Mostrando las entradas con la etiqueta crazy. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando las entradas con la etiqueta crazy. Mostrar todas las entradas

martes, 1 de diciembre de 2015

Smoke and mirrors

   The sound was loud and insisted on staying. For a moment, it seemed they were really ringing at the door but it happened to be all in the dream. The sound was horrible, louder than anything he had heard in the past. He wanted to wake up but couldn’t until he forced his body to answer to his command. It hurt, like peeling of a Band-Aid. The sound then stopped and he felt he was back at his bed but the truth was his own brain had deceived him. Unable to get him out, it had just transported him elsewhere.

 First, he seemed to be sleeping in something similar to a bed but then the feeling fade away and he started falling and falling and falling through consecutive holes in a deep blackness of his subconscious mind. He felt the wind on his face and his ankles but did not worry. Somehow, he knew that he would land softly somewhere, eventually. The area kept changing color, sometimes being red and other times black again.

 Again, he felt he had woken up but this time he knew it wasn’t real. He hadn’t landed anywhere, instead having appeared in a grassy field with small hills and nothing else in sight. Then, the sky changed and it became nighttime and in the ground a forest had sprung up to life. He automatically entered the forest and hoped to find a proper exit to his dreams from there. Maybe there was a door or something special he had to do to end all of this nonsense.

 He felt trapped in a world similar to the one in Alice in Wonderland but the difference was that Alice’s world was at least funny and interesting. His dream world was seriously boring next to it. Having realized he wasn’t able to wake up by his own will, he tried to change the world he was in but all he could achieve was to make some flowers appear. As night had fallen just minutes ago, he could barely see them so he tried to change night back to day but al he could do was getting the sun stuck in the sky, casting an annoying twilight all around.

 Walking became harder as his eyes had to be covered because of the light. He walked as if he had become blind in a second, touching everything he could and doubting every step he walked. Then he reached a cliff and had to stop moving. But that didn’t change anything: he still slipped and fell, again falling through holes and for a long time.

 Then, he actually woke up for a moment and realized he was very warm beneath his blankets, so warm in fact that he had been sweating a lot. He removed his short in a moment and fell fast asleep once again. Surprisingly, he wasn’t wearing a shirt either in his dream. Apparently his subconscious liked the idea of being shirtless so much that it had put him in a tropical setting, which he appreciated.

 People he knew were all around: his family, some of his friends, even people he had never been very familiar with. They were all in the beach, playing volleyball or laughing or splashing water to others. It was a small paradise and the sun felt real on the skin, on his face. He wished the dream wouldn’t end but he knew that wasn’t possible, not even if he died in his sleep.

 He stood up and walked down the beach, smiling at his mother who was attending to a younger him and then watching how many of the guys he had dated were casually talking in a small group. They all smiled at him and waved their hands and he knew it was very strange but still waved his hand and smiled too.

 There was a pier he hadn’t noticed before, made of cement pillars and wood planks on the floor. He walked slowly on it, feeling the wood on his feet and the warmth of the sun on his cheeks. He really wanted this to be real, to be the world he lived in. Not only because of the beautiful setting but because he didn’t feel any worry, he didn’t feel he had to do anything. It was just perfect.

 At the end of the pier there was a man, taller than him and shirtless too, that looked at the ocean. All he could see of that person was his back, which didn’t look bad at all. And as he saw him, he realized he knew who he was and that he had to talk to him, to see his face and to hug and kiss him and share his life with him and cherish every single moment they were able to be together.

 But just when he was able to touch the man’s arm, the scene changed and the guy was behind him, with his arms around him. He had no idea why, but he wasn’t compelled anymore to see his face. Maybe deep down, in some other level of consciousness, he already knew who that person was or at least what he looked like. Maybe that’s why he didn’t mind turning around and stop watching the sunset beyond the perfect blue ocean. It was the first time in his life he finally felt at home.

 As it happens often, his body chose that exact moment to wake him up. He opened his eyes sad, frustrated to know all that had happened was a lie and that there weren’t any arms around him hugging him, making him feel alive and safe. He turned his head for a minute, realizing it hadn’t been his brain that had woke him up, it had been the rain in the window. It was very dark outside and he knew he had some more hours to sleep, after all it was Saturday the next day so he wasn’t precisely going to wake up early for anything.

 This time, it took him a while to fall asleep, as he kept analyzing what he had seen in the dream, trying to remember more about the man in the pier. But his mind finally let go of the thought of someone that didn’t existed and just surrendered to the few extra hours of sleep.

