Day 362

They offered to empty your mind.
It was "cheap" and "painless" and never spoken about in public.
We all knew what they did but we never knew how or more importantly why.
What could they possibly have stood to gain from disposing of unwanted mental clutter?
Apparently enough to own quite a sizeable establishment.

You'd never seen anyone go in or out but there were always people inside.
Through the glass front you could see them in the waiting room, all reading the same pamphlet.
The people who had allegedly been inside came out much different, drained yet at peace.
You knew several of them, even lived with one, and they told you about it in confidence.
The dark green wallpaper and the brown leather chair and the numb agony that haunted them.

You never knew what to say or why they insisted on telling you all of this.
The "peace" they projected just melted away when they were alone, they hid so much anger.
It was like they forgot that they had volunteered to empty their minds, asked for it even.
Seems the emptying involved far more than just negative emotions.
Whole chunks of their lives and personality were gone, replaced by this "peace".

At the end of these rants they frequently went into they always said the exact same thing.
Still, can't complain, can I? Don't tell anyone I said this, yeah? Don't want any trouble.
It was like they were running on a script, down to the minute pauses it was the same.
They always left soon after, making excuses and rushing away to somewhere.
You suspected back to the clinic to be emptied once more.

You never thought you would be among them- didn't even remember coming in.
Yet you sat there in that same waiting room you had always stared at from the outside.
A friend sat next to you holding that familiar pamphlet as did you.
Funny, you vaguely remember it being on your kitchen table, remember ordering it somehow.
A member of staff cheerfully interrupts your musing to tell you its your turn.