Dalliance

I glanced through the window of the speeding car, watching as the dark trees disappeared behind the vehicle and the overwhelmingly dull sky continued on before me for what appeared to be miles. Was the sun ever going to make an appearance or are we doomed to see only the crepuscular wherever we turn?

The radio played quietly, a mellifluous hum that seemed to be resonant in my head. It felt like the radio had played the same wordless, empty song for hours on repeat, the tune now felt saccharine, proof that even the most beautiful things are over used, and are deserted and unwanted. So in a way, I was that song that played on the radio. Just a simple tune that tried to please, and when it did please, it was taken advantage of, and now no one wants thay same little tune.

I'm just an overplayed song on an old radio that a scared teenage boy curses, but relates to.

I switched off my phone, the signal here was terrible anyways, and I knew I wasn't allowed a phone in the hospital, and slipped it under the seat as the car pulled to a stop.

I untied the seat belt that had tightly pulled me back into the seat. My mother aggressively untied hers, not making eye contact with me once. It has always amazed me how a simple movement could be made so threateningly. I waited until she left the car first, then followed her up the familiar steps, practically dragging myself along using the railing.

In a matter of seconds I was sitting in the waiting room, slouching in the crimson sofa and trying to distract myself by looking through the barred windows.

Around ten minutes later, the usual therapist, who I have long since forgotten the name of, came in and, smiling unnecessarily widely, led my mother into another room down the corridor. And I was once again left alone, the only noise coming from the small black clock hanging on the opposite wall. Each tick obstreperous to ears, but nothing more than a scintilla of sound.

One man's cacophony is another man's euphony.

Another ten minutes of sorrowful patience later, the same woman came back in, her smile never fading, my mother in pursuit, a smile also plastered across her face. I stood up and crossed the room, letting my mother slip into the space I had just occupied. I took a deep breath and followed the woman down the corridor. Another day of lies and fake smiles.

What felt like three hours later, I was sitting in the car and speeding back past the trees I had seen an hour ago. Even though I hated therapy, and felt like it did absolutely nothing to help me and just provided peace of mind to my poor mother who doesn't realise that its partally her fault that I'm like this, but aside from that, I sometimes do receive good advice, on the rare occasion. This, however, does not mean I follow said advice.

You can give an animal water, but that doesn't mean the animal will in fact drink the water. And forcing it's face in the water would be an unwise move, and usually considered to be animal cruelty.

So, with that said, no, I was most definitely not going to follow any advice I ever receive from anyone, or anything for that matter.

And once again the mellifluous, yet saccharine tune, hummed over the speakers and filled the area around it with its melody.

A pastel pink turned dull green song, for a vibrant blue turned hideously grey world.