It was nice to know the universe had an ironic sense of humor thought Alice as she brushed the dirt and dead leaves from her dress. She surveyed her surroundings the best she could in the dim light. Her eyes hadn't adjusted from the bright daylight seven feet above, and she couldn't see much.
As the shock of the fall began to wear off she reached out her hand to push herself up. It came in contact with something soft and furry and she snatched it back quickly with a little shriek of fear.
She sat still a moment longer reliving the past hour. She had been in the woods trying to find the plants her botany professor had instructed the class to gather. She knew it was foolish to be out there alone, and on top of it, she had been hurrying since she was running late for dinner with her friends.
She hadn't noticed the hole in the ground since it had been partially covered with fallen tree branches and leaves. One minute she had hurrying along what looked to be some semblance of a path and the next she was falling into a dark hole like her fictional namesake.
She finally stood up and took quick mental stock. She felt somewhat bruised but nothing seemed to be broken. She looked around again wondering how to get out, her eyes able to see more now. She spotted the thing her hand had come in contact with. It wasn't moving. She picked up a branch near her feet and poked at it. Nothing. She pulled it closer with the stick.
Her eyes widened when she bent down to pick up the child's toy. She realized it was a dirty old white stuffed rabbit!
"You've got to be kidding!"
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Voices
A cool breeze blew across the bay this morning. Burton sat on the bench staring at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. The hastily jotted numbers, written in pencil were starting to fade. It would be so easy to let it fly away in the wind.
He knew he should dial the number. He wanted to dial the number. He had tried at least a dozen times before, but had always hung up before completing the sequence. He stared out across the water for a long moment. Finally with a resigned sigh he took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed.
A friendly female voice on the other end of the line said; "Dr. Rand's office."
A few days later Burton found himself seated in a dark green leather chair in the well appointed office of Dr. Rand. As he waited, he took in his surroundings. A carved mahogany desk was the focal point of the room. A small bust sat on the desk, but Burton couldn't identify who the head belonged to. He looked vaguely familiar though. Along two walls were book shelves crammed with books. A large potted ivy sat on a pedestal by the door. There wasn't any clutter anywhere. Somehow Burton had expected the doctor's desk to be piled with files and paperwork. But then he thought no, of course he wouldn't leave that sort of thing lying around.
The door opened and Dr. Rand entered the room. He smiled congenially and introduced himself. As Burton stood to shake his hand, he surveyed the man he was about to treat. He had dark hair and eyes, was handsome, probably in his mid thirties and well built. He briefly wondered what brought him into his office. But he would know soon enough he supposed. In his 42 years of practice he had heard it all.
Burton sat back down. Dr. Rand noticed the young man fidgeting as he asked him what he could do for him. That was common, most people were uncomfortable coming to a psychiatrist.
Burton leaned forward slightly and said: "Well doc, I think I might have schizophrenia."
"Oh" said Dr. Rand; "What makes you think that?'
"I hear voices in my head." Replied Burton.
"What do they tell you to do?" asked Dr. Rand, suddenly concerned. The last schizophrenic that had come into his office had turned out to be a serial killer. He had claimed the voices told him to do it.
"They don't tell me to do anything." said Burton puzzled, "They aren't talking to me."
Dr. Rand ran his fingers through his silver hair. He had been wrong, apparently he hadn't heard it all.
He knew he should dial the number. He wanted to dial the number. He had tried at least a dozen times before, but had always hung up before completing the sequence. He stared out across the water for a long moment. Finally with a resigned sigh he took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed.
A friendly female voice on the other end of the line said; "Dr. Rand's office."
A few days later Burton found himself seated in a dark green leather chair in the well appointed office of Dr. Rand. As he waited, he took in his surroundings. A carved mahogany desk was the focal point of the room. A small bust sat on the desk, but Burton couldn't identify who the head belonged to. He looked vaguely familiar though. Along two walls were book shelves crammed with books. A large potted ivy sat on a pedestal by the door. There wasn't any clutter anywhere. Somehow Burton had expected the doctor's desk to be piled with files and paperwork. But then he thought no, of course he wouldn't leave that sort of thing lying around.
The door opened and Dr. Rand entered the room. He smiled congenially and introduced himself. As Burton stood to shake his hand, he surveyed the man he was about to treat. He had dark hair and eyes, was handsome, probably in his mid thirties and well built. He briefly wondered what brought him into his office. But he would know soon enough he supposed. In his 42 years of practice he had heard it all.
Burton sat back down. Dr. Rand noticed the young man fidgeting as he asked him what he could do for him. That was common, most people were uncomfortable coming to a psychiatrist.
Burton leaned forward slightly and said: "Well doc, I think I might have schizophrenia."
"Oh" said Dr. Rand; "What makes you think that?'
"I hear voices in my head." Replied Burton.
"What do they tell you to do?" asked Dr. Rand, suddenly concerned. The last schizophrenic that had come into his office had turned out to be a serial killer. He had claimed the voices told him to do it.
"They don't tell me to do anything." said Burton puzzled, "They aren't talking to me."
Dr. Rand ran his fingers through his silver hair. He had been wrong, apparently he hadn't heard it all.
Friday, November 27, 2009
The Other Side Of The Door
Her feet easily found the stairs in the dark. It was a trip she had made about three thousand times over the past ten years. She felt the ruffled edge of her nightgown brush her thigh with each step she took. Her fingers trailed up the bannister to her right.
When she reached the top, she veered off to the left. She slowed her approach as she strode down the hallway. With her toe pointing out in front of her, she searched for the familiar furry form she knew would be there. When he toe came in contact with the sleeping dog, she deftly stepped over him.
Finally she reached her goal. As her hand stretched out to grasp the cool brass doorknob, her fingers curled back on themselves and she hesitated. Suddenly she was filled with an unusual foreboding, as if something was lurking on the other side of the door...
When she reached the top, she veered off to the left. She slowed her approach as she strode down the hallway. With her toe pointing out in front of her, she searched for the familiar furry form she knew would be there. When he toe came in contact with the sleeping dog, she deftly stepped over him.
Finally she reached her goal. As her hand stretched out to grasp the cool brass doorknob, her fingers curled back on themselves and she hesitated. Suddenly she was filled with an unusual foreboding, as if something was lurking on the other side of the door...
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