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Origin Of The Feces (Part One, New Moon)

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1Origin Of The Feces (Part One, New Moon) Empty Origin Of The Feces (Part One, New Moon) on Wed Feb 11, 2015 10:39 am


Pennyroyal Asylum
Five Years Ago
Two Days Before The First Night of the Full Moon.

"You gotta let me out of here, or a lot of people are going to die."

"Em hem."  The doc didn't look up from his notepad.  He just nodded his head as he continued to jot down annotations.

I slammed my fist down, shaking the table.  "Are you even fucking listening to me?!?"

Doc slowly looked up from his notes and lowered his glasses, looking me straight in the eyes.  Those eyes, and his facial expressions, betrayed no emotions.  "Mr. Ritter, I am indeed listening to you, and I would like nothing more than to help you overcome your sickness but must ask you to refrain from profanity and watch your temper."

I growled and sat back on the cot the was in the corner of the room I had been living in for the past four weeks.  Every day I had the same conversation with this guy.  It was enough to drive someone crazy!

"Now tell me," began the Doc, (Doctor Percival Barrows according to the plaque I had seen in his office), "Why do you feel that you should be discharged from the care of our facility?  When we found you one month ago, you were wandering in the woods naked and screaming incoherently.  While you are now able to carry on a articulate conversation, I feel we have much more work to do before you can be released back into society."

"Doc, I can only tell you this so many times before it's going to be too late.  The full moon is in two days.  Either you let me out of here before then, or there is going to be three nights of bloodshed."

"This is what I'm talking about," he replied.  "This illusion of lycantrhopy that you have seems to be getting stronger.  It's as if the medication isn't working at all."

"Here's the thing, Doc.  You see, people like me, we heal really fast.  We're also very resistant to poisons and that includes your medications.  As fast as it enters my bloodstream, it's being neutralized by whatever the hell it is that makes werewolves nearly impervious.   If you want it to work on me, you're going to have to up the dosage from 800 milligrams to 80,000 milligrams."

"That would kill you.", he replied.

"No, that would kill a normal human.  I'm not normal.  I don't see how you are not getting this, it's not a complicated concept."  God damn, it was like talking to a brick wall!

"Mr. Ritter, I'm confident I can help you.  Other's with your delusion have gone on to live normal lives.  You see, your delusions are not unique, in fact since 1852.."

"Listen, you can save your breath, I know all about the history of Lycanthropy
", I explained.  "I've studied it inside and out and I know all about all of the clinical psychological cases.  This is different.  I don't have schizophrenia.  I have a bloodborn viral infection that turned me into an uncontrollable hairy monster three days out of every month.  I actually had leaned to control it, and control the transformation and the beast.  Unfortunately, I was trying to cure myself when I happened on a magical "cure" that didn't work.  That's when you found me.  Instead of curing me, it pretty much set me back to how I was when I first acquired the curse.  I can't change on my own free will.."

"How convenient." he muttered.

"..and I can't control myself under the full moon." I finished, ignoring his sarcastic comment.

Doc's expression never changed as I tried my best to plead my case.  He just nodded and scribbled on that damn notepad.  He glanced at his watch and stood up. "We'll have to continue this tomorrow.  I have another special patient that is going to require my attention very soon."

"So that's it?", I asked.  "You're just going to leave me locked her in this cell, and stay oblivious that you are handing down a death sentence to your staff and the other prisoners?"

"Mr. Ritter, you are not a prisoner you are a patient.  And this is not a cell, it's a guest room!" he said, as he locked the door behind him.  

Doc walked down to the end of the hallway where one of the nurses was waiting for him.  He slid his hand up her skirt and whispered in her ear.  "My office, fifteen minutes."  

The nurse giggled as Doc handed her a clipboard with several sheets of orders on it.  

"Make sure you have one of the padded rooms open in two nights.  Mr. Ritter's delusions are pretty lucid, and I'm afraid he may be a danger to himself and others during those nights.  We'll need one of the heavy straigtjackets to restrain him."

"Unless that straigtjacket is made of silver, you're just wasting your time!" I yelled down the hallway.

I could hear the nurse gasp and sensed Doc's pulse quicken and skip for a moment.

"How could he hear us all the way down here, and with his door closed?", asked the nurse.

"The acoustics in this hallway must be good," Doc mumbled as he quickly excused himself from the west wing, headed for his office.

As I laid on the cot, gazing at the ceiling, I wondered if my soul was damned again.  I spent years, YEARS leaning to control the beast inside.  That should have been enough, but I just had to try and rid myself of the curse once and for all.. and now, I might end up with the one thing I've managed to avoid this entire time.  Innocent blood on my hands.

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