The Session

The room taunted them, its walls seeming to compress, squeezing its two occupants together, one lay down on a sofa, the other rested upright in a leather arm chair, a hardwood desk sat between them creating a space as if teasing the room to squeeze them closer together. The bright and colourful walls were there to help relax its guests, yet it had the opposite affect of creating chaos in their minds. The swirls and patterns played with their weaknesses, one full of emotion and life the other heartless and cold.

“How are you feeling today” asked the upright one, his face carved of stone, lines and creases crisscrossing his face, his eyes cold and dark, a storm swirling in the irises.

“I'm not sure how to answer that” replied the laying one, his face torn and broken as if made of crystal, his eyes sad and even darker than the upright one, his eyes etched with tears. “It's such a complicated question, there is no one place to begin.”

The upright one nodded, following along, as the laying down one continued to speak.

“You say it's complicated as human emotions are, however I think this isn't such a complicated thing to answer, as this isn't one of dissecting why we feel, just what we feel,” said the upright one.

“I can agree with that,” the laying down one responded, shifting his position onto his back, staring at the ceiling, the colours playing with his mind. The room shifted again, the space becoming tighter, both occupants started to feel claustrophobia. “But this isn't a therapy session no matter how much you want it to be.”

“That is true friend,” the upright one grunted. “I hadn't meant to come off like that,” his heart beat slowly making his cold blood circulate his body.

“I know, I just think too much,” the laying down one sighed, with it releasing the stress that built up in his body. His heart thudded, pushing his emotion through his body.

The room darkened, playing on the occupants' emotions. They tried to get away from each other, as if feeling squeezed together, with no way to escape, the hardwood desk being a haven of space, where both occupants can feel a respite from the room. The colour on the walls seemed to come to life, making the hardwood desk less of a safe haven. The colours danced and twirled and swirled in the darkened room. The light returned with a whoosh and with it the colours seemed to be pulled back into the walls, the room still felt tight and closed.

The cold one felt at the desk, letting the grain and patterns keep him grounded in reality and his blood from freezing over, the emotional one ran his hands over the cloth of the couch, letting the softness and textures keep him from getting lost in thought and his heart from stopping. They stood at a standstill then, letting the room create a tempest of them, they sat and lay there, the silence more deafening than any noise can be, the colours more blinding than light or dark. They watched each other, feeling for an opening in the conversation.

“How has your family been” the laying down one asked. His hands continuing to run along the sofa the textures changing with each pass.

“Isn't that the same kind of question you asked me?” the sitting up one replied, a gold coin flipping over his knuckles.

“It is, but also it isn't, as I'm not asking directly after you, I meant it to be more about their health,” the laying down one rebuffed.

“In that case, they are fine, unlike this world and this room, with its crazy minds and crazy people,” the cold one joked, his humor dark and uncensored. “And yours?”

The room became like a hammer and anvil, each word they spoke punctuated by a stroke of the hammer, the blows squeezing them together, creating no space between the two occupants. The colours came alive once more, poking and prying into the two friends' feelings, making the space between them feel non-existent. The table seemed to vanish as the colours consumed all the empty space in the room, separating the laying down one and the upright one. With a flash, the colours turned white, and the space was there again, the hardwood table with its worn down surface from many years of use, the flash of the gold coin rolling on the cold one's fingers, and the textures of the couch, all of it grounding the two occupants.

“They are fine,” the lying down answered to his friend, letting his emotions consume him, rage and fear, love, and life, hate, and hurt, all bubbling through his veins, as they popped through his skin.

“Great to hear,” the cold one said to his dear friend, his face and emotions staying the same. “It would be sad if they were murdered.” He smiled at his own joke. The rolling of the coin taunting the laying down one, his hand tightened over the couch. The textures burning into his skin.

“Why would you say that?” the laying down one asked, his voice rising in pitch, the disbelief audible in his voice. “That is not funny.”

“It's funny because it hurt you, did it not friend?” the cold one asked, an eyebrow arched and his voice mocking.

“I don't know why I'm your friend,” the laying down one said, his voice soft, and his body tense.