Cassandra
Coffee addict and book enthusiast
There is not a lot in life that has a considerable portrayal of ambiguity. People spend lifetimes thrusting themselves into new situations in search of something intense, something adventurous, and spend little thinking about the consequences or the aftermath. There were a lot of cases, Dr Navens noted, of people who lost their sanity consequently due to their search. Many people who pondered on the thought of adventure would lose themselves, exchange their mental wellbeing for the tiniest shred of excitement. This was not simply just a trait of those lacking mental health and, once brought to awareness, it is prominent within most people. You can see it anywhere: paragliding, bungee jumping, even in that tourist family jetting off to the Bahamas for a week or so. The search for excitement and meaning is eternal.
Dr Navens resisted the very strong urge to roll her eyes up to the heavens, and nodded her head sympathetically. This conversation was one that she had heard plentifully from different lips.
"And why do you think that is?" She stated nonchalantly, pursing her lips tightly. Her amber eyes locked on her patient, though the colour was soft her gaze was firm. She had to observe, to analyse, her patient- whom was rather mentally unstable- to see if they were recovering from their own mental destruction.
"Why do you think that you feel this urge to repeat your mistake?" She persisted, reminding her patient of what they had just said.
Her patient was older than her, and one would think it strange for a younger person to be advising an elder. Yet, she had been in her job long enough to become accustomed to it. He stood over 6 foot tall, and was a rather heavy man. His complexion was pastily white with dark, grey rims beneath his eyes. His inner health was prominent on his blunt features, to the extent that it differed his physical appearance.
"It was not a mistake. I need to complete my task," he stated, as a matter of a factly. His eyes did not move, he did not even blink. He sat peculiarly still, in a inhuman manner, the only way to notice he was alive was to listen to the noise escaping his lips. "I need to complete the task they gave to me," he repeated. Dr Navens nodded her head lightly, before noting that the man was still mentally unstable. She wrote what he said, analysing that the patient was still in his state of phycosis.
"The task that was given to you by the extraterrestrial men, Mr Gibbins?"
His still head moved, his chin lifting to the ceiling once before returning to face the cushioned floor. His movements were skin crawling, and Dr Navens felt her hand shift to clutch her clipboard tighter. She eyed the door, warily, and estimated how long it would take for her to escape if it came to it. Her eyes scanned the empty room, and shivered with the thought of how it must feel to be held captive in solitary confinement. How it would be to be confined to nothing but your own thoughts, especially if you were clinically insane. She felt herself nodding in return and slipped out an unnecessary, but polite, thank you to the man before heading towards the door.
She shoved her pen into the pocket of the coat of her white uniform, and strummed her fist lightly on the door thrice. When it opened, revealing the federal agents, she did not resist her urges and rolled her eyes heavily. She ignored them at first, turning to face left and heading in the direction of reception, but she knew that they would prevail in search of an answer. An answer that she had already give to them: their culprit had schizophrenia, he had imagined a race of aliens telling him to kill people- clearly. She imagined it to be triggered by some kind of work problem, given from the research that she had gathered. He had recently been fired by his boss, a caucasian female, and consequently set out to some kind of revenge by killing 7 other women.
"I have nothing to say to you," she stated, not stopping in her tracks. Her head twisted abruptly when one of the men gripped her arm harshly.
"You are obliged to give us any new information given to you, you are obliged to honour and upkeep federal law mam" he stated woodly.
"I am obliged to nothing then," she retorted, her nails digging into her clip board, annoyance was prominent in her heavy expression, "because I have been told nothing new at all. I do not understand why this is a federal case when I have foreclosed it. I have given you my diagnosis and it will not differ," she exhale a long sigh, "There is nothing else I can do for you, except run medical examinations - that I offered but you promptly declined. So, I beseech of you, please, leave."
She turned once more, sharply, the locks of hair bouncing as she exited the never ending hallway. And, as she did so, she couldn't help but ponder in her thoughts of why they were so set on finding information when there was little to be found. It was only human to search, of course, but in all her years of dealing with people she had never been quite so annoyed.
Dr Navens resisted the very strong urge to roll her eyes up to the heavens, and nodded her head sympathetically. This conversation was one that she had heard plentifully from different lips.
"And why do you think that is?" She stated nonchalantly, pursing her lips tightly. Her amber eyes locked on her patient, though the colour was soft her gaze was firm. She had to observe, to analyse, her patient- whom was rather mentally unstable- to see if they were recovering from their own mental destruction.
"Why do you think that you feel this urge to repeat your mistake?" She persisted, reminding her patient of what they had just said.
Her patient was older than her, and one would think it strange for a younger person to be advising an elder. Yet, she had been in her job long enough to become accustomed to it. He stood over 6 foot tall, and was a rather heavy man. His complexion was pastily white with dark, grey rims beneath his eyes. His inner health was prominent on his blunt features, to the extent that it differed his physical appearance.
"It was not a mistake. I need to complete my task," he stated, as a matter of a factly. His eyes did not move, he did not even blink. He sat peculiarly still, in a inhuman manner, the only way to notice he was alive was to listen to the noise escaping his lips. "I need to complete the task they gave to me," he repeated. Dr Navens nodded her head lightly, before noting that the man was still mentally unstable. She wrote what he said, analysing that the patient was still in his state of phycosis.
"The task that was given to you by the extraterrestrial men, Mr Gibbins?"
His still head moved, his chin lifting to the ceiling once before returning to face the cushioned floor. His movements were skin crawling, and Dr Navens felt her hand shift to clutch her clipboard tighter. She eyed the door, warily, and estimated how long it would take for her to escape if it came to it. Her eyes scanned the empty room, and shivered with the thought of how it must feel to be held captive in solitary confinement. How it would be to be confined to nothing but your own thoughts, especially if you were clinically insane. She felt herself nodding in return and slipped out an unnecessary, but polite, thank you to the man before heading towards the door.
She shoved her pen into the pocket of the coat of her white uniform, and strummed her fist lightly on the door thrice. When it opened, revealing the federal agents, she did not resist her urges and rolled her eyes heavily. She ignored them at first, turning to face left and heading in the direction of reception, but she knew that they would prevail in search of an answer. An answer that she had already give to them: their culprit had schizophrenia, he had imagined a race of aliens telling him to kill people- clearly. She imagined it to be triggered by some kind of work problem, given from the research that she had gathered. He had recently been fired by his boss, a caucasian female, and consequently set out to some kind of revenge by killing 7 other women.
"I have nothing to say to you," she stated, not stopping in her tracks. Her head twisted abruptly when one of the men gripped her arm harshly.
"You are obliged to give us any new information given to you, you are obliged to honour and upkeep federal law mam" he stated woodly.
"I am obliged to nothing then," she retorted, her nails digging into her clip board, annoyance was prominent in her heavy expression, "because I have been told nothing new at all. I do not understand why this is a federal case when I have foreclosed it. I have given you my diagnosis and it will not differ," she exhale a long sigh, "There is nothing else I can do for you, except run medical examinations - that I offered but you promptly declined. So, I beseech of you, please, leave."
She turned once more, sharply, the locks of hair bouncing as she exited the never ending hallway. And, as she did so, she couldn't help but ponder in her thoughts of why they were so set on finding information when there was little to be found. It was only human to search, of course, but in all her years of dealing with people she had never been quite so annoyed.
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