“Gilbert,” said Doctor Mallet. “You’re a loser.”
Gilbert blinked once. He was unable to discern what he was hearing.
“I see. Is that your official diagnosis?”
“Yes, you’re a loser,” answered Doctor Mallet. “But the good news is, it’s not terminal.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” said Gilbert, slouching his shoulders and looking at the floor.
“You don’t sound excited, Gilbert. The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.”
“I know, doc. It’s just–” Gilbert stared at his clenched fists. “It’s just that people have been telling me that my entire life.”
“Exactly!” Doctor Mallet extended his arm and pointed at Gilbert. “People have been telling you that you’re entire life!”
“Yes, doctor. That’s what I just said.”
“But don’t you see, Gilbert? You’re not the problem!”
“But you said I have a problem. You called me a loser.”
“Yes Gilbert!” said Doctor Mallet, gripping his head with his hands. “You have a loser problem, but you’re not the cause.”
“I’m not?”
“You said it yourself. People have been calling you a loser your whole life,” Doctor Mallet folded his hands on top of the desk. “You’re not a loser. It’s other people who are the problem!”
“Other people?” Gilbert raised an eyebrow.
“Yes,” said Doctor Mallet. “Other people are the problem.”
“Well, now that you mention it, I’ve had nothing but problems with my neighbor Brett,” said Gilbert. “He’s a jerk, and a bully. He’s a jully.”
“It’s not just Brett, your horrible neighbor, is it?” asked Doctor Mallet as if he knew what Gilbert was going to say next. “It’s also your high school guidance counselor, who told you the fax machine was the career wave of the future, and your friend who tried convincing you that you had cancer, and the girl who pretends she can’t read her own watch rather than give you the time of day. Am I correct?”
Gilbert leaned back in his seat and stared at Doctor Mallet.
“This is all starting to make sense,” he said, pressing his fingertips together.
“Trust me, I know, Gilbert!” shouted Doctor Mallet, pointing to the wall lined with framed professional certifications. “I’m a doctor!”
“Well, what can I do, doctor? Can you help me solve my problem?”
“Gilbert, we’ve been through a lot together, so I do want to help you,” said Doctor Mallet, slowing to speak in low deliberate tones. “I can write you a prescription.”
“A prescription? I thought you said there wasn’t anything wrong with me?”
“Exactly, Gilbert, exactly,” said Doctor Mallet as he rummaged through the drawers of his desk. “There is nothing wrong with you.”
Gilbert watched Doctor Mallet go through his desk, finally retrieving a sheet of paper.
“Here you go, Gilbert,” said Doctor Mallet as he harshly annotated the paper with red ink. “Here is the solution to all of your problems.”
Doctor Mallet stood and leaned forward, extending the piece of paper across his desk in the palm of his outstretched hand. Gilbert rose from his seat and took the paper from Doctor Mallet.
“I can’t believe it!” he yelled, his face exploding with excitement as he lowered the paper to his side. “A prescription for guns!”
“A prescription for guns, Gilbert!” repeated Doctor Mallet, lifting his clenched fists toward the ceiling. “And everyone wants to get high!”
Christopher Holmes Nixon is originally from Calgary, Canada and has degrees in Economics and Political Science. He has served as an Infantry Officer with the Canadian Armed Forces for the last nine years, with one operational tour to Afghanistan. He is currently employed as the Training Officer for the 1st Battalion, Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry, in Edmonton, Alberta. He enjoys all types of fiction as well as an addiction to writing.
Tags: Christopher Holmes Nixon, doctors, flash fiction, guns