The Single Success of Mark Green

A short story about a group therapist that stops helping and becomes insane

The group therapist stared at the man in front of him; his bulbous body was wide and pink with sweat leaking out of every fat crevasse.  His blubbery skin seemed to seep off the small plastic chair he sat on. His eyes were glazed over and he stared intently at the tiled floor beneath his feet. “Mark? Are you still with us?” the counselor asked in a monotone voice. Mark’s crusty lips opened and he answered with a low 'yes.' “Would you like to share your story with the group?” asked the counselor. Mark glanced upwards, briefly locking eyes with the expecting face of the therapist. The rest of the members all stared at Mark with stone faces, their bodies too crammed with drugs to possibly know what was happening.

Mark nodded with a reluctant yes and began to tell his story “I…I don’t know why I did it. I guess I just felt…useless I thought it was the only solution. It felt like suicide would be a way to escape all the pain and stress. I think most of the stress came from family….” Mark continued with his story but after the first few sentences the counselor already stopped paying attention and Mark’s story turned into dull background noise while the counselor thought to himself.

Look at him. What a disgrace to humanity. How could anyone ever manage to be with him? I bet even his family and friends are ashamed to be around him. Wait…no he wouldn't have any friends and I think most of his family has either died or moved by now. This help group is probably the closest he gets to social interaction. His face and body are repulsing. His greasy hair and disgusting smell are enough to make the common person gag. As if his appearance wasn't enough, he also has a terrible life. Ha! It’s kind of funny, he spent his whole life failing and tried to escape that by killing himself but he failed at that too! His fatty wrists were too thick and his body was too weak for him to slit his wrists correctly. Instead he ended up in a mental hospital and now in this useless therapy group. Why does he even try to continue his miserable life? Why do I encourage this kind of man to continue living? If I was telling my honest opinion I would…

“…when I was about 15 my older brother attempted to kill our mother but instead shot her in the shoulder. All of my college savings went towards her hospital bills. Once she recovered our mother became addicted to the pain killers the hospital gave her. The side effects were severe and she often hallucinated or became abusive, once she…”

Mark’s story was quickly interrupted with a demanding “wait!” from the therapist. Mark went silent and the therapist smirked, “Why are you still alive?” Mark looked puzzled and hesitated before he answered,

“Uh, because God wants me to be alive and has a plan for me.” The therapist burst out with laughter until he turned red,

“Oh, so God wants you to be alive, is that it!? Really!? Because it seems to me like that’s just a fucked up lie the doctors told you so you wouldn't try to kill yourself again! HA! Maybe if you weren't so pathetic you wouldn't have failed your suicide the first time!”

The therapist’s voice grew louder with each sentence, by now he was yelling: “We all know you’re worthless to society, even you know this but you still continue to waste your life away. Do it! Kill yourself! You obviously aren't happy with your life, and God is just an excuse to tell yourself you have a purpose on this Earth even though you clearly don’t. No one really cares if you live or die, so why don’t you stop wasting my time and stop being miserable and just end it all! Except this time let’s make sure you don’t fail.” The counselor reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a single cyanide pill. He walked over to Mark and calmly opened his hand. Inside Mark’s palm he placed the smooth, shiny capsule. The therapist leaned over and whispered into Mark’s ear, “Do it, and this time don’t mess up”

Mark stared down at the pill in his hand. It seemed to glow underneath the yellow florescent lights. Mark breathed deeply as his face inflamed. His eyebrows showed worry but his dark eyes filled with hope. The group stared impassively at Mark but the shrink watched in thrilled anticipation. Without thinking any longer Mark popped the tablet into his mouth. He quickly bit down on the capsule and cyanide poured out inside his mouth. He fell from his chair and collapsed on the floor. His body shook for a moment but soon became motionless and pale. Everyone stood around him as foam gradually fizzed out of his mouth. No one screamed, no one panicked, no one called for help, instead they all just stood and observed. The counselor cast a dark shadow over the limp body. A sneer crept across the counselor’s face as he glared down at Mark’s body. His shoulders shook vigorously as he chuckled to himself. He kicked Mark’s body and snickered once more. “You finally succeeded at something, Mark.”

Author's Note

Any type of review, negative or positive will help.

Reviews

[dave]

Good job! I could really feel the deterioration of the mental state of the therapist as the writing went on. I also looked how you described Mark based on how the therapist thought he looked. The therapists stream of thought seemed a little unnatural though;it sounded a little forced. But fantastic- however depressing - read!

[Marie]

I felt for this therapist; I really did. All those people...all those stories...no wonder he went mental...