Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25901141-20141221002304

“Next?” called the receptionist from behind the large, white counter.

I immediately stood up. Usually, the receptionist would call the next person by name, however since I was the only individual in the waiting room, I suppose she didn’t see the point in doing so.

I slowly made my way over to the polished brown door on the other side of the room, wonder to myself along the way how an empty place like this had managed to stay in business for nearly 25 years.

Before opening the door and stepping inside, I looked up to read the gold nameplate attached to the door. It read:

“Dr. Lisa Swanson, Psychiatrist”

Despite knowing that Dr. Swanson was expecting me, I knocked softly on the door to her office. After about five seconds, I heard the shuffling of papers, and Dr. Swanson opened her door and appeared in front of me. She had a warm but professional appearance about her, and after smiling and saying hello, she motioned for me to join her inside her office. I entered and sat down in a chair across from her desk, and immediately the secretary from the waiting room entered the office and handed Dr. Swanson my file. I began to wonder to myself whether Dr. Swanson and this secretary, whose name was apparently Charlotte, were the only two people working in this entire building.

My thoughts on the matter were interrupted by Dr. Swanson, who had sat down in the brown leather chair behind her desk. Charlotte was standing next to her, and gave me a small smile before Dr. Swanson abruptly dismissed her. There was something in Charlotte’s smile that was unsettling, not foreboding, but sad and empty.

Dr. Swanson opened my file, which was thick with papers and medical reports on my condition. She began to read:

“Brandon Pierce, born on May 25, 1985. Dismissed from Braven Park Mental Asylum on the 23rd of November, 2014 and ordered to receive treatment for Intermittent explosive disorder and Schizophrenia.”

She closed my file, and set it on her desk next to her computer and various books on mental illness. She sat for a moment, without saying anything, just looking into my eyes, as if she were trying to decide what she was going to do with me. Finally she spoke:

“Brandon, many of my patients that enter here are much too far gone to be completely treated. They are older than you, and not as strong willed. However, I see great promise in you, and I believe that you can be treated to the fullest extent. I am going to recommend to you a treatment that I do not give to most of my patients.”

She reached behind her desk to a bookshelf, and pulled out a dusty, leatherbound book from the 3rd shelf. On it were the words, “The Corridors of the Mind.” I immediately noticed that the book was quite old; many of its pages were loose, and the writing was faded on the front and back cover. Dr. Swanson looked at the book with a sort of sadness and determination, and then handed it to me, saying,

“I am going to recommend that you read this book and fully understand its meaning, before you come back to me for further treatment.”

I thought it was peculiar that a psychiatrist was telling me to read a book as treatment to mental illness, however I did not question it, and thanked her for her time. I went out of the office, and payed my bill at the receptionist counter, which I realized was quite expensive for a session that couldn’t have lasted more than 20 minutes.

I walked outside of the building, noticing that the sky had turned gray and it was about to rain. I tucked the book under my arm, crossed the street and turned the corner to get to the street that led to my house. As I did, it began to rain quite heavily, and I pulled my jacket over my head and the book so I would not ruin it. I finally got to my house, and unlocking the door, went inside. I live alone, so naturally, all was quiet. I set the book and my keys on the counter, while I made myself dinner. After I ate, I decided to begin to read the book, curling up in my bed with the lamp on. I opened the book, and instead of a title page and an author’s name, there was a sentence. It read:

“Trapped inside, the corridors of the mind show no mercy, forever changing and rearranging themselves to keep those locked inside forever there.”

I thought this was strange, but deciding to follow Dr. Swanson’s advice, I turned the page, however it was blank. I kept turning the pages, but they were all blank. Thinking that Dr. Swanson had given me the wrong book, I closed it and put it on my bedside table, intending to return it as soon as I had the money to make another appointment. I decided to go to sleep, but I was restless, and after finally falling into sleep, I was plagued by nightmares. Corridors were everywhere, made up of a soft substance resembling flesh, and they were moving. The corridor walls would shift, openings would appear and disappear at will. I woke up the next morning, terrified of what my brain had shown me the previous night. I decided to take a shower, hoping the warm water would soothe my aching head and calm my irrational fears. I turned on the water, and allowed it to run over my skin for an hour or so, but it did no good for my head, which still ached and flashed back to the horrors of last night. I had images in my head telling me to give in, to allow the corridors to take over me, that I would be cured. I tried to resist. I had to resist, for the sake of my own well being. I was scared and alone, with no one to help comfort me, and I began to panic, slipping and falling on the floor of the shower. Everything went black…

I found myself in a place similar to that of my nightmare. The walls appeared to be made of flesh, pulsing and throbbing every second. The only thing in the room that I could recognize was the book that Dr. Swanson had given me. I picked it up, and opened it to the first page. In addition to the single sentence I found, there was a new one, composed of six words. It read:

“You know what’s best; Give In.

I threw the book against the ground, and I watched in horror as the ground rose up and wrapped itself around the book, dragging it into the mess of flesh. I knew I had to leave this place, and I began to run as fast as my legs could carry me, being careful not to touch the walls or stand on the ground for too long. I felt as if I had been running forever, but there was no sign of an exit. As I was running, I began to take notice of the walls; they were what I can only describe as shifting. Various walls would give way to other corridors, and some would shut in one fatal swipe, sealing off the pathway behind them.

At last, I thought I saw an exit. I wasn’t sure, but I had hope. I just wanted this horrible experience to be over. As I was running towards it, I noticed one of the walls moving… it was moving down, trying to block my path. I ran with all my speed, trying to beat the wall, while repeating one sentence in my head:

“I won’t give in, I won’t give in, I won’t gi--”

Police Report: Brandon Pierce, found in home after neighbors became concerned that he hadn’t been seen for well over 2 days. Was found in his shower, water was still running, but Pierce was found to be unconscious. An old book was found on the bedside table, two sentences were found within the book, no code to trace where the book came from. Investigation pending.

Patient Status Report: Brandon Pierce Head injuries, strangely not fatal despite the fall, although he is currently in a coma. Reasons unknown. Suffers from Schizophrenia and Intermittent explosive disorder. Seems to be in a constant state of turmoil, subject will often twitch erratically and seems to have a type of neurological distress. Currently being tested for any other abnormalities in the blood or brain. Will be sent to the Neurological Research Room. 