Saturday, December 4, 2010

Groundhog Day Grind - Fiction Piece

The room was as spartan as it gets; single bed, draped in crisp, white linen, two bedside tables framing the thin mattress. A white, wooden locker-style closet stood in the corner, its single door closed and latched. The floor and walls were painted in a nondescript, antiseptic shade of grey, and the lone piece of wall decoration was a chalkboard mounted over the bed. The room was identical to all the others on the ward, save for the sprays of blood that coated the entire space, dry now, but still reeking of copper and death.

The therapist ran his hand through his thinning hair and turned to the orderly who stood in the doorway, nervously fingering an unlit cigarette, desperate to draw in its soothing fumes.

“When did you find him?”

The orderly shuffled his feet, and stuck the cigarette behind his ear. “Breakfast time, yesterday. I was dropping off his food and almost went down in that, that shit.”, he said, motioning towards one of the bigger patches on the floor.

“The police tell me that he…..”

“Yeah, he did this shit with his fingernails, filed them down by scraping them against the wall. You can see the goddam marks behind his bed. This shit isn’t my fault, I could never have known this was coming.”

The doctor sighed impatiently, “I was going to say that the police mentioned his leaving a message. Do you know anything about that?”

“Yeah, he sharpied that shit all over his door. Stream of  watchamacallit nonsense that makes no sense. It’s like his life story, but the funny thing is the broad he talks about, always thought he was a queer.”

The therapist whipped around quickly at the remark, “Don’t you know anything about the patients you tend to?”

“Just how they like their eggs, and which ones are prone to shittin’ themselves. None of the rest of it is any of my business, all that other shit is your job.”

The orderly continued to ramble, but Dr. Mills had tuned him out, his attention now turned to the neat lines of words adorning the back of the room door. He read them once, shook his head, and read them again.

I tumbled out of mothers womb my happy home her sealing tomb and into a world by mothers tit and laying around in my own shit then being cleaned all powdered dry but not enough to stop my cry for mothers tit to grow big and strong and head to school for way too long to learn from teach who sucked me dry just like a leech in toilet stalls he touched my hairless balls and spoke of love with tales of beatings with leather glove should I ever speak of his horrid needs or lusty deeds with no mothers tit to calm my soul I crawled inside my own hell hole and spent my time inside books and other worlds inside my secret reading nook that took me to my high school years and acne stains and adolescent tears disguised by straight As on endless learning days to high paid jobs in the working streets then home alone to frozen dinner treats an endless grind of Groundhog Day repetition finally broken by HER beautiful vision and the way she sung to my solitary soul a vision upon reflection that finally made me whole yet rejection was just around the corner not by choice but made to order by others who know nothing of my long gone life the visions I’ve seen my never ending strife to land in institutions cold where it seems to be I am doomed to grow old but I can’t have HER no-one can and thus here lies my final plan goodbye cruel world it’s been a blast we are off to a place where our love can last.

Mills stepped back and bumped into the orderly, who had been reading over his shoulder.

“Who was she doc?”

“She was he.”

The orderly stared, nonplussed. “I don’t get it,” he said.

The doctor spoke slowly, “It may do you some good to know who you look after, just a little. The patient was troubled, sexually abused and bullied through his early years. He was brilliant though, genius IQ, a master in his field, but always alone and never quite whole. He adored his Mother, and after she passed, he took to wearing her clothes, before moving on and buying his own dresses, lingerie and womens’ accessories. He dressed, always in private, and the male part of him fell in love with the female. In time, he wanted a sex change and was referred to me for a psychiatric evaluation, all part of the process, you understand?”

The orderly nodded, not truly understanding, but drawn in by the story.

“I was unable to recommend the surgery, given his obvious Mother issues, as well as his inability to completely give up his male ego, such was his love for the female.”

“So he killed himself? Quite the suicide note,” the orderly snorted.

“It’s a little more complicated than that. I’d call it a note and a confession, you see to me, this was a murder/suicide.”

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