Post by Radrook Admin on Feb 10, 2023 21:54:09 GMT -5
Grain of Corn
William Devonport, a pale, tall and lanky man in his late fifties, had been finally subdued with tranquilizers, loaded into the hospital ambulance, and delivered to the sanitarium to be placed under observation and receive psychiatric treatment for insisting that he was a kernel of corn, and that he was in mortal danger of being consumed by chickens.
You see, whenever Devonport saw a chicken, he would immediately give out a blood-curdling scream, and run for whatever cover he could find. Of course, the chicken, or chickens, instinctively gave chase, confirming his suspicion that he was indeed their target because he was indeed a kernel of corn, as he put it.
Soon, he became a public nuisance by crashing into pedestrians as he fled, and even tilting over vegetables stands, and leaping through a stores glass window pane in his frantic efforts to escape. He also quit his job at the chicken slaughter-house for fear of being cornered and devoured. Finally, his wife Josepha, a short and portly olive-skinned woman who loved him dearly, had no recourse but to have him committed for his own safety and that of others.
Well, today, after two years of psychotherapy, medication, and electric shock treatment, he would be interviewed for the last time before being allowed to go home.
"Well Mr. Devonport, how are you feeling today?" the stout psychiatrist, Dr. Swaminathan, an immigrant of Asian Indian descent, asked.
"Just fine Dr. Swaminathan," Devonport replied confidently as he sat himself calmly in the chair in front of the psychiatrist's large mahogany office-desk which was positioned below a work of art of the mythical bird god Garuda, a creature from Hindu mythology that has mixed eagle and human features and is a national symbol of India, Indonesia and Thailand.
"Today is a very special day. Today you go home eh? Congratulations!" Dr. Swaminathan continued after briefly reviewing Davenport's medical record on his desktop computer screen.
"Of thank you doctor! Yes, it is a very special day!" Davenport responded while still nervously eyeing the representation on the wall behind the desk.
"Of course we are allowing you to go home because you have been deemed cured of your incapacitating delusion." the doctor said smiling broadly. Well, not exactly broadly since he had a rather narrow aquiline-like face.
"Yes doctor, I know. I am definitely totally cured of that silly idea. Of that, you can be absolutely sure," Devonport replied with an aplomb he hoped was typical of someone with a sound mind. Of course, the doctor's job was to make absolutely certain. So leaning casually back in his plush black leather seat while casually folding his dark hands behind his head in order to put Davenport at ease and encourage honesty, he continued:
“So what about the chickens, Mr. Davenport?"
"What about them?" Devonport responded, gesturing the question with upward-tilted outspread palms.
“Well, you know, are they of any serious concern to you now, Mr. Devonport? After all, you were committed because you feared that they were going to devour you because you fancied yourself a grain of corn, correct?"
"Well, yes doctor, that is true." Davenport said, for the first time noticing how the doctor's pompadour resembled the crest of a rooster. "But I no longer hold such a ridiculous notion. Of course I am not a tiny kernel of corn. I am a human being. A man! That is plain to see, isn’t it?" Davenport replied while smiling confidently in order to assure the doctor of his sincerity.
"Of course it is. Of course it is Mr. Davonport," doctor Swaminathan replied. "But it's our responsibility to make sure. Of course, this is all just a mere formality. You have already been officially declared sane and qualify to be released. Just sign the papers here absolving the asylum personnel of all responsibility, and you are free to leave. Josepha, your wife, is waiting for you in the adjacent room.”
"Thank you doctor!" Devonport responded, effusively shook his hand, and went to meet his wife. Josepha embraced him effusively, and tearfully apologized for having him committed. Explained that it had been for his own good."
"Don’t worry sweetheart. I know that you meant well, and that it was all for the best. But all that is now in the past! Let’s just go home. I’m tired of this place," he said looking around in disgust, picking up his suitcase with his few belongings, and began walking towards the institution's entrance. Two burly hospital attendants dressed in white escorted them. One a young red-haired freckled-faced fellow who reminded Davenport of the neck of some roosters, and the other an extremely dark black man that reminded Davenport of the dark feathers of some of the hens that had once chased him. They slowly opened the heavy olive-green metal doors, and gestured for them to pass, while smiling broadly.
“Thank you John," Davonport said, "and you too Dave. Thanks for your patience during my illness!" he said feeling a little nervous. But that was natural after being two long years in confinement.
"Just doing our jobs William!" John, the freckled-faced young man responded while leading the way towards the Sanitarium's main gate in what seemed to Davenport as a rooster-strut. Strange! He'd never seen John walk in that peculiar avian manner before.
Soon, after waving goodbye, they headed home on the narrow, dusty, country road. It was a bright, sunny, August day, and Davenport had to shield his eyes from the glare that stabbed down at him from between the leaves of the roadside trees. A bee buzzed and alighted on the tip of his nose, and he casually brushed it away. They both laughed at the incident. He was holding his wife's precious plump hand in his more tightly now, as if it had been a precious jewel, or better yet, an anchor to his soul. How very fortunate to have a wife who had remained with him during his two years of hospitalization.
