“Are you ready, Turley?”
An empty psychologist’s office, save for the doctor and his client. They sit opposite each other, the doctor speaking in a low, measured tone. His client arrives nervous but sits back in his chair, his own voice gradually becoming calm and composed. The outer office is quiet. This is the second time the client has undergone hypnosis.
“Yeah, Ven, I’m ready.”
“Clear your mind. You are sitting here, and that’s all that matters. Even this room will disappear. Take a deep, cleansing breath and focus on my voice. There’s nothing to worry about; not even your singing is a concern. Your voice will heal and return. Now, in a few moments, you will tell me what you see . . .”
Ven’s voice gradually fades, and Turley is no longer in the room. He describes what he sees: a small boy in pants and a yellow striped shirt, playing with some older kids. The sun is warm on his face, the grass scratching his ankles. There’s yelling and laughter. The oldest and biggest boy is holding in his hands a bow and arrow set.
He sees the kids take turns letting the older boy shoot arrows into a pillow they are holding against their backsides. It’s now his turn. He watches the little boy hold the pillow against himself as he bends over. Seconds pass, and the boy turns his head and looks back in innocence. He sees the arrow fly across the yard, and strike the little boy in his left eye. The little boy runs toward his house, with his hand over his left eye, the arrow sticking out between his fingers. He sees his Aunt on her porch drop a glass of milk and a sandwich and come toward him. The arrow falls out and blood shoots out of his eye. His yellow shirt is stained, and the stain spreads. His Aunt’s knees buckle and she falls to the ground. From the corner of his eye, he sees his mother in the kitchen window, screaming. Her eyes are white with shock and fear. He begins to cry.
The image of the boy is gone.
Turley shakes his head. He sits back and wipes the tears from his eyes, breathing hard.
“I’ve got to go,” he says, “I’ve got to go see my mom.”
“You seem very upset right now. Why don’t you sit here and talk with me?”
“I can’t. I’ve got to go see my mom. Oh my God, what that poor woman has gone through. She’s always thought it was her fault. That’s why I’ve got to go talk to her.”
“Okay, Turley, but will you promise me you will call me tomorrow?”
“Sure, Ven. I’ll talk to you then.”
~ BlindSighted, 2014
~ Turley Richards.