The Mystic Wonderland of the Mind

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
The tale of William Etheridge and the puzzle of the mind.

Submitted: August 04, 2016

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Submitted: August 04, 2016

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The Mystic Wonderland of the Mind

As time ticks slowly by, Mr. William Etheridge approaches the pharmacy desk again for the tenth time in the last hour.

“No, it’s understandable that you wouldn’t go on a date with me, I mean I am crazy.” He says, tapping his fingers on his temple. Will has a multiple personality disorder. It wouldn’t be too bad if it wasn’t for his fixation on me. The guy is entertaining and makes me laugh from time to time, but he won’t stop bothering me. Constantly asking me to take him on dates and attend afternoon tea. “His mind is an enigma, that even I don’t know how to solve.” His doctor told me on my first day when he came up to me and flirted with me, then shot me with an invisible gun. He checked himself in about 10 months ago and frequently leaves to go back to his home, where his wife and child are. He returns after a while with no clothes on, clutching his genitals, and screaming, “I have no weapon earthlings.” I think the worst part is that nobody knows which personality is his own. I could name the ones I know right off the bat.

There’s a personality we call Willa, who claims to be a home decorator and the original Betty Crocker. There’s one we call Willum. He is a stuttering, shy boy who is afraid of dropping his new born. A person we call Ether. We believe him to be scientist who panics and screams that the end of the world is upon us in a few hours. The worst of them has got to be “W,” a sadistic psychopath who shoots invisible guns and signs up for electric shock. He created a petition one time and had every patient sign it, allowing our head orderly to punch “W” in the stomach when he went berserk. He even got it notarized. The orderly in question is Thomas and happily complies. Last but not least is the one we name Will. The personality we hope to be the real William Etheridge. He is a calm man who draws pictures and reads books. His wife, Ella, comes to visit him once a month and he returns home every second month, but returns a week later.

“How do you deal with Will?” I asked her one time.

“I honestly can’t answer that. One day he started acting differently, but it made me laugh and I think that just fueled his mind to go a little mad.”

“How does he act when he returns home?”

“Perfectly fine. He hangs out with us and makes some business calls. Whatever you’re doing over here seems to be working. He’s a stock broker. My little money maker.”

We’re not even doing anything with him. His doctor has me sit in on some of their talks. He switches between each personality sporadically.

“Would you like to hold Stephanie?” Ella says, holding out the baby.

“N-no. C-c-c-could dr-op her.” Willum says. He backs away into a book shelf, knocking it over. It sends some of the other patients in disarray. They hold their hands over their ears, some scream. Will runs away, blushing with his robe covering his head.

“OK sweetie!” She calls after him. “He’s such a funny guy.”

I look at her with half confused smile. I know I said that “W” is the worst of the personalities. I suppose I should explain. He just pulls things out of thin air. During a session with his doctor, he pulled out a pipe that dated back to 1890. During the Christmas talent show, he wore tap shoes that know employee knew how he got them. He stole another patients milk and pulled out a gallon of chocolate syrup. He poured it into the carton until there was no more milk.

I know I shouldn’t say this, but I do like Willa. She’s charismatic and always has the right things to say. I spilled a pill bottle one day and proceeded to curse at myself.

“No time to cry over spilled milk. I need my happy pills!” Willa said in a sing song voice. I laughed at the time, but now I don’t know why is did. Will doesn’t even take medication.

“Will you’re not crazy.” I told him. He looked like he was in shock. He held up his arms and spun around.

“And yet I’m in a nut house. Looney bin. Insane Asylum. Whacky shacky. The mind fuckery. A McDonald’s that’s short some fries. The-” Thomas cut him off with a gut shot.

“Why did you do that Thomas?” I yelled at him.

“He signed the petition.”

“You’re gonna pay for the scuzz fuck.” “W” stood up on his toes and puffed out his chest.

“Try it Etheridge.” Thomas met his eyes and they had a stare down. Will backed away.

“Hey we’re all friends here. Let’s not do something we might regret.” He drew his fingers from his pockets and pointed the imaginary gun at Thomas.

“BANG!” He shouted as he brought down the hammer of his thumb. He ran away and Tomas chased after him.

Will returned 30 minutes later with his drawing pad and sat near the window. He sat there until I was ready to leave for the day. I would occasionally catch him glancing at me with different expressions. He would blush, smirk, or have a dopey smile. I approached him at the end of my shift and asked him what he was drawing. He held up a picture of me. It caught me by surprise how detailed it was. You could see each line in my eye and each strand of hair in the certain way I positioned it each morning.

“That’s really beautiful.” I said, but as I skimmed over the picture I saw another one at the bottom. It was a pair of stick figures with one riding the other one like a horse. The rider was had “W” written above it with Thomas labeled as the steed. I made a pouty face.

“Why are you so fixated on me Will? You have a wife and kid. Aren’t you afraid of hurting them?” I asked him.

“I know that. It’s just one of those things you can’t explain. I love my wife, but I also like you. I don’t want to, but I just do.”

“That’s sweet in a way, but just know that I can never be with you. Your wife is too good for that.”

“Awww come on babe. I bet you’re a decent lay. HAHAHAH!” I shot up and blushed hoping nobody heard him.

“W, you son of a bitch.” I said. I stormed off and left the building. William Etheridge is such a complicated person. I got in my car and noticed the man with a sign yelling through a megaphone. His sign read “ALL CRAZY PEOPLE SHOULD DIE.” He belongs in the hospital more than Will does.


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