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The Last Hallucination

I did not like him, that old, wretched doctor sitting there with his smug face trying to tell me how grotesque my entire existence was, I just wanted to run away from that place. I wanted to run away from the hospital and from all these morons in their white coats. But for Dr. Mukherjee, I would have probably fled long back. But I knew that if I ran away not one of the morons would even be slightly bothered but old Dr. Mukherjee would probably not be able to take the shock. He liked me more than anyone else and genuinely believed that one day I will actually get better and walk out of here a sane man. So I stayed on and thus the unbearable torture of being forced to listen to the obnoxious rantings of the miserable fool in his white coat sitting across the table continued.
"When will Dr. Mukherjee be coming?", I ask rather impatiently.
The smugness on his freckled face deepens as he shakes his head to indicate his ignorance of his boss's schedule.

I have been staying in this mental institution for three years now and in these 1095 days I did not meet a single person more calm and reassuring and understanding than old Dr. Mukherjee. They call him a genius; I don't care much for his intellectual capabilities as much as I do for his behavioral superiority. They say he has some dark secret hidden behind the soothing smile and the calm demeanor, but what do they know. They are just fools whom he generously allows to roam in the corridors of the building he built from scratch. Even if he does have secrets, so what? Frankly, who doesn't? At least he knows how to behave, unlike those beasts.

"Dr. Mukherjee! Where have you been? I've started seeing her again. The pills are not working...", I shrieked as soon as the old doctor entered my cabin.
"So, you've been seeing people again, is it?"
"Not people, Dr. Mukherjee. Her. I see her..."
"Who?"
"You know...the woman in the red dress. I see the woman in the red dress..."

No sign of panic on his face, no hurriedness in his words. He looked like a monk in a white coat with a stethoscope hanging around his neck like some majestic, mythical serpent.

"Well, how does she look like? Does  she look happy? Does she look sad?"
"No, no, she looks...looks kinda pale. Very white. It's almost scary--it's like how she looked the day she died. I don't like this, I don't. You said the visions would stop once I started taking the pills. Well, I sure have not missed any of my medications, doctor. Why, then,  aren't the pills working?"
"Well they are already at their maximum permissible dosage."
"But it's not working. I need some peace, like last time. Can't you do anything, Dr. Mukherjee? Maybe..."

Dr. Mukherjee, the mature and understanding doctor who has a cure for everything. Dr. Mukherjee, the most calming influence in the entire hospital. Everyone's friend, everyone's guide. The emotional foundation of the very hospital.

No, I don't see the woman, not anymore. Truth be told, I don't see anybody now. But the pills--they have a magical influence on my mind--they leave an insatiable urge for getting more so I want more and more of them. Pop one of them blue pearls and it seems like a thousand explosions inside the head and then everything recedes like the waves of an ocean. The hospital, the nurses, the wretched doctors, everything minimises  to a single dot and I become free, even if momentarily. Until I escape from this hell, those pills are my only source of peace and I know that Dr. Mukherjee will eventually relent, like the other times he did and increase the dosage. The caring, and calm Dr. Mukherjee. And of all his patients, he liked me the most. I know that, just as I know that he will eventually relent with the dosage.

"No"

The caring and calm Dr. Mukherjee...

"What?? What do you mean, no--"
"You're already on a high dose, I cannot increase that anymore."

Two calm eyes bordered by two thick eyebrows...

"But, you can't do that...you...you can't. Dr. Mukh-- Dr. Mukherjee, you know how much pain I'm in, right? I need some rest. Please, I beg you doctor, give me some respite. I will die like this..."

"No", the resounding voice echoing through the cabin and the empty corridors. The nurses and the attendants gossip away at a nearby cabin, the doctors have gone on their evening break. "No...", the deep voice of the old doctor bounced back from the dirty, flaking walls of the room.

I feel weird. The room suddenly started feeling unusually cold. Dr. Mukherjee's cold face staring down at me, his gaze piercing through my soul. The calm and serene image of old Dr. Mukherjee... Why wouldn't he listen? I just need the pills. Nothing more. And he's usually so nice.
Please, doctor. Save me from this ghastly experience. Bring me out from the darkness and for one last time, let me take my tired soul to the light....

The calm but firm gaze rests silently on my desperate figure, and again a 'No'...

Something snaps in my head. I get up and grasp something, a hand maybe, or maybe a neck. A hand cold as ice, a neck thin as a straw. The calm and cool face of Dr. Mukherjee, his eyes staring down at me and looking far beyond...my grip tightens, his face still calm, his smile still intact. Or is it not there. Who is that woman standing there? Is she crying? Who is the woman standing there? Doctor, do you see her? Doctor, tell me, you have never lied to me. You never lie to anyone, so tell me...Do you see her. Standing over there by the side of the door, her eyes wet with her tears, her face pale as the white floor....tell me doctor do you see her? Do you see her....

"That's enough, Mr. Bose, that will be all for today... Tomorrow we will be recording your confession in front of the magistrate.
And I will personally recommend that the harshest punishment possible in the book of law be thrust upon you. Indeed you deserve every bit of hell and some more for your horrific and ghastly act. You are not a human, but an incarnation of all the evil of the universe. I hope you will get the deserving justice tomorrow.
Until then you can have some rest", said the wretched doctor, as he got up, went outside my cabin and turned off the light.
What a fool! What does he know? Not a single clue about anything. Let Dr. Mukherjee come, I will tell him what kind of nincompoops he is employing. And surely he will understand. I know he will. After all, nobody here understands me better than old Dr. Mukherjee....

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About Me

SOUMYADEEP CHATTERJEE
A writer for the odd hours. Introverted. Anti-social.

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