"In Mundi Per Fumus et Ignus",(the world by smoke and fire, consumed),Part II of III

“ In Mundi Per Fumus et Ignus “

( the world by smoke and fire, consumed )

Part II of III

From the days of having worked the night shift in a locked Adult, Intensive Care Unit, of a private Psychiatric Hospital, now, some thirty years ago. [ from the cycle: “Various Songs and Sorrows”, originally written, 2007 ]

Then, in an ‘augen blick’, he was on his way to us.  With little time—now—to prepare ( and with the deputies speeding to us, pushing their modified Ford ‘Crown Vic’s’ to an early junk heap), vainly we assembled the palace troops, and Lordy, Lordy, what denutted, and demoralized bags of shit we were.

“Read: In Case Of Fire, Break Glass”

Scarcely one—in—five—of us had any degrees to speak of.  A goodly 30% were horrifically overweight, and others—in accord with Sanford Binet—logged-in solidly low-normal scores on the I.Q. test, but only if you closed your eyes and counted to seventy as low normal.

Some were students, some were night-shift sleepers, and some were utter misfits who could not work anyplace else…or…any shift else.

None of us were friends who even occasionally got together after work.  Instead, at end of shift, and having clocked out, we pretty much all ran to our cars as if our asses were on fire.  None of us really knew the other, nor did we particularly care to.

Yet, we were—by default—pledged to uphold the sanctity of the shift, the safety of our charges and ourselves, and to try to make the world safe for mental health!

The denouement—as it does so often in life—arrived, not with a paean sung by angels, but as some lowly—and, somehow forlorn—sound like a rusty hinge on a back screen door makes, flapping in the breeze.

Our little, ‘Princeling From Hell’ was half-carried, half-dragged onto the Unit like a dead Pharaoh, or Caesar, or, if you prefer, like two hundred pounds of potatoes, still in the sack.

He was cuffed, restrained and chained thrice over (or better), and with chains ten times the tensile strength of any that ever followed Jacob Marley, in Dickens’s, “A Christmas Carol”.

Uno, Dos, Tress, Quattro…count the number of chains and cuffs loosed, and piling up at his feet. And…with MY luck of the draw, it fell on me to try to admit him.  In the ‘business’, it is referred to as, “shit karma”.  The deputies—meanwhile—had been mandated to leave one of their numbers behind, to help if needed.

In truth, though, all traces of law enforcement were swept away down the hall like a gathering cloud of pixies, and, in an ‘instanter’, they were all gone.  Gee, thanks Officer Friendly!

Before me sat a young man (about seventeen years old), quiet, affable, too embarrassed to smile, but nevertheless unable to refrain from letting a sheepish grin peek out from time to time.  Just like a boy whose been bad.

I sniffed the air, but could detect no brimstone in it.

And although he was beginning to bruise widely from the number of, and force of his restraints, he never complained.

My own adrenalin level had anticipated his arrival.  Now, it just made me jittery, with a sick stomach, as proper spook-prone as a new colt, and I brought up a nasty burp mixed equally of anxiety, and too much lousy coffee.

Hell…I might was well have been speaking to a teenage kid, having knocked on the front door to sell me magazines.

End of Part II.  Part III to follow.

And as always, please know I love you dearly!

P.S. Should you find these, particular diary entries to be entertaining, or, of some interest, please let me know, my wonderfully dear, and precious friends.  I value and treasure so very much your most kind comments, and/or criticisms, as they help me find direction, and hopefully, purpose. Thanks !

‘Zahc’/Charles