 This time, he ran through some destroyed street. There were bricks all around and graffiti on the wall and he felt he was in some serious thing because he couldn’t hear anything besides his feet stomping on the ground. He finally stopped running and went up some stairs, to the second floor of a typical movie motel. He had never seen one of those in actual life, but he had seen so many in movies and TV series that his brain must have design it from similar memories.

 He entered a door on the second floor and locked it. The room was all done in a clear ‘70s style, with the orange and brown curtains smelling of pot, silky sheets on the bed, furniture in gold and silver and a TV set with no remote control. Everything was on point and he knew, again thinking of himself as asleep, that he had seen some place like this one before. He was sure of it.

Suddenly, someone entered the room and he just had seconds to run to the window and jump towards it. Whoever was behind him had starting shooting and his only option had seemed to jump through a window. He landed on the pool below, which was rapidly tainted with his blood. He had no idea how but he managed to get out of the pool and run down the street again. His body was aching but he had no idea where it hurt exactly. He just ran, preventing more damage.

 Out of nowhere, a neighborhood of tall skyscrapers and perfect sidewalks appeared in front of him. He entered the closest door, which happened to be a department store. He went up one floor on the working escalator and sat down by all the men shoe section to check his body. Only one bullet had hit him, on the right thigh, but it didn’t really hurt. He cleaned the wound with a shirt he grabbed from a table and decided to look for supplies or at least something to eat.

 Common sense drove him to the lower level of the department store. The supermarket was there and he suddenly felt very young and happy. He grabbed a cart and started grabbing various things he had eaten throughout his life: cookies, beverages, fruit, vegetables, cooked meals that smelled delicious, water and even deodorant. He went around with his shopping cart, happy about life and all it had to offer.


 Then, the man from the pier stood in front of him. He knew it was him, even if he couldn’t see his face. The man had been the one firing at the motel and this time he wasn’t going to miss. He had him in his hands and one last horrible thought crossed his mind: “What if I really died here? What if I never wake up? What if this was all a trap?”

jueves, 25 de junio de 2015

Crazy shit

   Everything had been put into place, every single document had been acquired, and every single detail had been on point. Nevertheless, the consulate had decided not to give Richard the visa to go and work in Canada. He never heard a reason why he had been denied the visa, only that he could challenge the decision with the Canadian justice system but that could take, at least, three months, time that he didn’t have. When he notified the company that had offered him the job, which was the reason for his trip, they didn’t really say anything. Days later, they said they couldn’t guarantee the job to be there in three months so they “advised” not to go ahead with the challenging of the consulate’s decision. They backed up from their proposal, after so much praise and kindness, and eventually choose someone less of a problem.

 For Richard, that was it. He hadn’t had a job in his life. This was going to be his first shot at anything and in a foreign country! But for some reason, it didn’t happen. At first he was just shocked and disappointed, mainly because he had spent so much time and money in order to get the damn visa. But the days passed, and he started to feel worse. He lost his appetite and wouldn’t come out of his room, not for dinner, not for showering, not for anything. Slowly, Richard had descended to a depressive spiral of which he did not know and didn’t even want to get out. He kept thinking about the reasons why this hadn’t worked and blaming himself was the only way to make it all have any sense.

 Days passed until one-day Richard’s father had to topple the door, only to find him lying in the ground, barely breathing. He had cut himself several times on his arm and was bleeding profusely. They called the paramedics and the staff at the hospital was able to stabilize him, not before he had lost even more blood. He was week for several days in which many of his relatives, the kind that are never there but come flying back just to see what has happened, visited him as he was still in an induced sleep. When he finally woke up, he became violent, demanding to take everyone out in the act or he would repeat what he had done before.

 His parents only cried and cried and did not much else. As he had woken up already, he was given painkillers and some others medications to keep him calm but they did not seem to work a lot. He would refuse any food or anyone coming in being falsely nice. He didn’t really want to live anymore and he didn’t want people to be fake near him, it bothered Richard a lot when all they had were kind words that they didn’t mean or lies to calm him down. He stayed in the hospital for several weeks until it was decided he would be better off in a psychiatric facility, where they could try to cope with his behavior. Their parents cried again and did nothing else and he wasn’t surprised.

