“Tick, Tick,” she thinks upon the tightening in her shoulders. “Tick, Tick,” She adjusts her positioning on the comforter. “Tick, Tick,” the door swings open as a brown stallion bearing glasses comes in, glancing at her saying, “good you're here, I was afraid you wouldn’t come again.” He trots over to his desk and grasped a notebook in his mouth, carefully as to not get saliva on it. “Tick, Tick.”
“I’m sorry, but can you do something about that intolerable clock,” the mare said impatiently with a thick phillydelphian accent.
“Of course Miss Steinmetz,” the psychologist said as he shifted in the direction of the grandfather clock. While climbing a cuneate ladder the stallion continued, “It’s good to see the incident hasn’t left you bedridden, someone less persistent might have become a vegetable.” The ticking noise fades as the stallion holds a hoof to the pendulum slowing it to an eventual halt.
“I only came because I couldn’t sleep, and my Doctor, medical that is, won’t give me anything without a psychologists note,” the mare stated as the psychologist pony sits at a table in the middle of the room, sliding down into a lateral position with his haunches below him. He releases the notepad, that he had compressed in his teeth, onto the small table, immediately sliding a pen out from the rings that held it, with his teeth, positioning it in his lips so he could write. After writing a few words, the stallion set the pen down horizontally, while still holding it in his mouth, so the point would rest on the paper to keep it from falling as he spoke.
“Perhaps talking about your experiences and your fears will allow the stresses to be freed from your mind, because what you experienced was dreadful. I would never have thought a pony would be capable of such horrors. . .” The two ponies looked at each other for a moment until Dream Steinmetz ripped her sight away, awkwardly avoiding further eye contact the rest of the conversation. “Would you like something to drink miss Steinmetz.” Dream replied calmly.
“Water will be fine.” The stallion let out a blare of words calling forth his secretary, Iris Wetweather, who was startled enough to knock a mug from her desk.
“Yes, Doctor Thalamus?” the young pegasi asked as she opened the door, peering through to gaze at Dream.
“Be a dear and get Miss Steinmetz a glass of water, please,” Dr. Thalamus insisted, not wanting to postpone his session with Dream any longer, by getting up and getting her water. Still holding the pen in his pursed lips the Doctor asked Dream, “Would you like to tell me why you haven’t been sleeping since the. . . incident?” Dream thought about her response and was silent for a moment until Iris came back in holding a platter in her mouth with a glass balancing on top it.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I come bearing much liquids,” the mare said smiling as she walked to Dream. An aura engulfed the cup, glistening as it raised from the platter and floated down to Dreams mouth opening into a vessel in it of its own, resembling a bowl, as the water streamed into her mouth and through her gullet. It took Dream a dozen or so seconds to finish the glass as she used her magic to lift it back onto the platter that the secretary held. As the aura surrounding her horn faded Iris spoke, “You're welcome. . . I’ll go,” she then proceeded to exit the way she came in.
“So. . . I was asking, why you haven’t been sleeping,” Dr. Thalamus stated as he turned his head away from the distracting door, closing loudly behind his secretary, and toward his patient who had a look of annoyance about her.
“I think it’s anxiety. . . “ Dream said pausing to clear her throat. Turning toward Dr. Thalamus’ degrees hung upon the checkered walls, Dream continued, “I haven’t slept since, and there’s nopony I can confide in, because. . .” Taking a breath Dream continued further, “I live in constant fear and no one understands.”
“Since you haven’t slept any you probably haven’t had any nightmare’s, but I’d be surprised If you didn’t; most ponies who go through events like this suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. One of the symptoms is of course anxiety,” the Doctor paused only to set the pen down on the table, and shuffle to keep his limbs from ’falling to sleep.’ Now without a speech impeding object in his mouth, Doctor Thalamus raised his head and continued his psychoanalytical conversation with Dream, “I’d like you to tell me everything, from the beginning. I want to help you relieve some of that anxiety and help you get to bed. . . so we can get you that medication.”