Devenport breathed deeply of the fresh summer air. Ah! Freedom was sweet, and so was sanity. How could he ever have imagined himself a grain of corn? It was inconceivable to him now. Then suddenly he heard it. Approaching quickly from a grassy area. The unmistakable cackle of a gaggle of chickens. He froze in his tracks.
"What is the matter honey? They are just chickens," Josepha said, as his pale, narrow, face morphed into a mask of horror when he thought he had heard his wife cackle. Then he suddenly turned on his heals and headed back towards the sanitarium at a dead run, while looking back now an then to make sure that the chickens whom he imagined were chasing him were not gaining on him. He stumbled on a rock, fell to the ground, and frantically got on his feet. He didn't want to be in a vulnerable position if the chickens pounced. Once at the hospital's heavy metal doors, he began pounding with both fist crying out at the top of his lungs for sanctuary.
Soon, the two attendant quickly opened the doors and let him burst in.
"Don’t let them get me! Don't let them get me! You hear!” he pleaded on bended knees.
"Yes! Yes! Mr. Devonport, you are safe now. Don't worry," Both attendants repeatedly assured him, as they dragged him sobbing and limp-bodied towards his former asylum room. Once there, he slumped onto the narrow cot desperately clutching the pillow to his chest, and looking around frantically as if expecting a chicken to attack him at any moment.
After being administered tranquilizers, he was finally ready to be seen by the doctor who had approved of his release by signing the release papers just an hour before.
The doctor slowly took a seat by Devonport's bed, as Devonport kept his green eyes glued to the room's door suspiciously.
"So you are with us once again Mr. Devonport. And for the same reason as before, I see," Dr. Swaminathan said, while staring at Davenport with a professional curiosity. He wanted to know how someone could go so quickly from what had seemed like sanity to one of insanity.
"Yes! I am." Devonport responded nervously.
"But didn’t you say that you no longer believed yourself a kernel of corn, Mr. Devonport? You were very clear on that just an hour ago in my office, were you not?" the doctor asked while glaring at him over his green-tinted, prescription, bifocal glasses.
"True doctor! Yes, I did say that, and it is still true. I swear it doctor! It is still true!"
"Well, if indeed it is so, Mr. Devonport, and you no longer believe yourself to be a kernel of corn, then you should have nothing to worry about, now, should you? So what exactly is the problem?"
“Well doctor," Devonport released the pillow he'd been clutching to his chest and swiveled himself from a lying position to a sitting position on the edge of the narrow cot.
"Yes, I know that I am not a kernel of corn. You, doctor, you know that I am not a kernel of corn, and so does my wife! But how about the chickens? Eh? How about the chickens? How can I be 100-percent sure that they don't think that I am a kernel of corn? Huh?"
You see, whenever Devonport saw a chicken, he would immediately give out a blood-curdling scream, and run for whatever cover he could find. Of course, the chicken, or chickens, instinctively gave chase, confirming his suspicion that he was indeed their target because he was indeed a kernel of corn, as he put it.
Soon, he became a public nuisance by crashing into pedestrians as he fled, and even tilting over vegetables stands, and leaping through a stores glass window pane in his frantic efforts to escape. He also quit his job at the chicken slaughter-house for fear of being cornered and devoured. Finally, his wife Josepha, a short and portly olive-skinned woman who loved him dearly, had no recourse but to have him committed for his own safety and that of others.
Well, today, after two years of psychotherapy, medication, and electric shock treatment, he would be interviewed for the last time before being allowed to go home.
"Well Mr. Devonport, how are you feeling today?" the stout psychiatrist, Dr. Swaminathan, an immigrant of Asian Indian descent, asked.
"Just fine Dr. Swaminathan," Devonport replied confidently as he sat himself calmly in the chair in front of the psychiatrist's large mahogany office-desk which was positioned below a work of art of the mythical bird god Garuda, a creature from Hindu mythology that has mixed eagle and human features and is a national symbol of India, Indonesia and Thailand.
"Today is a very special day. Today you go home eh? Congratulations!" Dr. Swaminathan continued after briefly reviewing Davenport's medical record on his desktop computer screen.
"Of thank you doctor! Yes, it is a very special day!" Davenport responded while still nervously eyeing the representation on the wall behind the desk.
"Of course we are allowing you to go home because you have been deemed cured of your incapacitating delusion." the doctor said smiling broadly. Well, not exactly broadly since he had a rather narrow aquiline-like face.
"Yes doctor, I know. I am definitely totally cured of that silly idea. Of that, you can be absolutely sure," Devonport replied with an aplomb he hoped was typical of someone with a sound mind. Of course, the doctor's job was to make absolutely certain. So leaning casually back in his plush black leather seat while casually folding his dark hands behind his head in order to put Davenport at ease and encourage honesty, he continued:
“So what about the chickens, Mr. Davenport?"
"What about them?" Devonport responded, gesturing the question with upward-tilted outspread palms.
“Well, you know, are they of any serious concern to you now, Mr. Devonport? After all, you were committed because you feared that they were going to devour you because you fancied yourself a grain of corn, correct?"
