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DINING WITH THE DEVIL: A story on Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

Hi guys!
So, a new series starts today-and its a fictional piece on post-traumatic stress disorder.
I hope you enjoy it.
Thanks.
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I.
‘How do you feel, today?’

The silence, was attenuated by the cranking sound of the fan blades as they creaked and cranked, in defiance to the power outage; in the consulting room.

The doctor, I noticed, was beginning to perspire.

I, on the other hand, felt more secure, less exposed in the presence of heat.

He, I mean, the doctor, stood up to open the windows.

Reflexively, I cry out ‘Please don’t.’

I think he must have seen something in my eyes, for he opened his mouth as if he was going to explain the details to me.

Then, he stopped.

He came back to his seat, directly opposite mine.

‘Rolake, its been two and a half years.’

Tears glistened in my eyes, and ran down my cheeks till I was soaked in my ocular fluids.

‘Dr. Phillip…I know. Don’t you think, I know?’

He nodded, as if in understanding.

‘Did you sleep, last night?’

I couldn’t hide from him, dared not lie to him.

I shook my head, in negation.

He sighed. My psychiatrist, sighed.

‘When last, did you have a good night’s worth of sleep?’

I opened my lips, slightly; about to mutter my Hail Mary’s; but then I left it ajar.

No one, had to tell me how I looked. At best, I looked horrible.

Mama Rolz and Kolapo; had left me broken.

‘Do you wish, to talk about it?’

Silence there was, in the consulting room, this afternoon.

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