image: Else Berg
Bigalo stood for hours in his playpen looking out at the world with a sadness a child that young should not know. No amount of silliness by his parents distracted him from his sad, far away stare. Mother worried herself to the point of breakdown. Father did research and found the Institute for Exceptional Children. Here, Bigalo could be tested, treated, and returned to them a happy child just like his sister Anthem always is.
So, on a drizmal November day, he was bundled into his car seat. Staring straight ahead sadly, his pathological paternal uncle’s stuffed rabbit clutched in his lap, Bigalo, with his family, set off.
At the Institute, as Father predicted, all was warmth and welcoming. A tour of the facility, a consultation with the top doctor in the field of child moroseness, the children’s dorm and playroom reassured even Mother that this was best for Bigalo. With a hug and wave, his family was off.
Whistling Liszt, the doctor took Bigalo’s hand. “I understand your sadness,” he said, “your parents keep you from acting upon your urges, such as tossing your silly sister’s stupid cat down the stairs.”* He smiled down at the boy, “Horatio. Sounds better than Bigalo. I will pack, then, we’ll be off on the continuum.” Dr. Teagarten always wanted a son.
Jane Dougherty’s Microfiction Challenge # 6: the child (loneliness)
For another Dr. Teagarten episode, see JD’s Microfiction #4: Dr. Teagarten’s Exit
Meant to be a continuation of last week’s Microfiction Challenge #5: The Door: Passage to Seann Choille, following the travellers into the ancient forest was usurped by Dr. Teagarten acquiring a travelling companion of his own. I’m going to have to watch out for this Teagarten fellow.
*Jane suggested that, given Bigelo’s age and size, he might be more apt to want to ram his rattle down the cat’s throat as throw the poor thing down the stairs.