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Within The Thoughts of Insanity

A devastating short story about a schizophrenic teenager going through high-school.

The rain seems so soft and friendly. Comforting; as if its entire meaning of existence is to engulf you like a child in a blanket. Simply reassuring you that everything will be alright. This road is beaten and brittle. The cracks quietly outline the years of torture that this road has witnessed. The withered leaves yawn as they try to cover up my mistakes, tired of knowing I won't listen. They pray that I will believe the masked pavement, that I will see a clear path and know there is hope. Hope that I can be saved, from myself.

My friends tell me that I'm too hard on myself, but what do they know? They've never felt love. They've never felt contempt. The only thing they've ever felt is my chaotic screams against their skin and the violent pressure of this ballpoint pen as I write them into existence.

I've walked this road so many times. The same path every day at 6:45 am, not a minute later. I can't allow myself to be late. Timing is everything. The hands of the clock beat on my mind like a metronome, each minute harsher than the last. Every day it's the same thing. I wake up: 5:00 am.
Shower: 5:05 am.
Eat breakfast: 5:20 am.
Clean up: 5:30 am.
Shower again: 5:45 am.
Then I complete my homework from the previous night, and I'm out the door at 6:40 am to begin my walk. I know what you're thinking, two showers? I can't stand the filth that clings to my body; I can feel it consuming my flesh. Every day it attacks me, the same time every morning. It's almost like it's on a schedule; organized yet psychotic.

I hate walking to school. Almost as much as I hate school. Everyone thinking they're better than you, that you're weird. I can hear them mocking me behind my back. I can see them pointing and laughing at me as I walk past. I hit one of them once; I finally had enough of his words burning through my skin. He caved in as soon as my fist made contact. I got suspended for punching a hole in the wall, but he deserved it.

This is my second week of being a Junior in High School. It's hard to believe I've made it this far. Farther than my two older brothers. They both committed suicide at the age of 15 because living through adolescence is too unbearable. The relentless drama and the pressure of school work, they couldn't comprehend the intellect that these classes push unto you. For me it's different. That's the easy part. For me, the hard part is dealing with the constant torment. The daily insults, the laughs, the whispers; they make it so difficult to carry on. I want to do something about it, to stop all this pain.

"Anthony!"

I fling my head off my journal. "Yes! Sorry Mrs. Leverson."

"Are you listening?" Mrs. Leverson asks.

"Ye..yes ma'am," I say, scrambling as I slip my class work over my journal. She walks over to me and throws her hands on my desk. A daring smirk creeps onto her face.

"Then what did I just say?" She asks, embracing her wicked grin. She throws her hands in the air and twirls facing the rest of the class. Great, she's making a show of it. My eyes scramble across the room. Everyone is looking at me. I can hear their silent words. Their poisonous language seeps through my mind, slowly killing me. That is their goal after all. Everyone says this world would be better without me, but they don't want to just kill me. No, they want me to suffer. They want me to slowly destroy myself. That way I'm to blame. Mrs. Leverson swings back around. "Well?"

"I don't... I don't." I shake my head as the words foolishly stumble out of my mouth, "I'm not sure ma'am."

"Then listen!" Her voice rumbles through my ears and hits my chest like a mallet. To be insulted like that, in front of everyone, it makes my hate blossom. The whispers multiply, turning into a roar. The walls inhale, closing in on me. The clock gets louder. Each tick punishes my mind as the hands viciously crush my thoughts. My legs lift themselves off the ground taking control of my body. Suddenly I am a prisoner within my own carcass. The voices pierce my ears, instantly my head starts throbbing. I can feel my fists tighten as the pain bounces through me like a pinball machine. My limbs get tighter, each one suffering, attempting to save me. My veins bulge as my heart begins to beat faster. The walls quickly engulf the empty space of the room, consuming everything in their path to get to me. The desk I sit at begins to morph. It bulges in the middle as if there is something inside furiously clawing its way out. It grows and grows. I can no longer breathe, my desperate attempts turn into heaving. Sweat pours down my face while I choke.

"You are pathetic." I hear the whisper clearer than ever. I hear its anger, breaking the barriers of its voice. "YOU ARE PATHETIC!" It roars at me. My eye's burn red, spit pours out of my mouth as I gasp for the merciful air. My head drops to witness the demonic face encumbering my desk. It screams at me, "PATHETIC!" I can't breathe. My eyes swell. My heart stops. I jump out of my chair screaming as I cry for air.

"ANTHONY! What are you doing!?" Mrs. Leverson shouts. Shock pours over my face as I open my eyes. The classroom is normal. The walls aren't moving. Everyone is back in their seats. I frantically look around as everyone stares at me. I glance at Mrs. Leverson then look down at my desk. The face is gone. "Anthony, if you don't sit down I will send you to the office." I can't believe my eyes. What happened to the walls? What happened to my desk? What happened to my body?

