Alright, here you are. I probably wrote too much and bent the rules, but whatever. I'd like a number 9 criticism with a side of fries, please. 1, 2, 3, Action:
One finds comfort in the room of a therapist, but mine has become a private Hell.
At the time of the incident, it had been a gloomy eve following a shower that mildewed the curtains and left me sopping wet as I trudged into my warmly lit office. On the walls, I had pictures of ancient family homes and children eating ice cream. I had soothing textures that patients could grab onto in times of internal peril, clocks that did not tick, and windows of light, silky fabrics that let but sparse light into the room. On the floor was a large throw rug with a spiraling pattern.
Perhaps the only disturbing artifact was a painting of a wolf that I kept in such a position so that only I could see it unless my patient turned around. It was a large gray wolf, with hair sticking out of its back like hay from a bale and a tail that hung low to the mossy ground. It bared its teeth menacingly before skin that scrunched up around its beady red eyes.It was a reminder to me of the savagery hidden within any animal spirit with the will to survive, even when the clock behind the eyes does not function, does not tick to the time.
That evening I had a singular visitor, one of whom the local townsfolk said had turned into a madman who turned on himself and on others. I myself was a fond follower of Freud's practices of psychoanalysis, and I knew I could crack the code of this man's complex. I knew all about the man, who was a struggling fur trader in these parts, and whose father had served in the Civil War around half a century ago. His name was, as I recall -
"Roelf."
"Excuse me?" I blurted, alarmed.
"Name's Roelf Higgins, pleased to meet you, sir."
"Oh, of course, of course. I was only a little startled, but - hold on - why did you not wait outside until sent for?"
Here, the young man sitting before me cringed to a deep violet color and bowed his head.
"Oh, sorry sir, most definitely, I did not mean to bother you. If you please, I will just take up my things now and leave, really, if I cause you so much trouble."
A nice enough man, I thought. I promptly waved away his apologies and offered him a cup of tea.
"Oh, thank you kindly. I shan't be so greedy, though. You have some things to tell me?"
"Yes, It's about the matter of your skinning off the top of someone's arm during the white seal fur auction yesterday afternoon."
A blank face stared back at me. "I'd better leave, sir. You've been gracious to me, but it seems there's been a mistake."
"And why would that be?"
"I never did such a thing," he replied, with the bluest and most innocent eyes I have yet seen on this Earth.
I quickly scribbled a few notes in my pad. Yes, memory repression is natural, but this is... well, so short term. I looked up again.
"Mr. Roelf, why exactly have you come to my office on this Wednesday evening?"
"Roelf, sir? Why, me name's ne'er been Roelf, silly name it is. Name's Filch Diggory.I been walkin' along here and I thought a to myself that Mr. Jeremy might be wantin an addition to this fine rug 'ere," he announced, patting the floor with a veined hand.
"I got me some bear furs, mountain cat furs, deer furs, rabb-et furs, why, I even got some fine wolf furs. Just let me know, Mr. Jeremy, and I'll bring a cart right here, right'a to your own doorstep."
I looked at him again. It was the same face, sure, but something was different. Something had changed. I could see it in his lusting eyes, a hungry blue, steel around the rims and gleaming like a bar of gold.
"What do you say, pal? Wanna buy? Wanna buy? C'mon, I got a family to feed."
"Mr. Diggory, if that is what you call yourself, quiet down. Yesterday, whether or not you will admit it, you viciously attacked a disgruntled auction participant. I am here to find out why.Now, I want you to tell me about your father. How would you describe your relationship with him?"
And here his face changed again. It shriveled up around the nose, picked up around the cheeks to stretch out a leering smile, and creased in the forehead.The eyes turned an amorphous, dull gray.
"Oh,fa-ther,"he sang in a lilting voice.
Something about this new form chilled my heart and stopped my blood from flowing for seconds. A disorder that changed the very nature of the man, left him with only seconds of solace as a self. Something had cleaved him, something had torn the rage from the greed, the greed from the placid innocence, the purity from -
"Father always wanted his way, didn't he? Wanted me to clean the horses, clean the rifles, sell the heirlooms. 'Hurry, Roelf. Hurry,' he would say. 'No one's got time for you, little brat. See these spots on the floor? And you haven't sold in a week? Intolerable. I ought to beat you.' "
Here he stood up and picked up the heavy oak chair casually and lunged forward. But he dropped it, and it splintered on the ground as I grimaced.
"No, don't do it, please, he's not father, he wouldn't understand," a pure voice reached out from tortured lungs.
He lurched to the other side of the room. "The eye, I can see, watching me, just like father always did, always disapproving, always seething."
Here I saw him looking down toward the rug, the beautiful spiral rug whose black center stared up at all in the room and saw even the primal rage hidden within my heart. Its black terror reverberated into the upper darkness of my abysmal room.
"Please, let's leave now, sir, you've been kind, you've been-"
"Selfish, isn't he? And naive. Thinks he can see inside us. Thinks he can understand the heart, billowing like a great stain on this earth, a cancerous-"
"Good man, you are, thanks for the tea, thank you kindly, just don't forget to send a letter soon," and he was about to leave the room daintily when he bellowed “Shut up!”, picked up a clock from the wall, smashed it on the ground, and began to rip at his own throat with the jagged end of the wooden pendulum.
His eyes bugged out as the sliver pierced deeper into his pale, dainty skin. And a voice retched out from the cavern of his mouth.
"Furs for sale, kind gentleman. Furs for sale, cheap!"
Right before my eyes, two figures began to diverge from the one, just like when you squint your eyes and try to see double. There were two Roelfs, one digging the pendulum into the squealing one's throat, and the oppressor had changed again; he was snarling; he was a wolf; he was sinking his teeth into his own neck.
As I watched silently in horror, my mouth ajar, one was left bleeding on the floor while the wolf snarled at me.I snatched a loaded pistol from the very bottom drawer of my desk, and even as the wolf pounced at me a shot went off. Powder fell like perverse snow onto my now-stained rug, which had beheld all, witnessed all that had occurred. And now on the floor there was but one body lying, destitute and ripped to shreds.
