptionist.
“Dr. Fredriks got eaten by a shadow…”
“Dr. Who? Oh, right, one of your games again. Have a seat and Dr.
Kiefer will be with you shortly.”