The courtyard leading up to the campus before me was as inauspicious as it was beautiful. It boasted an assurance for relief to my ailment. My continued sickness, however, has left my wholly unconvinced that it would ever come.
If it were not for the flourishing plant life, I wouldn’t wish to linger in my environment any longer than necessary. The building, along with the stony path leading up to it, was unsightly. It was a blotch against the very nature it was erected upon.
My opinion of it, of course, was skewed by its significance. That I should require outside assistance for the foreseeable future, possibly indefinitely, made it hard for me to see it any other way. My only solace were the rosemaries and petunias which lined my dwelling; they painted a stark contrast to my grim reality with their beauty. As such, my attention was solely focused on their visage.
“Pretty, aren’t they?” a nearby resident asked, and I was suddenly aware that I wasn’t alone. That shouldn’t have surprised me, for solitude was a precious commodity any of us could hardly afford.
My unwanted companion was sitting, if you could call it that, on a bench facing the courtyard. He was a quirky fellow who seemed unable to remain still for longer than the time it took to blink. The wood creaked underneath him as he shifted his weight, and he rubbed the cool metal of the armrest with one hand. His eyes darted back and forth as he ran the other through his scraggly hair.
“Did you forget to take your meds again, Monty?” I asked without trying to sound offensive. He was a fellow resident, but that was where our relationship ended. I couldn’t allow myself to attain a close acquaintance with anyone here regardless of their condition, perhaps even because of it.
“Meds? What meds? I’m perfectly healthy. Right as rain. I’ll have ya know I can walk out there right this instant.” Montgomery tapped his feet on the ground one after the other in quick succession. He then pointed an accusing finger at me and laughed shrilly. “It’s you who need the meds, Bart!”
I tried to distance myself from the degrading statement with no great success. Montgomery, and near everyone else around me, undoubtedly thought what I knew to be true: I was a lost cause.
The sounds of the front door opening disturbed our temporary, albeit eccentric, serenity. A man outfitted in scrubs, I believe his name was David, had come out to join us. I was a little leery of him despite his enthusiastic gestures. His smiles always seemed insincere. The day someone didn’t see me as anything more than a paycheck was the day I went insane.
“Dr. Webster wishes to see you in his office, Bart. It’s bad news, I’m afraid,” David said. He gestured for me to follow him, but after I gave him a pointed stare, he broke eye contact and turned to Monty. His voice took on a saccharine tone as he spoke to him. “Why hello there! It’s just about time for your meds. Why don’t I take you back to…”
David’s voice faded even before I took my first steps through those double wide doors of the Saint Junivus Psychiatric Ward. My mind wandered to the meeting, and for a sickening moment I wish that it hadn’t. There was nothing else it could be except my persistent affliction.
“You can’t trust the lot of them,” he said. I glanced over my shoulder. The action was useless, for I was alone, but the urge to look was overpowering nonetheless. “They’ll string ya up faster than you can count to ten.”
I opened the doctor’s office as soon as I finally arrived, doing my best to ignore the voice. For my troubles I was awarded entrance to a broom closet. I slammed the door in frustration; I was sure that was where I last found Dr. Webster.
“That grisly, old doctor is nothing but trouble.” I wasn’t sure which one of us was talking at this point. “All we’ll get is more questions with him. Questions, questions, questions, and never an answer for any of them.”
I was suddenly aware of my inability to extricate myself from this reality, if it can be called that, I’m trapped in. It was in times like these that I found it more difficult to distinguish what was real and what was not. I was sure that was the doctor’s office, and for all I knew it could be and I had somehow imagined it as a broom closet.
As I made my way through the ward, I could feel the stares of nearby residents. I was reasonably sure I hadn’t yet done anything outwardly to garner this attention, but I have it all the same. I tried to brush the nauseating feeling aside, and everything became a blur with each resounding step I took.
I stumbled into Dr. Webster’s office by happenstance, thankful that it took no longer than it did. The other residents were a constant, painful reminder of my supposed frailty.
