Short Friction

Writing to entertain and to stimulate thought

Posts Tagged ‘psychosis

Psychotic

leave a comment »

When I woke up my first thought — not counting the customary mental cursing at having to work yet another day — was to wonder why the walls were bleeding. At that early hour of the morning, my brain still fuzzy from the shock of my dream, it was a mere absent-minded ponderance — a thought with which to fill a few minutes before getting out of bed: “Why are my walls bleeding?”

After a few moments with this thought I found myself struck numb with panic — I didn’t know whether to sit bolt upright with a look of uncomprehending astonishment and demand an explanation, or to settle back with the calm reassurance that this was just carry-over from my dream… indeed, perhaps I was still asleep.

But I soon confirmed to myself that this was, indeed, a waking perception… but even by this time the blood was beginning to fade and my mind beginning to doubt I’d seen anything at all. Mm… yes — carry-over from my dreams.

… Or maybe, I thought, it was the neighbours up to their practical jokes again. They had, after all, not so long ago filled my small backyard with horrifically ugly toads. Masses of them, which disappeared equally mysteriously around lunch time. But how would they have managed a trick such as bleeding walls? I had been carefully keeping all my doors and windows locked, and the blinds down. Maybe they got in my house long ago and set it all up then. I made a mental note to search the house for bugs or any transmitters as soon as I got the chance.

At the office, my boss asked why my quality of work had declined so dramatically over the past six months. “Is there something in your life at the moment?” he asked. How could I tell him my neighbours had found a way to control my mind and were filling my head with critical voices which distracted me from my work? How could he even expect me to concentrate when he knew full well that the pile of hacked-off limbs behind his desk was fully visible to me?

I spent the rest of the day keeping an eye out for one-armed or one-legged employees. I saw none. What happened to them? Did nobody notice they were gone? “He’s with us, you incompetent idiot!” said the voices.

You are going to have an accident! Hahahahaha we’ll see him fall! We’ll make him fall! Fallfallfallfallfall SPLAT! Can you hear it? Can you hear how you will sound? SPLATSPLATSPLAT! Look out the window! Hahahahahahhahahaha! SPLAT! Fall! We think you want it! Mm… maybe we should keep him a while. Shall we keep him? We can make him do things. He does things for us. Yes, he does do things for us. We can make him… WORK? Why do you WORK? Stop working! Do something for us! Hahahahaha! Go tell your boss you know about the limbs. Haha! The limbs! The limbs! Yes! The limbs! Why didn’t we do it before? We want more limbs! We want his limbs!

I didn’t want to do what they said. But fighting them was so hard. They made me get up and take the stanley knife from my desk drawer. Stanley knife? They must have been crazy to think I could hack off a limb with that! I had to fight them. They forced me over to my office door, but their control was too primitive to manage the handle easily. While they fumbled getting me to open it, I was able to take enough control to beat my head against the door. Thump! Thump! Thump! It made them weaker. Eventually the stanley knife fell from my fingers, but I kept banging. I don’t remember stopping.

Written by shortfriction

09/05/2010 at 23:25

Posted in Fiction, Psychology

Tagged with ,