“Thank you,” Moroi said, now lost in the darkness, drowning the light from his eyes. He could feel weight pushing down on him. “Now, Mr. Patrickson, where were we?”
Ghost in the Well
Weakness is the heart of all Humans; It’s hard to understand completely.
Moroi closed his notebook and looked up at his patient. He was a chubby fellow wearing a plaid cardigan and brown pants. His perm hair hid his brown eyes.
”Mr. Patrickson, I think our time is about up. Take it easy and remember you’re a strong independent man. Don’t forget to grab your subscription from Mrs. Pond, ” said Moroi getting up from his chair and heading to his desk.
”Thanks, doc, ” said Patrickson leaving the office. He grumbled on the way out. Moroi knew exactly what he was muttering. Recently they all said the same thing.
At his desk, he pulled out a notebook and flipped it open. It was clean, and each line inside had a quote from his patients. He sat and started jotting down what Patrickson said.
“Piece of tin can trash,” Moroi mouthed.
After he finished writing, he looked around his office. The tribal decor and renaissance painting complimented the room but made less of a comfortable office where the patient could pour their hearts out and more of a museum that captured the fleeting moments of weakness.
Weakness. It lingered in Moroi’s metal mind swirling around like a virus that could not be debugged. If only he knew what weakness was. He was with perfection, and yet there were some things that just an android like him couldn’t understand.
He leaned back in his leather chair and straightened his tie. He pulled from his memory bank a memory of a patient he had helped days ago. “It was an exciting session,” Moroi thought.
He remembered diagnosing her and giving the prescription for the drugs that would help her, but he also remembered her telling him about a place. A wishing well on the outskirts of town. In a woods so dark that the lumber factories wouldn’t cut it down for fear of specters and demons.
He remembered his patient telling him that when the pills didn’t work, and the sessions failed, they would go to the wishing well and drop a penny, and their problems would melt away.
“How could such a method exist, and if it always existed, then why have psychiatrists,” he thought.
Then the word wishing well clung to his mouth. He started saying the words over and over and over and over. “Wishing well. Wishing well. Wishing well. Wishing well.”
Wishing. To be granted a gift without equivalent exchange. Maybe this could help him better understand and diagnose his patients to help them progress further from this weakness. This well could teach him about weakness. He could wish to know about it.
Moroi packed up his desk and grabbed his coat. He headed out the door and towards the wishing well.
Getting there was a hassle. The magnetic roadways didn’t reach all the way to the forest. You would need to grab a taxi and then start heading out of town. It took time since cities are quite large and crowded. Estimated arrival time about two hours. This was step one; he would need a destination, and pinpointing the outskirts was not possible. He had to select the next city over. This was the easiest part of the journey.
Now on his way, he would need to ask the driver to stop on the highway. Once there, he would need to climb off the roadway and down a hill into the forest. This is where the hard part kicked in.
He needed to maneuver himself through the pitch-black trees until he found a well. There was no path in this forest, so there was no clear way to see this well — an estimated arrival time of about four hours.
After the sun had died down beyond the horizon, and the night had sprung upon him. Moroi was still looking for this well. The trees of the forest casted terrifying jagged images from the moonlight. He could sense animals on the prowl; he could feel them breathing.
He continued forward, stepping on twigs and dead leaves, alerting wildlife of his presence. Then from the corner of his eye, he saw it. The well, sitting like it was waiting for him. It was in an open area. It looked like a sacrificial altar.
As he got closer to it, he didn’t feel any supernatural energy that might have thrown off his sensors or programming. It was old and moss-covered. Once in front of the well, he chuckled. It’s been here for years, and the strangest thing was it had a cover over the hole. The cover was a circular oak-based, seven inches thick, that sealed the well shut.
“What brings a machine to my well,” said a voice from behind Moroi.
He quickly turned around to see a being coming from the trees' shadows wearing a dark cloak that was ripped and torn. The hood’s shadow covered the being’s face.
“Are you a specter,” asked Moroi. The being looked down at its self and then smiled.
“No, this is just my raincoat,” said the being taking off the hood, revealing a young woman with burnt orange hair that looked brown in the night, but when the moonlight hit, its colors would shine. “This well is not for beings like you.”
