The Doctor

pity in pink pills
something pretty
plump in a cute way

The Doctor is sitting across from me, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap, that same airy look about her. Did you know that doctors aren't human? Yes. I've analyzed this phenomenon at length - every week for several years already - and although she looks convincing enough, all the usual rituals, probably even shits like one of us, her eyes are rigid - not so much empty as spaceless: dense like wood. I've never met a real human with eyes like that. You can't see eyes in your dreams, you know? It's true. Dreams are eyeless worlds. Strange, right, but your brain can't imagine them. The Doctor has those same placeholder-eyes, and now she's babbling on about something or the other, trying to justify my being here. I need to be dehumanized in order to be more human, naturally, because these inhuman creatures have appropriated the term. Also, I tried to stab my mother through the heart with a screwdriver and who knew breast bones were that hard! Do you think the characters in our dreams have hearts?

She's been dead several days already. The Doctor, that is. I write those present tense entries when I'm feeling dramatic. They're just fantasies, you know, she wasn't really a doctor.

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