2 April 2010


You ever had that feeling that something's not quite right with the world?  You ever get the feeling that in someway you're not like everyone else, that you're different and that everyone else knows it?  Ever get the feeling you're constantly being watched, like a rat in a maze? 

I went to a psychiatrist and he told me I was just being paranoid and I should just get on with my life.  I didn't like that, it didn't make things any better, it made them worse .  I went for a second opinion and the new guy said almost the exact same thing… paranoia, forget about it, get on with your life.  I felt like they were trying to steer me  away from something, something important.  Didn’t think it was worth talking to him after that, that was until I started to notice the homeless guys. 

There are a lot of them in my neighborhood, you know the type, guys dressed in too many layers, dirty, piss soaked clothes, dirty beards, dirty hands, guys you don’t want sitting near you let alone next to you.  You see them while you're waiting for the bus.  They see you watching them, they know when you're watching them and then they zone in on you for a hand out, sometimes you give them some change just to make em go away.  They're like ghosts, they're not like everyone else and that's why I started to notice them.  They're outside of everything and that's exactly how I feel too.

I'm booked in for another appointment later today, and I'm gonna ask that bespectacled bastard what's with the beggars?  What's special about them, cos I know there's something.  How come nobody does anything about them, how come the cops don't take em off the streets and put em into a program or something, how come the mayor's happy to spend millions keeping the streets clear of litter but never seems to do anything about the human trash in the gutters?  How come?  Because they're special for some reason is why.  They round up the homeless dogs, they spend millions keeping the fucking rats under control, but the bums… nothing.  They're caught up in everything somehow I fucking know it. 

I go to work and sit there filling out insurance reports nobody cares about, hundreds of the damned things every day and I'm convinced the moment they leave my desk they get deleted.  I look around at the people who work on my floor.  Not a one of them I'd call a friend, shit most of them don't even say hello when I arrive in the mornings.  Fuck them, they're in on it too.  It's all a big fucking joke, I'm like a performing monkey, or a white lab rat. 

That fucking Wendy is one of them I know it.  She looks over at me sometimes, she thinks I don't notice but she's watching me.  It's my birthday today.  They always forget my birthday.  Everyone else gets a card and sometimes someone brings in cake or donuts or something.  Been here fifteen years, not one fucking card and not one fucking cake.  I don’t care, I'm on to them. They're testing me, pushing me to see what I'll do, they've been doing it for years, but I'm wise to them now.  That Wendy and that fucker Phil, my supervisor, they're in it together, they're the ring leaders, they're trying to make me crack, pushing me to see if I'll go over the edge.  Pushing me any way they can to see what will happen.
Went to the water cooler for a drink and she was there waiting for me.  Yeah she even said Hi and smiled at me, big fucking joke whore.  I know what you're doing,  I'll fucking show you what happens when you push me too far.

Leaving early for my appointment, told Phil it was the dentists, he frowns before grudgingly let me leave. He knows I lied,  I could read it in his face. I don't give a shit.  Got another headache, getting them a lot recently.  She watched me go, didn't say a thing, just smiled as I walked past pulling on my jacket.  Didn't ask where I was going cos she fucking knows already. I bet the headaches are their doing, I bet they've got some kind of fucking machine up on the tenth floor, tuned in to make my fucking brain swell up, like a giant fucking microwave boiling my brain. Making me twist and squirm while they watch and smile.  She didn't say a thing, just fucking smiled.

Walked through the city, cant stand the subway in the winter, always packed. Having to press up against people in rush hour, their faces, their smell.  Just the thought of that combination of body odour and cheap whore's perfume in my nostrils makes me retch.  There's always beggars trawling the trains for easy money from a captive audience, bastards probably make more than I do.

As I walk I see one in a side alley going through garbage cans like a rat looking for his dinner.  There's another sitting next to the ATM. I draw out fifty dollars for some shopping and he asks me for spare change, I want to scream "fuck you, you piece of shit, fuck you.  I know what you are, I know what the fuck you are", but I just walk away pretending not to have heard him.

I buy a cup of coffee from a street vendor.  It tastes like warm shit.  I drink it anyway and smoke a cigarette.  Another fucking beggar asks me if I have a spare, I give him one. He limps away leaving me the smell of rancid rotten flesh and stale piss as reward for my charity.

I count yellow cabs (36) and then decide to make my way over to my appointment with the psychiatrist.  I stop in at a hardware store to buy a hammer, outside again I tuck it through my belt.

I walk the remaining four blocks and start to build up a sweat.  I'm still fifteen minutes early so I sit on a bench by a bus stop nearby.  A woman with black hair and a light blue coat smiles at me,  I stare at her and rest my hand on the handle of the hammer.  She moves away.

I can feel everyone looking at me while my back is turned, I can feel their eyes, they know about the hammer, of course they know. I bought it in one of their stores. Mistake.
They're watching, waiting to see what I'm going to do.

It's time.  Time to show them.  I walk to the building and announce myself to the receptionist, she's a fat, middle aged woman with graying hair, she's wearing too much make makeup, she reminds me of a clown.  I wait until I am called and enter the psychiatrist's office. 

The session goes exactly as I anticipated, he asks me how I've been and I tell him.  He asks me if there's anything I'd like to talk about especially and I ask him about the beggars.  He tells me he has no idea what I'm talking about but he's lying.  I smash his head with the hammer, it takes five or six hard blows before he stops moving.  He lays in a slowly spreading pool of blood on the floor.  The receptionist enters, alerted by the noise no doubt.  I smash her hard in the face with the claw part of the hammer, amazingly she doesn't fall but screams and tries to turn and run.  I quickly lay another backhand blow on the side of her head (the motion reminds me of throwing a Frisbee). This time she falls spinning onto the floor.  I stand in silence and watch as her legs continue to twitch for almost two whole minutes before she is still.  I wipe my fingerprints from the handle of the hammer on the hem of her green patterned dress and then toss it onto the floor next to her.  I do not know why I do this. 

I have about twenty minutes of my time left so nobody will find them for a while but when they do they will be coming for me.  I try to disguise myself as best I can with what's to hand.  I take the doctor's jacket from the back of his chair and put it on over my own.

I leave the building and have walked for almost five minutes before I realize my hands are covered in blood.  I push them deep into my pockets, everyone is looking at me.
I walk home but when I get arrive there are two police cars parked outside of the building.  I head back in to the city.  I can never return home.  I find a dumpster behind a clothes store and salvage several items which I put on.  I feel hot at first and I sweat, but I don't care. As the day goes on though I start to feel the cold.  I throw away my credit cards and everything else in my wallet except the cash. 

It is dark now and very cold, I can feel it seeping into my bones, I follow an old bum to see where he goes.  He sees me but doesn't seem to mind.  He leads me to a place where there are some heat vents blowing warm air up form underground. It is still very cold.  He speaks to me. He is hard to understand through his  drunken slur.  He says the world is  not real,  he says that people like us are the only real people left.  I realize he is right.

He offers me some of this wine.  It is foul like tainted vinegar.    I give him twenty dollars.  He looks astonished and motions for me to keep the rest of his disgusting drink in exchange.  I drink it all down.  The night is so cold.  I piss myself to try and keep my legs warm.  The sensation somehow feels like being born. 

Tomorrow I will kill Wendy.