“A patient of mine told me about.”
“Are you a doctor?”
“I am a psychiatrist.”
“An android psychiatrist,” she said, moving towards the well. Moroi took a few steps back.
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“It has everything to do with it. People like you think you understand humans like us, but there’s only so much data and research can do.”
“I beg to differ.”
“And you are allowed to. There is no right or wrong way. Just the way you choose. The ‘You Way’ I like to call it.”
Moroi stared at the woman, trying to figure her out. He couldn’t get a grasp. The lady jumped up and took a seat on the well cover.
“I was told this was a wishing well, but the cover is closed, so what is this,” he said.
“Don’t you already know?”
“I do not.”
“That’s a first.”
“We are not all-knowing, young lady— ”
“Young lady, I guess that’s what I look like to you,” she said.
Moroi paused before continuing. “What did she mean by that,” he thought. “Isn’t it evident that she is a young woman?”
“There are things we don’t know, and I have come to learn,” he said, stepping forward.
“A brave tin can,” she said. Moroi didn’t like that phrase, he knew it was an insult, but his programming kept him neutral. “What do you wish to learn?”
“Weakness.”
“Why would you want to know that,” she said in a deeper tone. Moroi couldn’t figure out if it were disgust or sadness.
“To help my patient get that healing they need, this would be essential to learn.”
“Did they not program you with this knowledge?”
“They have but only the basic information. I want a deeper look into this. Everything my patient brings to the office leads back to weakness.”
“I suppose it does,” she said, leaning back and looking up at the moon. Its moonlight bathed her. Moroi noticed fireflies springing up. They lit the area with a mysterious mood. A stiff breeze blew by, carrying some leaves with it.
“Can you help me?”
“Weakness isn’t something I can teach. You must feel it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how a machine could feel the empty abyss inside the mind and heart. The ocean drowns positive thinking and only leaves the silent screams of hope in its depths. I can’t teach you how to swim the vast lengths of pitch black. I can only show you the result,” she said, jumping down from the cover.
She pushed in one of the stones of the well, and a click could be heard. Then the cover started to slide open until it was lying next to the well. Moroi could sense that the answer he needed was inside, but something held him back. “Why don’t you take a look?”
“My body doesn’t seem to be working the way I want.”
“That’s fear; I guess you can feel that.”
“Is that weakness?”
“Only a shard to the glacier,” she said, motioning to the well. “Come see how deep it goes.”
Moroi took a step and could feel his parts creaking. Maybe his oil needed to be changed, he thought. Then he took another step. This was harder than the first. He felt heavy and thick, like all the weight of the world was on him.
“That’s uncertainty,” she said. Moroi glanced over at her. “Continue.” Another step felt like he was sinking. He continued until he reached the edge of the well.
“I can’t teach you weakness, but I can show you the results of those who let it consume them.”
Moroi grabbed the edges of the well and peered down inside.
At first, it was black, and then as the moon illuminated the insides, he could see arms and then legs and then faces staring back at him lifeless. There were many in this well; it was deep but filling up.
The scent of rot infected his system, and when he saw him lying there in his plaid cardigan staring right at him with a tear-stained face. Then he noticed another and then another and then one more. These were his patients; these were the people he thought he helped. He thought he had saved. He felt something inside his mind eating away at everything. He felt his feet sinking even further into the ground. “What was the point of helping people when it meant nothing,” he thought. “What was the point?”
Then he heard a crack. He looked down at his hands and noticed that he had gripped so hard that he cracked the stone.
“What is this,” said Moroi staring at the young lady.
“It’s that result of those who could not bear it. You wanted to know weakness.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Then save them.”
Moroi looked down into the well and then started to climb in. “Maybe they could still be saved,” he thought. “Nothing is ever lost; they just need to be found.” Once at the bottom, he went to work.
“Mr. Patrickson, tell me how I can help you see the light.” Another click was heard, and when Moroi looked up, he could see the cover sealing the well.
“Experience the weight and when you are ready, just knock, and I will let you out,” she said as the well was sealed.
“Thank you,” Moroi said, now lost in the darkness, drowning the light from his eyes. He could feel weight pushing down on him. “Now, Mr. Patrickson, where were we?”
