The Hypnotist And I
To this day, I don’t know why I went. I guess I’ll call it “peer pressure”, although I cannot stand crowds and this promised to be huge.
I also can not, ever be hypnotized, so while it might be mildly entertaining and all of my friends wanted to be chosen, I did not.
It was one of those college things, held right there.
This is what I remember and how I “think” it turned out – maybe even why…
I went with them and the hypnotist took the stage.
He was too young, very obvious, he wore a stupid costume and I hated being there, more because of the crowd, than anything else.
I “should” have been at the library, studying for that advanced placement chemical analysis test.
He started picking “test objects” out of the audience.
My friends were screaming, “Pick me!”
I was looking at the floor and that “idiot” not only picked me, but had to come down off his stage to tap my shoulder, because I wouldn’t look at him.
No, I wasn’t going.
No way in hell.
Too many people.
I was too embarrassed not to, but it would have avoided all “this”, if I’d just said no.
I can be terribly stupid, at times.
I sat in the chair with the other rejects, chanting “idiot, idiot, idiot” in my head and I was not getting sleepy, though he kept saying it.
When I became conscious (what on earth?), I was in a hospital, with casts. And there were several doctors there, nurses and an attorney, for the lawsuit. “Huh?”
And I hurt.
Well, the top half of me hurt, the rest of me, I couldn’t feel at all. I was terrified when I figured that out.
I sued him.
But, I did worse, because apparently my own chanting, the “idiot, idiot, idiot” helped put me under “his spell” and I was told that I thought I could fly and tried. Missed the entire stage and landed on the concrete in front of the first row of people.
I would have won the lawsuit, too, if my arms didn’t work so well.
I shot him.
No, no, no, not with a gun, as I didn’t have one, but with a needle full of morphine that someone thought they gave me.
Then I ran him over with my electric wheelchair, till he screamed that last time.
Killed the “idiot”. I sit in an institutional prison, writing, what else is there to do? I’m here for life.
Thanks, Dr. Pam, for this oh-so happy writing prompt!
Copyright M. Nicholson 2014