Ep. 72- The Conclusion of Silence

int. therapist’s office cont.

A continuation of this strange therapy appointment. Like brushing your teeth, doing your laundry and keeping up with the dishes, therapy is something Alice keeps up with on scheduled basis, not because she finds any tangible satisfaction in doing so but because she has been promised time and time again that the invisible benefits are quite real. She imagines that if she keeps saying out loud how beneficial such practices are that someday the benefits will simply manifest themselves. However, within the cold swept corridors of her inner heart she knows her truth- if any of those things could really turn her life around, they long ago would have. As it stands, they are merely window dressings distracting from the dismal state of barren shelves within her twice closed heart.

The Therapist shuffles some papers. There’s a great theatre in such behavior- the kind of stage business amateur directors impress upon their young actors who as yet do not know what to do with their hands when the spotlight is on them. Setting the papers aside, the Therapist produces a Tarot Deck of the Rider-Waite variety. Alice cannot help but raise an eyebrow at this.

ALICE
Curiouser…

THERAPIST
-and curiouser.

The Therapist, still backlit by the orange glow of a stained china lamp, withdraws cards from the deck, spreading them onto the coffee table between themselves and Alice. We see The Knight of Cups, Death, The Queen of Swords, the Devil, the Hanged Woman. Off to the side we see the Page of Wands, the Hermit, the Knight of Swords, the Knight of Pentacles and more beneath them in a state of discard.

The Therapist begins to arrange the previously highlighted cards into the formation of a celtic cross.

ALICE
This…this is therapy, right?

THERAPIST
Naturally. Albeit, not very scientific. But I thought today we might do a bit of association using the Tarot. Naturally, there’s nothing magical about these cards. Rather, it’s more about what you make of them- the stories your mind conjures up at their cue. Early followers of divination understood on an intuitive level that truth rarely came from god or an angel, but rather from the mind. Every drawing, for instance, starts with a question. A question is the first betrayal of what is sought, valued, obsessed over by its subject. In the same way, we might learn something about you if I hold up a card, like so, and ask you to say the first thing you can think of-

The Therapist holds up the Knight of Cups.

ALICE
Sadness.

The Therapist notes this on a notepad and then produces the Queen of Swords.

ALICE
Revenge.

The Therapist repeats the same routine with the Devil.

ALICE
Loneliness.

Next, the Hanged Woman.

ALICE
Prison.

And then, Death.

ALICE
Absence.

The Therapist finishes writing, sets the notebook down on their knee.

THERAPIST
Sadness. Revenge. Loneliness. Prison. Absence. Not very cheery associations.

ALICE
Guess I get an F.

THERAPIST
No such thing, in therapy.

ALICE
If that’s true then why do I always leave feeling like I’ve failed at it.

THERAPIST
Is that how you see our sessions- something to pass or fail?

ALICE
I…I…

THERAPIST
That isn’t a right or wrong answer. It simply is. Just as your previous two sequences simply are, and as your future simply will be.

The Therapist shuffles the cards into their hand, rearranging them they hold the cards up, the fronts hidden, the card backs facing Alice.

THERAPIST
I will make this easier for you. Pick a card, any card. The card you choose will be lost you for a time, but it will find its way back to your hand someday- changed.

ALICE
You’re asking me to give up a friend.

THERAPIST
I thought this visual metaphor might soften the blow.

ALICE
Why bother having me choose at all. Why not just take a member of my party as you will.

THERAPIST
Because, Alice, you are the Fool. And what governs the fate of the Fool, above all, is luck. Every Fool who has come before you has had their share of talent. I have seen wisemen, magi and generals in this office. But for all their skills, none had the right luck- the right star shining down on their fate.

ALICE
There are already so few of us. If I draw one who remained with me, then I’ll be even further alone…will the change they experience be for the better

The Therapist does not answer.

Alice sets her gaze on the cards before her and takes one- then a second and third. She turns them over to reveal the Queen of Swords, the Devil and the Hanged Woman.

THERAPIST
(a quick gasp, regaining composure)
And all 3 already having left you. That was a gamble. You could have lost the few who remained with you. You would have been alone.

ALICE
I’m never alone, not really. I have myself. I am enough. The rest would sort itself out.

THERAPIST
Tch.

The Therapist returns all the cards to a neat stack. They then sit up, their outline lengthening in the shadow of the lamp at their back.

THERAPIST
It’s a lovely sentiment, but on further examination, a selfish one. But this concludes our session for today, I have fulfilled my purpose. I bid you well, until the next time.

ALICE
I’m going back then?

The room begins to fade away like the smoke of a burnt out candle. The Therapist, themself, loses all form until just voice remains in the darkness.

THERAPIST
No, Alice, not quite yet. There is one more stop for you- rejoice, for it is the place you most long for.

THE GREAT SILENCE

Total darkness.

And then, two soft, blue glowing orbs.

The orbs give way to pupils, the pupils a face, stained with soft blue tendrils- broken capillaries which bend and break, giving way to skin dotted with little red pecks.

Alice's face. The neck, arms, torso, legs. She floats, both formless yet silhouetted against the darkness. She is awake, aware.

Her eyes cast downward to her feet. She points her feet down. Her form drifts in that direction, her hair, in noodled strands drifting upward past her brow as she floats downward. Her feet softly flatten out, landing on a sheer, glassing surface.

A beat.

The surface shifts from black, reflective dark, to yellow, to green, to yellow again, betraying the curve of a globe, upon which Alice stands.

The light flickers once more, green, yellow, green- before giving way to a pupil at its center, dark and yawning, giving the curved surface upon which Alice stands the appearance of an enormous eye.

It expands. Further. Further. And as the solid surface beneath Alice gives way to darkness, she falls, in slow motion- not panicked or afraid, but resigned. As the darkness threatens to envelop her tumbling body entirely, she claws at her throat-