The loneliest shape has no corners

“I’ll tell yer one thing” my dad told me, “if it’s it’s a circle it will bounce back, if it’s a square then leave it right there” I don’t know what it means; I’m beginning to suspect he had shape-syndrome, a study I’ve recently taken part of as a a psychiatrist is training.

It’s related to synesthesia. The afflicted are convinced that specific shapes have distinct personalities. They will be sure some shapes are friendly, while others hold a personal grudge. One patient will blush at equilateral triangles, another is enraged by octagons.

I blinked up at the kind nurse. She truly was wasting her breath on me. Winding up in this psychiatric retreat was never my intention. If only Mum had given me the chance to figure this all out on my own. I don't need help. God forbid a person has a hobby.

The nurse smiled and jotted something down. “We’re just here to keep you safe.” Safe from what? My thoughts? My truths? Or the fact that the stop signs were speaking again—louder this time, sharper, and very displeased I’d ignored their angles and drawn new ones in chalk.

"Why must shapes be equilateral?" I asked the nurse. "Octagons, squares, pentagons..." She pointed out that her notebook & the door were rectangles and, therefore, not equilateral. I said, "Exceptions prove the rule." Then she gave me circular pills with no straight sides at all.