I calm my breathing and sit back down. I force my eyes to Mrs. Leverson, "Sorry ma'am." My head drops down to my desk as the other kids chuckle at my foolishness.

"Freak." One kid mutters under a cough.

"Aaron, that's enough." Says Mrs. Leverson. My rage devours my mind, sending me to a world within my imagination. A world that I am control of, where I am the puppet master, and they are my prisoners.

In the darkness lies a damaged cottage. The siding clings to the building praying gravity won't introduce its doomed life. Withered trees surround this desolate home, the roots that break through the dirt speak of the power these colossal beings yield. The moon hides behind the silhouette clouds, peeking out only its crown to witness the horrific events within the shed. Inside, the concrete floor is frail. The battle between the powerful roots and the courageous flooring was unsuccessful for either party. Roots punctured through cracks in the concrete while the pronounced humps mask the roots hindered by the stone floor. Above the tired flooring hang three fluorescent lights, each shorting out in an un-orderly fashion. Demonic faces are painted on what little sheet rock still hang on the walls. Horns burst out in between the letters that outline the faces, reading 'pathetic.' Sharp teeth emerge underneath a wicked smile. A pure white surrounds the empty black pupils. I witness this vision from above as if I am a ghost watching my desires come to life.

I can see myself standing there. A tall white coat traces my upper body. My hair messily matted down, as if I had just awoken after a long, drawn out, formal event. My face expresses true excitement, yet the feeling of anguish still lingers in the air. My lanky arms reach out toward a decaying woodworking bench. On it lay various tools; a pair of pliers, screwdrivers, an angle grinder, dikes, and a needle halfway filled with a thick red liquid. I grab a flat head screwdriver off of the bench. As my body turns I can see what lies in front of me; it's Aaron. He's lying on an old medical bed that looks like it was stolen from a hospital back in the early 60's. Giant ratchet straps conquer his wrists and legs with no fight, forcing his body against the bed. His head is controlled by a hose clamp, forcefully tightened, it embeds into his skin.

Tears crawl out of Aaron's eyes, contrasting against the blood that seeps down from the hose clamp that crowns his head. He struggles, yet his body is unable to move, hindered by the powerful drugs that delivered him to this horror scene. His screams are muffled by the filthy rags shoved down his throat, barely allowing enough room for air to escape.

"Finally, I am able to destroy all of you who made fun of me." Says my body, "One by one, I'll grant you the gift of insanity." The words ring out, echoing through the small shed. He plunges the screwdriver into Aaron's eye, tearing the flesh that once held his eye in place. He pries underneath the eyeball. Using his other hand, he sticks his fingers into the gaping hole created by the blunt screwdriver, passing through the blood and torn flesh. His fingers pass underneath Aaron's eyeball and pull upwards. The optic nerve severs with no effort, like a piece of paper being torn in half. The satisfying sound of despair is complimented by the blood that gushes out of his eye socket. I watch as my body plays with the eyeball, tossing it into the air and catching it while maniacally laughing. He takes the screwdriver and thrusts it deeper into his eye socket. Twisting as he forces it down. The ratchet straps, unforgiving to Aaron, wear his wrist to the bones as he fights. His pitiful screams are muted as the rags slide farther down his throat. He chokes on his own distress. His mind is the only part of him able to cry for help as the unbearable pain claims the rest of his body. My body removes the screwdriver with haste, then shoves the eyeball violently back into Aaron's eye socket. Aaron's body begs to die.

"You know now what it's like to suffer while they laugh at you!" My body hisses at Aaron as he shoves his hand onto Aaron's throat, firmly choking him. "Can you hear them laughing? The walls. All of them mock your despair! They point and sneer at you as you suffer, just as they did me too."

I can feel the hunger within me grow as I watch this fantasy play throughout. All the pain, all the justification. It felt so satisfying. It felt so right; I love this feeling...

"Hey." My mind goes black as an intruder sneaks into my ears. A shy voice defends my imaginative world and sucks me back into reality. My thoughts turn to rage. Who dares to interrupt my destiny? Who dares to defy me, a man of such capability? The rage blooms as I slowly open my eyes and turn towards the one who sealed their demise.

A beautiful girl. Her golden brown hair, tied in a sloppy bun. Oversized glasses slowly slide down her nose hiding kind blue eyes. Her lack of make-up only accents her smile more, a smile that seems to go on for miles as it makes its way up her cheeks.

"Is anyone sitting here?" She asks.

"N.. No. No, No." I shake my head as my mind attempts to un-jumble. She puts her bag down next to me and takes a seat.

"I'm Hannah." She says. Her contagious smile could turn the ugliest man into a priest, but nothing can turn a demon into an angel. I hate her for ending my paradise. A smirk births upon my face.

 

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