It is a gloomy late evening in sheolville. Through the little frills of rusty iron window a tiny sneak peak of the hideous gloomy world outside is visible. A dim light inside a petite sized room which hung right above and unmade bed shadowed the dusty furniture around the room. The room radiated an atmosphere of a dark cold cell. Every patient in the institution were filled with their own kind of illusion perceiving their own little world which made them reluctant to be exposed to the reality. The room consisted of a white painted table with two steel grey chairs on both sides and in the middle is an unmade bed, the table held a cold tomato soup with its smell still lingering around the room.
It is the 10th of May, exactly a month following the departure if Blanche from New Orleans. A few voices could be heard outside the room, on that of a male and a few more female voices. It’s the time for doctor patient consultation and evening visits for relatives. A sight of Blanche is seen sitting in the left corner of the table; her face exhibits a deep pensive mood. The door creeks and the Dr.Macalson enters the room accompanied by two nurses for daily evening visit. Dr.Macalson is a grumpy fat middle aged man yet
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Macalson how often do these daily meeting have to be! I’m doing well Dr. Macalson but you must stop visiting me so often for the formality. I’m called by the name Blanche by my close ones, please don’t make it a habit of calling be DuBois formally [smirking, flirty tone]. I have known you enough Dr.Macalson to have you call me Blanche. [Chuckles lightly and walks towards the door] when I was in my teens I never let anyone call me by the name Blanche, except for my sister and my parents. My friends and I used to wander around Belle reve making flower crowns and necklaces; I can never fail to remember those cherishing moments. [Walks back to the chair and gazes at the