The Psychologist [Short Story]

So I wrote this story and I’d appreciate feedback. 🙂

“How do you feel right now?”

“Like maybe I don’t want to be here… to exist…”

“I see.”

Jeremy Bryan, a qualified psychologist, examines his nineteen-year-old patient, Anya Williams, carefully, watching her every movement. Her nervousness is noticed as her hands clasp onto each other and her teeth chatter. It’s as if she’s cold, but she’s in a well-heated room, with the windows shut.

After a moment, Jeremy smiles.

“Can you explain these feelings?”

“Yes.. um.. It’s like I’m trapped and the only way out is… you know…”

“I see.”

He looks down at his notepad and makes a note, one that is written in terribly rushed handwriting. He then slowly walks his eyes up her body, watching every part of her intensely. Anya’s stomach growls just a bit and she quickly covers it with her arms.

“Do you have any physical ideas?”

“Well, the one that everyone does is pills– and, if you take enough, doesn’t that work and you don’t have to do much it’s just pills and yeah maybe that’d work and then I’d be free–”

“I see.”

Jeremy lifts his eyebrows, and then stands.

“Do you ever watch the moon?” he eventually asks.

“Why?” Anya retorts, standing up as well, so to be on level with him.

“It’s just… the moon is still seen in the day, sometimes, isn’t it?”

“And sometimes it isn’t.”

“But, when it is, Anya, don’t you think that its defied its expectations? We expect it to die once the sun rises, but sometimes it doesn’t, sometimes it stays, and that is something beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I guess…”
Anya walks over to the door, and Jeremy circles his way towards her, focusing his eyes very carefully on the single braid in her hair.

“Why only one?” he asks.

“Too many is too showy.”

“Why worry about what others think?”

“I’m nineteen, dude.”

“I guess. Anyway, I need to ask you something. Do you want to be the moon?”

“No, I want to be dead, thanks.”

Jeremy laughs, inappropriately so, and strokes her braid.

“Then, by all means, do it before the moon falls.”

With that, he opens the door for Anya and watches her go off, a knowing grin following her footsteps. He hears the exit door shut and closes his own door, sitting back on his chair. He puts his feet up on the desk, pulling a newspaper from it. A single article grabs his attention:

Serial suicides?

“Tick, tock, tick, tock,” he says, “tick, tock, tick, tock — bang.” He looks up to the ceiling, pointing a gun at it, then laughing with such enthusiasm that he starts coughing.

The next day, Anya’s body is found lying in her garden, eyes open and looking straight towards the moon. She’s pale, like the moon, and her hands are clasped together, as if she died peacefully. Her mouth is open though, as open as the moon above her. The moon that did not fade after sunlight.

Jeremy Bryan is sat in his office, with another patient, Joseph Fuller-Jones.

“And how are you feeling, Joseph?” Jeremy continues their conversation.

“I don’t know; I don’t feel anything…” Joseph cuts off short, as if he was going to say something else, but Jeremy doesn’t catch this and just writes a note, in rushed handwriting.

“I wonder, Joseph, have you ever watched the moon?”

The next day, Joseph, too, is found dead, on his apartment’s balcony, staring up at the moon, clasping his hands together.

Thank you so much for reading,

Lia