Dr. Wackoh paced up, down, over, across and around his office. He was full of nervous energy that he didn't know what to do with - during office hours, anyway. He hadn't had a satisfying date for over a week. He was convinced that the blue pills were making him hallucinate that nightmare of a witch with wings.
He tried to have a date once, but it was a disaster. Nothing happened, and he just sat on the bed in his dayglo boxer shorts while the woman laughed at him. It was humiliating, and he still had to pay her.
He checked his watch for the second time in two minutes. He should have scheduled a patient for this last hour of the work week, but he just had to be sure. For the last two weeks in a row it had been this hour that the walking winged nightmare showed up. He was sure she was gone for good, but he told his secretary not to let anyone with wings get past the outer office, just in case.
He walked over to the couch and laid down for a moment. He hadn't been getting much sleep. He kept having nightmares about his regular paid date in wings and dayglo boxers, laughing her head off. Maybe he should see a shrink. Come to think of it, he wasn't really sure how he felt about his mother.
Suddenly he found himself being lifted several feet off the couch and unceremoniously dropped. Dr. Wackoh screeched like a teenaged girl at a pep rally.
"Wake up, you ... freaking ass licking FAKE!!" He sat up, rumpled and disgruntled, and watched the winged woman fly around the room in a fit of rage, feathers flying everywhere.
He once told a patient that in order to get rid of nightmares, she had to confront the monster in her dreams. He suggested she reason with the monster, or whatever, and tell it that it wasn't real, and it had to go away. He forced himself to sit calmly while the flying figment of his imagination finished her fit, and finally settled on top of his bookcase.
" You aren't real, and you have to go away," he said as he picked up a handful of feathers, " by the way, did you know that you're moulting?"
"Real! Real! I'll show you who's not goddamned real," she screamed and started throwing books at him.
"And I am not moulting."
He put his arms up in defense and ducked the missiles. He was more concerned about the expense of the damage to his books, than the expense of the damage to his body.
When one of the books hit him in the chest, he decided that he was sick of the passive approach, and started throwing the books back. A particularly thick volume hit her in the shoulder blade, right at the base of her left wing. She had been flying around the room, catching the books he threw at her, and throwing them back.
She gave a mind splitting squeal and dropped to the floor, sobbing and cursing with her wounded wing hanging limply from her back. Dr. Wackoh was appalled to see that there was actually blood seeping through the feathers. He went to the wall and opened the mounted first aid kit, which was required in any place of business. He felt badly, he wasn't a violent man. First he'd bandage her up, and then he'd kick her out.