|Guinea-pig (standard:Psychological fiction, 1233 words)|
|Author: Lev821||Added: Jun 05 2014||Views/Reads: 1021/601||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|More than a simple cure, how far can this experiment go?|
In his expensive, light grey suit, unshined shoes, I watch him in his deep sleep, in my cream coloured armchair. I say my armchair, it was partly because of him that I have it. You see, I am sat opposite him, in another, similar armchair in front of a burning log fire. He has been like this for almost an hour. His name is Russell Brooks, and for the past five years he has worked within the financial district of the capital. He's been a banker, a chartered accountant, an audit manager, the type of person who gets up the ladder by any means necessary. If getting his way meant stabbing you in the back or stealing from you, then he would not hesitate. This is how he worked. Everybody knew it, but he was operating within the law. He did steal. He did lie. He knew how to work the system in his favour and he exploited it to its potential. Nobody really liked him, but he didn't care. Profit and excess are everything to people like that. Once they have money, and a taste of luxury, then they would do literally anything to keep it. He used to live in Newcastle, with his wife and two boys. Yet, one day he simply walked out on them, heading for the streets of London where the streets were made of bank notes and the buildings were of the finest diamonds and crystals. One day with his other half, window shopping, they were looking in the window of a jewellers when he suddenly turned tail, walked back to his car, leaving his wife standing by the window by the bracelets, as he drove away, all the way to London. You see, I was there also, watching him. I hoped he would do that, and in my car, I followed him all the way. In fact, I kept my eye on him for a while, even when his wife tracked him down, and he denied all knowledge of her. 'I don't know you', he would say, and I know he meant it. For a while he was a heavy smoker, and in trying to quit had tried willpower, had tried nicotine patches, but then he saw an advert in the back of a local free newspaper. An ad placed by me. He decided to try hypnosis to cure him of smoking, and I was advertising myself. Not just for smoking, but for anything that hypnosis can do, and believe me, it can do a lot. The thing was though, I cured his smoking habit in a heartbeat. I knew I could, that was easy, but I wanted to try something else. Could I turn this man into a success, something he could never have been? Before coming to me, he was of no significance whatsoever. One of those people that got their heads down, made no fuss of anything, quite a shy person who worked in the financial department of a supermarket. A bland individual, a face in the crowd, remembered by a few, for only a short while. Could I turn this meek person, this timid man into a confident success in the nation's capital? The answer is yes, I could. I think I succeeded very well indeed. I got him to wire me some of his finances. He wasn't aware of what he was doing, or why, I had made sure of that, but everytime he was paid, 10% would come to me, and I did very well from him. I got this house, and most of what it contained thanks to his greed. Now though, the experiment was over. When he had come to see me to be cured of his smoking, I had put him into a deep sleep, a trance. Aside from telling him to hate the very sight of cigarettes, I completely changed his personality. Could he be someone totally different? I planted times and dates into his psyche, so that when he was looking in the jewellers window, that was when the time occured for him to leave for London. That was when the old him changed into the new him. He secured an interview for a banking company, and as with all job interviews the key is in getting them to like you. Body language, personality, make them like your presence so they want to be in it again. Then, they would methaphorically throw your cv over their shoulder. 'When can you start?'. Click here to read the rest of this story (46 more lines)
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