anunusualcase

An Unusual Case

"Just one more probe and we're done, Mr. Wilson" The voice rumbled from outside the room, less than comforting. Jack Wilson wondered again why they all were so polite - this wasn't a polite process.

The lasers pointed towards his head with a throbbing pulse, and Jack swore he could feel the searing pain even before it reached his brain. With the new, high-tech lasers Jack didn't have to worry about bodily harm, but it still was painful - not that Jack minded.

"All right, Mr. Wilson, we'll discuss your results in the quiet room. Just give us a few moments." The quiet room. Heh. Another term for the padded room, but Jack wasn't about to complain. The sedative they'd given him had worn off, as had the suggestion they'd implanted that he think of something soft and comforting - like puppies, or small bunnies. At least the "quiet room" would do something to calm his pounding head. He smiled.

The couple walked into his booth, and unstrapped him from the chair, taking little care with his bandaged wrists. They spoke to him briefly, just to tell him that it was all over and that he'd done well, and then they led Jack to the quiet room.

"So, tell us, why were you brought to Sunnyview?" A new voice popped up once they'd entered the padded room, and Jack had been seated on a bean-bag, rounded furniture that couldn't hurt or suffocate.

Jack grimaced. "If you don't know after those probes, I don't know what to tell you. I hear voices. I think I'm the last man on Earth. Last week, I slit my wrists, just to get out of jury duty. I like to drink bleach. I've eaten 20 bottles of aspirin..." Jack went on and on, his voice tiring from the sheer volume at which he shouted, feigning insanity. The new doctor was not impressed.

"According to our probes, Mr. Wilson, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You don't even have the regular anxieties and depression that most humans have. So again, I ask, why are you here?" Dr. Morgan was the head of the clinic, and he'd never seen a case like this.

"That may be it, doc. I'm too happy. Everyone hates me. I'm never late for work, never forget flowers on a date, never get mad if someone splashes me with mud. I NEED some illness, doc. I can't be the only one like this. The only one who's.... happy." Jack shifted on his beanbag.

"There was a pill once... before all this. It made people happy - so happy that it was the norm. But that was a hundred or more years ago. Today we don't tolerate happy. It just lead to stagnation and death." Dr. Morgan steepled his fingers.

"I know, doc. Please, implant something. Anything. Schizophrenia. Even a small case of obsessive compulsive disorder. Just make me like everyone else." Jack pleaded.

"A most unusual case. Your fake mental illnesses will have to do, Mr. Wilson. There is no cure for happy. Here are some pamphlets. Perhaps there are more like you out there. Perhaps." Dr. Morgan handed over the material. "A colony on Vega 12. There are happy people there, they colonized the planet. Are you willing to move?"

"I'll do anything, doc!" Jack said with a smile, then as always, covered his mouth so he wouldn't show his disability.

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Victoria Clayton Munn wrote her first book at age six, and shows no signs of stopping. She is a writer and poet who has been published in various online and print ‘zines, including Poor Mojo's Almanac(k), Right Hand Pointing, Boston Literary Magazine, The Legendary and more - as well as a chapbook "Two Lips". She lives near Albany NY with her husband and daughter. Visit her at WritingGirl.