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|Give Me Freedom, Give Me Indiana Jones (standard:drama, 2919 words)|
|Author: ruby||Added: May 14 2001||Views/Reads: 1362/770||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Derek, a young psychologist from manhattan, finds his way into an underground world of trouble. The story is structured around an internal monologue, influenced by not only his desire to escape, but also his realization that he lost anything and everythi|
GIVE ME FREEDOM, GIVE ME INDIANA JONES “I had one of those dreams again.” “Really, was he as dominating as he was the last time?” “No actually, not at all. He was so nice, I mean, he just stood there and listened.” “Well what did you say Eve?” I watched as the corners of her mouth curled in delight, and decided to say no more, for Eve’s content was about as rare as her discussion of ‘the conversations.’ “If I told you I was sick of it all, being stranded in this place they call, ‘anywhere,’ would you think I was crazy? I know I wouldn’t. But what if I told you I wanted to leave this, ‘anywhere,’ and go as far away as I could, to a place they call, ‘nowhere’? Would you come?” After listening to Eve for a few moments, her poetic rendition of the dream began to reek of fallacy. A person would only speak in such a manner if their dialogue had been rehearsed. That being, I figured I could interrupt her, and she’d go right back to where she was without flaw. “So, who is this, ‘he,’ you speak of?” Of course, I was ignored, and Eve continued, “Ever since my mother shat me out of her womb, (so desperately indeed, as I have been informed), I have longed to escape this place, where I feel I am condemned to a life of certain obscurity. ‘It’s becoming increasingly difficult to focus on my, monologue, if you will; his features were just so chiseled and pronounced, they kept distracting me as they glistened in the moonlight.’ It has been my desire to leave this... ‘my voice slightly trailed off, cringing at the mere mention of this god-forsaken city,’...place, and find a new one, one of no conformity, but the conformity of culture itself. A culture, that is bound together only by the seemingly drug-induced trip that it is.’” Oh, okay, I pondered to myself, I get it now, she’s an addict. Upon Eve’s purposeful, going-for-the-dramatic-pause pause, I found an opportune moment to speak: “So Eve, have you ever ‘tripped’ before, or done any other drugs for that matter?” Instantly I felt the oncoming reciprocation of that question, and it was not good. I had just made inexperienced-psychologist-mistake number one: I lost her trust by jumping to conclusions. Damn! Eve’s well-worn-with stress visage quickly twisted into the insulted look I had predicted moments before. “What?” Eve exclaimed exasperated, “How could you, Derek, I, I...” As she began to erupt, I couldn’t help but to think that I should probably have my patients refer to me in a more professional manner, after all, I don’t want to get too close to them (some of them are pretty crazy). “...Okay fine Derek, you think what you want, but I’m just trying to figure out what the hell is going on in my head, and I’m paying you to figure out why! I wish my problems were as simple as drugs! Make fun all you want, but I think that maybe these dreams actually served some significance! Sure, they mostly involved making passionate love to Indiana Jones on a rooftop at 2:33 A.M., but so what? He’s a great lover! And a good conversationalist I might add too!” “Indiana Jones, Eve? Is that who this has all been about?” Apparently this sparked that pathetic wick of a flame that lay somewhere beneath her confused mindset that ‘daddy’ instilled, because she immediately stood up and dashed out of the room. Damn, lost another one. Eve slammed the door to my office so hard behind her, it swung back open just slightly enough to see Renee’s head pop into it’s crack. I stared at her through the lack of webbing I feel every human hand should have (so many things would be easier, like swatting flies for instance), waiting for the smart-ass remark that was about to protrude her lips. “She mad cause you wouldn’t give it up?” There it was. I laughed, and got up to walk towards her, stretching in the process. Looking up at my arms extended, I couldn’t help but to wonder how much money I would make if I took my patients up on their propositions. The idea faded as quickly as my arms dropped; I know I’m good looking, but I’m a psychologist damn it, not a male whore--unless they’re really hot. I laughed to myself, shaking the thought from my head, and had a chat Click here to read the rest of this story (224 more lines)
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