The office is elegant and simple. Colorful potted flowers decorate the corners. The shelves are lined with bright-covered books on topics ranging from conquering fears to overcoming guilt. Beautiful rays of sunshine pour into the room through the parted blinds of the window.
Sitting in a plush leather chair is Dr. Arnold – young, professionally dressed, sitting comfortably with his legs folded, and holding a pen and a notebook in his hands.
His patient, Byron, lays on a long black chaise with his arms folded. The man, in his mid-20's, stares at the ceiling uninterested, while the doctor writes.
Sitting in a plush leather chair is Dr. Arnold – young, professionally dressed, sitting comfortably with his legs folded, and holding a pen and a notebook in his hands.
His patient, Byron, lays on a long black chaise with his arms folded. The man, in his mid-20's, stares at the ceiling uninterested, while the doctor writes.
DR. ARNOLD
Good afternoon, Bryon. Doing better today?
BRYON
Nothing new to report, doc.
DR. ARNOLD
Well...no news is good news, eh?
BYRON
Not necessarily.
DR. ARNOLD
And how often do you think of her?
Bryon eyes the doctor, insulted.
BYRON
She was my wife, Dr. Arnold. It's only been two months since her murder. She's all I ever think about.
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