“It wasn’t a dream.” I spoke confidently, loud and clear. The therapist had been insinuating the same notion since we started our session: It was not real. The irritating scratching of the shrink’s pen made me feel as if the inside of my mind was being cleaned out. That was my paranoia speaking, just because she had a Masters Degree in psychology, my mind automatically registered her as being the utmost authority in ‘reading’ people minds. Silly yes, but it was the way I was born.
The room was silent as she, Dr. Gloria Oliver, stared at me. She was a red head chick with golden eyes and a long face. She was petite in every way, body, voice, (I had to strain just to hear her,) and she was nothing to look at. The clock on the wall ticked away, filling the awkward silence with it's mechanical sound. I had been sitting in this stuffy office for the past 45 minutes, and my session was almost up.
The reason I was here in the first place was because of what my parents had not heard or seen. Earlier that day my creation, my other me had showed up in my room, and it scared the crap out of me.
Coming home from school earlier that day I walked into my small room I shared with my brother, ready to rest and finish school up. Except staring out my window, wearing a large navy blue robe was a man with long white hair, and I screamed. I screamed loud (what would you do?). That was my first instinct, my next was to pick up my baseball bat and beat him with it, but he must have sensed it coming, for he quickly spun around and moved across the room, covering my mouth with his large hand, grabbing my throat and slamming me against the wall with his other. “Shut-up man!” He whispered intensely in my face, he looked out my door to see if anyone was coming, then let me go and silently closed my bedroom door.
I slid down the wall, overcome with nervousness, my breathing hard and heavy. I almost foolishly asked who he was, but I knew, down in the very depths of my soul, though I didn’t want to believe it. There was no way at all; it wasn’t possible, for he was a character. There he was though, my pariah, and if you switch the letters around it becomes Raphai, Raphai Man.
I know I had made him to look skeleton like, and an epitome of creepiness, but I guess I wasn’t the greatest visualist when it came to describing with words. “I can’t believe you, out of all people are freaking out about me!” He said this in his dull dry tone, which I had equipped him with. He didn’t tower over me, as a matter of fact we were about the same height, same build, but we looked completely different. This all was understandable to me, I made him! It was easier to see how his body would look if he had the same dimensions as me, then I added on his weirdness.
The fully black body speckled with deep red scars, contrasted with shining white hair that hung down to his hips. I didn’t know what to say, so I asked him what I knew he would talk about. “How’s your sex life?” I said this with a slight smile on my face trying to off balance him; I already knew how it was. “Why don’t you tell me Sir Houston?” He said this very contemptuously, while pulling out of his robe my green notebook, filled with his stories and he flung the book at me, he flung it hard. I raised my hands in defense, the papers from the inside flying everywhere. “Don’t speak!” He shouted at me, cutting off whatever words were about to come out. I could see a fiery burning in his eyes; I knew why he was mad. “Why did you do it John? Why give me these urges then I can’t have them fulfilled? Why do I scare every living thing in existence yet you give me this love for people, children, and women? He started to step towards me again, so I reached for my bat, “Då!” His arm came shooting out his wand in his left hand, and as he shouted the command he sent the bat out my window. He then moved so quickly, I didn’t see it coming. His hand was once again around my throat, and the tip of the wand was pressed against my throat. I knew he didn’t know any killing spells, he was only a beginner but he did know how to start a fire. “You’re going to rewrite me John, and this time I will be beautiful, I will be normal!” His eyes looked so pleading with me, I had to tell him the reason. “I’ll tell you why I did it.” He backed off for a second, waiting, staring, hoping something good would come of this.
“I did it, truthfully, I made you this way, because I thought…I thought it was funny.” I couldn’t hold it in anymore; I started to crack up laughing until tears started to fall. Raphai was not happy still; he raised his wand at my ceiling fan, prepared to send it flying at me, I didn’t see that though. “John!” I immediately stopped laughing as the sound of my mother’s voice cut through consciousness. She came busting through the door, and took in the scene. I could imagine her face as she saw this man standing in my room. She didn’t see him though. She did see the broken window, papers all around me, me curled in a ball with tears streaming down my face brown shiny face, staring up at her.
A few hours later after trying to explain my story, and why the window was broken I was sitting in Dr. Gloria Oliver’s office, with Raphai sitting beside me, telling me everything he wanted to do to this woman.
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