Lachrymosity
by Bruce
Costello
“Please do not cry.”
Dr Roid’s dark eyes gazed at Una, a blond
actress in her early forties. “Crying
exacerbates depressive illness.”
“I’m not ill.”
“Your symptomatology
suggests otherwise. Persistent sadness, loss of
libido, insomnia...”
“Look, my husband
drowned last year, my daughter’s got an
inoperable brain tumour, and now my son’s
lost a leg in a truck accident.”
“Failure to get over
personal loss indicates underlying
psychopathology.”
“I can’t just
simply get over it!”
“You can with
medication.”
“I don’t want a
chemical solution!”
“Trylofluoraxapralanormine
is effective with one hundred percent of patients.”
Una leaned forward. “Don’t
you doctors know anything about individuality and
personal choice?”
The doctor continued in a
monotone. “Indeed yes. We are fully
trained to recognise and avoid deindividuation,
using personalisation techniques and
compassionate procedures.” He smiled with
the flat warmth of an emoticon. “But on the
premise that individuals react to pharmaceutical
intervention in ways which are scientifically
predetermined, your resistance is illogical.”
“Try this for empathy.”
Una reached across and poked him in the eye.
There was a loud click and a whirr inside the
doctor’s skull. He reached into his pocket
for a large grey handkerchief and blew his nose.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“I think
we’re getting there with the new prototype,”
Una said to her boss, as she hopped into his new
red Audi. “He was crying as I left. I still
can’t believe I’m Mystery Shopper for
RoboDoc Corporation. It’s such a dream job.”
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