"Well, yes doctor, that is true." Davenport said, for the first time noticing how the doctor's pompadour resembled the crest of a rooster. "But I no longer hold such a ridiculous notion. Of course I am not a tiny kernel of corn. I am a human being. A man! That is plain to see, isn’t it?" Davenport replied while smiling confidently in order to assure the doctor of his sincerity.
"Of course it is. Of course it is Mr. Davonport," doctor Swaminathan replied. "But it's our responsibility to make sure. Of course, this is all just a mere formality. You have already been officially declared sane and qualify to be released. Just sign the papers here absolving the asylum personnel of all responsibility, and you are free to leave. Josepha, your wife, is waiting for you in the adjacent room.”
"Thank you doctor!" Devonport responded, effusively shook his hand, and went to meet his wife. Josepha embraced him effusively, and tearfully apologized for having him committed. Explained that it had been for his own good."
"Don’t worry sweetheart. I know that you meant well, and that it was all for the best. But all that is now in the past! Let’s just go home. I’m tired of this place," he said looking around in disgust, picking up his suitcase with his few belongings, and began walking towards the institution's entrance. Two burly hospital attendants dressed in white escorted them. One a young red-haired freckled-faced fellow who reminded Davenport of the neck of some roosters, and the other an extremely dark black man that reminded Davenport of the dark feathers of some of the hens that had once chased him. They slowly opened the heavy olive-green metal doors, and gestured for them to pass, while smiling broadly.
“Thank you John," Davonport said, "and you too Dave. Thanks for your patience during my illness!" he said feeling a little nervous. But that was natural after being two long years in confinement.
"Just doing our jobs William!" John, the freckled-faced young man responded while leading the way towards the Sanitarium's main gate in what seemed to Davenport as a rooster-strut. Strange! He'd never seen John walk in that peculiar avian manner before.
Soon, after waving goodbye, they headed home on the narrow, dusty, country road. It was a bright, sunny, August day, and Davenport had to shield his eyes from the glare that stabbed down at him from between the leaves of the roadside trees. A bee buzzed and alighted on the tip of his nose, and he casually brushed it away. They both laughed at the incident. He was holding his wife's precious plump hand in his more tightly now, as if it had been a precious jewel, or better yet, an anchor to his soul. How very fortunate to have a wife who had remained with him during his two years of hospitalization.
Devenport breathed deeply of the fresh summer air. Ah! Freedom was sweet, and so was sanity. How could he ever have imagined himself a grain of corn? It was inconceivable to him now. Then suddenly he heard it. Approaching quickly from a grassy area. The unmistakable cackle of a gaggle of chickens. He froze in his tracks.
"What is the matter honey? They are just chickens," Josepha said, as his pale, narrow, face morphed into a mask of horror when he thought he had heard his wife cackle. Then he suddenly turned on his heals and headed back towards the sanitarium at a dead run, while looking back now an then to make sure that the chickens whom he imagined were chasing him were not gaining on him. He stumbled on a rock, fell to the ground, and frantically got on his feet. He didn't want to be in a vulnerable position if the chickens pounced. Once at the hospital's heavy metal doors, he began pounding with both fist crying out at the top of his lungs for sanctuary.
Soon, the two attendant quickly opened the doors and let him burst in.
"Don’t let them get me! Don't let them get me! You hear!” he pleaded on bended knees.
"Yes! Yes! Mr. Devonport, you are safe now. Don't worry," Both attendants repeatedly assured him, as they dragged him sobbing and limp-bodied towards his former asylum room. Once there, he slumped onto the narrow cot desperately clutching the pillow to his chest, and looking around frantically as if expecting a chicken to attack him at any moment.
After being administered tranquilizers, he was finally ready to be seen by the doctor who had approved of his release by signing the release papers just an hour before.
The doctor slowly took a seat by Devonport's bed, as Devonport kept his green eyes glued to the room's door suspiciously.
"So you are with us once again Mr. Devonport. And for the same reason as before, I see," Dr. Swaminathan said, while staring at Davenport with a professional curiosity. He wanted to know how someone could go so quickly from what had seemed like sanity to one of insanity.
"Yes! I am." Devonport responded nervously.
"But didn’t you say that you no longer believed yourself a kernel of corn, Mr. Devonport? You were very clear on that just an hour ago in my office, were you not?" the doctor asked while glaring at him over his green-tinted, prescription, bifocal glasses.
"True doctor! Yes, I did say that, and it is still true. I swear it doctor! It is still true!"
"Well, if indeed it is so, Mr. Devonport, and you no longer believe yourself to be a kernel of corn, then you should have nothing to worry about, now, should you? So what exactly is the problem?"
“Well doctor," Devonport released the pillow he'd been clutching to his chest and swiveled himself from a lying position to a sitting position on the edge of the narrow cot.
"Yes, I know that I am not a kernel of corn. You, doctor, you know that I am not a kernel of corn, and so does my wife! But how about the chickens? Eh? How about the chickens? How can I be 100-percent sure that they don't think that I am a kernel of corn? Huh?"