The Baal Dialogues

Healer heal thyself.

He is Here Again.

I open my eyes and he begins to speak immediately, as if he fears that he has a set amount of time before I drift, rather than the mere fact that I find him incredibly tedious.

'I hope you're well Baal. I really want to discuss the writings you left in your cell the other day. We feel that if you can talk about your feelings rather than writing them down it will prove to be beneficial to you. We are here to help you. I hope you realise that. Please don't judge us too harshly or consider us your jailors. We want to bring you back to yourself'.

A remarkable waste of words. Clumsy phrasing as well. The concept of bringing me back to myself amuses me though. He believes it as well. The conviction in his voice has a certain religious zeal that I have heard from the fanatic previously. This man is paid to help heal those with allegedly sick minds?

Healer heal thyself. 'I have no wish to discuss what I wrote. The text is self-explanatory, and should be perfectly clear, particularly to one with psychological training.'

He sighs. It is a fake sigh. He was expecting that response. He is leading onto something else.

'I'm not sure how you expect us to help you Baal. Talking about your problems and your feelings is the only way we're going to be able to make you better. But, if you are certain, then I'll respect your wishes. Would you mind if I read you something then?'

Ah. Of course. He is going to read back to me from some journal or other of mine. A relic from before the change. He is hoping it will bring me back to myself, as he quaintly terms it. It is of no consequence now. That was another place, another person.

'Go ahead Doctor. Make your play.'

He clears his throat, and squints slightly at the clipboard he has brought with him. He holds the board closer to his face. Obviously the man is short sighted but is too vain to wear spectacles. How bizarre for one who is not attractive to begin with.

'The entry is entitled "Windows of the Soul", and I believe you wrote it about three months before you joined us here. Do you remember writing it?'

I don't bother responding. It would do no good to speak to him of memory at this point in the game.

'Well, anyway. I'll begin.'

I close my eyes, placing myself back into that time, recalling who I was then and the mask I wore. His exercise is futile, but it serves to remind me how far I have come since then. He begins to read.