The stench startled him from a deep sleep. He got up out of bed, went to the open window and gazed up at the cloudless, moonless, starless canopy of darkness that the sky had become. He closed the window and for a long while stood gazing down at his sleeping wife, her firm, youthful body dimly illuminated by the light of the digital clock. It read 3:35 A.M. Come morning, he knew, that she and their toddler in the next room would fall victim to the fog, and the blissful life he had strived so hard and long to create would come to end.
He went out to the porch and sat on the steps, to wait. At dawn, as expected, the fetid yellowish fog emerged forth from the unknown beyond the horizon, destroying every living thing before it —the corn crop, the vegetable garden, the chickens in their coop, the hounds in their kennel—as it steadily, inexorably approached the farm house.
He wanted to awaken his wife and child, see them alive one more time, embrace them in a final goodbye, but then, on second thought, decided it would be best if they perished in their sleep. He would not, though, allow the fog to defeat him. So went in the barn and hanged himself.
The nurse on duty found him dangling by the neck from an extension cord affixed to the ceiling fan in his room.
That afternoon the head psychiatrist was discussing the case with an intern. “What happened with this patient was totally unexpected.”
The intern asked. “Have you heard from his family yet?
“No, as far as we know he has no close family or next of kin.. He was a highly successful futures trader, one of the best in the business, a genius, by all accounts, but an eccentric loner in his personal life. Eventually he became delusional, to the point of being a danger to himself and others, and had to be committed. That was two years ago.”
What sort of delusions was he having?
“Only one, actually: That he had bought a farm and moved there with a wife and child. Everything here at the hospital—the halls, the cafeteria, his room, the plants and decorations he saw as parts of his farm. That farm in his mind was the only reality he recognized.”
The intern shook his head. “A tough case, to say the least.”
“Yes, very tough, indeed. For two years we tried to reach him, bring him back to the real world, but to no avail. Then last month we tried a different medication cocktail and it seemed to work wonders. For the first time since he arrived he started to see and ask questions about his surroundings.”
“So it would appear that he was improving,”
“Well, yes and no. In his delusional state, he was content, even happy, but when he stared coming out it he became increasingly apprehensive, depressed.”
“Obviously, he didn’t want to leave his imaginary farm and family.” surmised the Intern.
The head psychiatrist nodded in agreement, and explained. “We figured that with the right medication and therapy, “he would eventually make the adjustment, as have many of patients with similar conditions, but, regrettably, it didn’t work out that way in his case.”
“Maybe the treatment was too fast, too traumatic” suggested the intern.
“Yes, so it seems,” said the head psychiatrist. “Maybe we should have proceeded with more caution.”
“Or leave well enough alone,” thought the intern.
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