“Where’s David? He should know better by now than to leave you wandering the halls alone.” Dr. Webster was the type of person who stuck to a plan. He was liable to flip a gasket over the smallest of deviations: something about untold catastrophes looming over an impromptu deed.
“Tending to another resident,” I said curtly.
“You’ve been able to make it this time. Need I emphasize what could have happened? You do remember what happened last time, don’t you?” He repeatedly tapped a file in his hand before letting it fall open on his desk. He meticulously straightened the stack of papers inside, lining each and every one of them up until a carpenter’s level would have been perfectly centred.
“I can manage.” The sooner he said his piece, the sooner I could leave. It was as if he was deliberately prolonging this meeting.
Dr. Webster grumbled, but he refrained from saying anything more. He reached inside of the front pocket of his coat and pulled out a pair of glasses. After putting them on, he flipped through the file for a moment. He then placed them on the desk and looked me in the eye.
“Our latest scans showed no improvement toward your… disposition.” He rapped his thumbs on the desk and released a heavy sigh. “I trust you know where that leaves us for treatment options.”
The moment which followed was as silent as a grave.
“Due to the lack of responsiveness to your medication, the next course of treatment available to us would be electroconvulsive therapy… Of course, it is not without its potential risks: seizures, complications to your cardiovascular system, and trauma. Death is also a possibility, although the chances for that are marginal.”
“No.”
“Will you at least consider it? As it stands now, I see no other alternative and—”
“No!” I slammed my fist into the desk. “This is pointless! I’m only here in the first place on my brother’s insistence. I got by just fine on my own before all this, and I can continue to do so.” I was distinctly aware of the excruciating pain now coursing through my hand. “I… must.”
The doctor shot me a dejected look and then rubbed his temples. He sat back in his chair, as if in deep thought, and swiveled until he was facing away from me. “...Perhaps it is best we move away from this topic for the time being and reconvene at a later date. Take all the time you need before coming to a decision.”
“The nerve of him,” my disembodied companion said, “to speak with us in that tone! He thinks he knows what’s best for me, does he?”
“What are you—” my doctor stopped mid-sentence.
Everything happened so fast. Before I knew it, I was standing over Webster, on the other side of the desk, with a fist raised high. Aware of the affect my acute outburst had, I lowered my fist. I saw the fear on the doctor’s face, and it suddenly seemed as if a million judging eyes were watching. I nearly tripped as I quickly backed away.
The door into the office suddenly burst open; it was David again, and he stared at us with a look of concern. “Is everything alright?”
The doctor nodded briskly, seemingly unable to say anything. His hands were shaky as he retrieved his glasses off the desk and put them on. He laboriously placed my test papers, which had been scattered by the outburst, back in his file.
“I don’t mean to disrupt your conference, but there’s something you’ll want to see, sir. This affects you too, Bart.” David walked over to the other side of the room where a small television set resided atop a moving stand. He turned it to one of the news stations.
“This just in: we have what appears to be a potential outbreak all across the nation and in other parts of the world. The first case of it is believed to be in Lazy Pines about a week ago today.”There was something strange about the news reporter, but I couldn’t find anything that supported my impression. “Anyone who has caught the virus so far has had the same outcome. They have been transformed into ponies.
“Everyone who has not been affected yet is encouraged to remain inside and exercise caution. Scientists are reported to be working around the clock to find preventative measures against the life-altering symptoms of the virus. They are additionally hoping to find a means of reversing the effects of the virus, but whether or not they will succeed remains to be seen.
“In just a moment, we will be broadcasting a live interview with Dr. Bill—” The channel cut out suddenly, leaving only static on the television.
After a moment of contemplation passed, Dr. Webster stood up and, looking quite disturbed, began heading for the office door. “My God. Just what the hell is that?”
“I don’t know sir, but it doesn’t look good.” David followed the doctor out of the door, and I was left to my own devices.
As I stared at the static on the television, I tried to parse the significance of it all. I could scarcely believe anything. There was no way that something this fantastical was anything more than a construction of my disturbed mind. I rolled my eyes and walked out of the office, slamming the door behind me.