The Fountain Pen
Here I am with a short! (lol really short) I was trying an exercise where I keep my work only one scene long, but it didn’t really turn out that way... I tried my best I’m sorry.
Calmly he sat down, eyeing his shrink with a coldness that could only be found in someone that had detached himself from all intangible things, only leaving a husk of a human being. The man in a slow repetitive motion, began to stroke the bright leather of “his” chair. It was irritating, almost, how he found he could claim ownership of specific things in her office. Sure at first it started out as just “his” chair, but then it became “his” pencil, or “his” clock.
“William,” She sighed, he met her gaze with the same cold, unflinching look, “I don’t think I can be your shrink anymore, you not only scare my other patients, but your behaviors haven’t improved.” For a moment William was silent, he then reached over to the side table, picking up “his” pen. It was something he often did when he felt uncomfortable, she had observed, incessantly clicking the pen. That specific pen had been a gift from her friend Alicia, it was one of those fancy fountain pens with a gold tip. She remembered how excited Alicia had been when she was accepted to law school, and how disappointed she had been when she dropped out only a year later.
William put the pen down, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Look, my parole officer said that I need to have a shrink, and you are the cheapest money can buy,” He snapped, she didn’t know weather to be insulted or curious, she eyed William who was, for the first time in the three months he had been seeing her, showing emotion. “Now, I’m sure we can be adults and work this out, can’t we Angelina?” He looked at her expectantly, as if she was going to let some complaint keep her from dropping a client she didn’t want to consult anymore.
“No,” Angelina replied simply, getting up from her seat across from him, and moving over to her file cabinet, where she thoroughly intended to either give him his file back, or throw it out.
“No?” William questioned, raising his eyebrow inquisitively, once again he was fingering the pen, casually flipping it back and forth, hand to hand. Angelina felt a lump forming in her throat, she wasn’t quite sure if rejecting William in person was the best idea anymore. He calmly set down the pen, and stood up, walking towards her desk in long deliberate strides. “You know Angelina,” William stated icily, “there are many reasons not to trust people,” he pulled open her drawer, snatching her letter opener, the blade glinting silver in the dull lights of the office. William, leaned against her mahogany desk, grabbing what she assumed to be a bill off of her desk, and slowly started tearing it open. “You see, people are narcissistic, vulnerable, easily hurt, and in general lack the basic intelligence of a cantaloupe. Thus, secrets cannot be trusted with the common folk, because as soon as they get told a secret,” He paused, ripping the letter a little further, “they spread it around, the details getting murkier and murkier each time a new version is told.” William pulled the paper out of the envelope, and carefully unfolded it, pressing the creases so the letter would lie flat on her desk. “But,” William exclaimed, enunciating the “t” with a sharp rigidness, “there is always a way back to the original secret. Though it is difficult to find, if one were to dig around enough, and compare enough stories they would be sure to find the original, wouldn’t they?” The lump in her throat grew increasing larger as she nodded, a brief and curt yes. “Now, Angelina, you may say I don’t have these so called emotions, but I do, I assure you. I’ve just locked them away along with my ability to share confidential information, you would understand that though, wouldn’t you Angelina?” He carried himself with poise back to the chair, sitting down, and crossing legs. He then grabbed her pen off of the side table and began to scribble a few words. For those moments it was only the sound of the pen scratching on the paper, the ticks of the second hand of the clock, and her own panicky thoughts that occupied the sound of the room. Then, it stopped, the pen that is, William looked up, set the pen down on the side table along with the piece of paper, and got up. “Well, Angelina, it has been a pleasure, but since I have been dismissed I find that I am no longer required to stay in your presence.” He extended his hand to her, she looked at him wide eyed, gaping for a few seconds, then took it, and let him firmly shake it. William made his way to the door, opening it with a creak, pausing only for a moment to look over the threshold and give her what looked, disturbingly, like a smirk, and then he left without saying a word further.
Angelina stood there in the middle of her office shaking, she slowly unfolded the piece of paper to see what the man had written.
***
The man was sitting in a leather chair, stroking it, almost annoyingly so. He looked at the newspaper headline, “Shrink Found Dead, Police Ruled A Suicide”, a smirk spread across his features, he reached over to the side table and slowly started clicking a black pen with a gold tip.
By: Amanda B.
Thanks for reading Daydreamer! (sorry for any mistakes I may have made, I didn’t go through and edit this one as much)
~Felix