 The day he got transferred to the sanatorium, they didn’t even try to say goodbye or to be there. They just disappeared leaving only nurses and unknown people behind. Maybe it was for the best because any familiar face made Richard unstable and prone to violence. His cell, or room as they liked to call it, in the sanatorium was small and with just a tiny window to look towards the garden. The view was nice because there were lots of flowers and birds would come in the morning. At least that had improved from the hospital, were his window faced a wall. Even his room at home face a fucking wall, so it was difficult not to like this room better, even if it meant taking lots of drugs and just looking out the window a couple of hours a day.

 It was only after a week that he realized that, since he had been taken to the hospital, he had never spoken to any friend or anything like it. Which goes to show you how people are. Some run to see the train wreck happen and others just avoid it completely, even denying the whole thing. Anyway, it was best that way. He made a couple of friends in the sanatorium: a kid who had tried to jump off a bridge because his mom had punished him for being gay (he showed Richard his scarred back one day) and a girl who suffered of some weight related problem. She was very skinny and would always look like a ghost gliding all over the ward. There were a lot of other people in his area but they were all pretty harmless. But sometimes they could hear people from the other ward, the most dangerous one, yell or howl or do some kind of noise that would make everyone nervous.

 People there, on the other side, were really crazy. Richard thought he was crazy but he had realized those other patients were just above that. They were people who had killed others or who were just absent from reality. It was a pity though because no one really deserved to be there permanently. Although Richard had settled fast and liked to be around his new friends, he knew that living there permanently would not be as fun or enjoyable. During lunchtime, every single person would have a story about one of the patients of the neighboring ward. It was kind of a tradition to sit down and just tell stories about those others that were there with them. It was easier than talking about personal issues.

 Some said there was this lady who had killed all of her children (the number varied depending on who told the story). They talked also about a guy who used to be a butcher and had gutted a client because he had paid only in coins. There was the serial killer of pregnant women and the men that had just gone insane in an elevator, killing at least ten people with just a pen. The stories were gruesome and more often than not the guards would come and break the meetings off in order no to let the patients get too excited over a bloody story. But the gathering was a tradition and they only interrupted when too many were involved.

 Besides that, Richard got to have sex with the gay kid, who also happened to be obsessed with sex. Richard didn’t identify himself as gay but it had been so long since he had done anything with anyone that he didn’t really care. Apparently others did care because he was sent to the infirmary to get tested for HIV. Luckily, the gay guy wasn’t positive so nothing happened, but Richard refused to have sex with him again. Although for him oral sex wasn’t real sex but whatever. The guards, again, didn’t really seem to mind if patients visited other patients in their rooms. They only intervened if violence was imminent, whether it was against themselves, others patients or even the security staff.

 The funniest thing was when this rather big girl decided to jump on one of the guards because she had heard him called her “fat”. Everyone laughed and cheered on for the girl but the result was that games and entertainment were cancelled that night after dinner, so everyone had to be behind bars in their bunks, looking at the moon like Richard or howling at it like the prisoners in the other ward. When something like that happened. Richard felt strangely alive. Somehow, those crazy fuckers made him feel alive, more than anything or anyone had made him feel before. Yes, they were insane and dangerous but he felt close to them and he could have conversations with them, even with the gay guy when they were not… You know. It was great to feel like he belonged somewhere, even if it was in such a place.

 Then, after some months, his family came for him and it was the worst day in a long time. It was crazy to think he wanted to stay there but he felt he couldn’t be himself again if he just left them all there. He decided to get the email addresses of every single one of them and he gave them his so they could chat anytime and just be there for one another. It was a sentimental moment, a real one, and then he left. As the car left the premises, he realized that his life wasn’t over at 27. He had no idea of what to do with his life, that was certain. And he now had something to explain in every single job interview or even in dates.

 But he thought of it as something fun. Maybe he would end up being a failed human being. But he wouldn’t be the first or the last. The honest thought he had as he entered his room was that he didn’t want any of the shit that people had always wanted for him. He didn’t want the usual silly love or shitloads of money or paying job or any of that bullshit. He just wanted to feel needed, to feel that someone cared and to experience life as everyone should. He wanted to feel the world around him and just live to experience it all and not to submit himself to slave labor.


 So he just started writing. He wrote everything that had happened to him in recent times. Every single story, every single kinky moment in the sanatorium’s bathroom, every crazy thought, every suicidal decision. He wanted to sum it all up and just do something with it someday. But that day hasn’t come yet. Someday, though.

viernes, 22 de mayo de 2015

Conflicted savior

   The botanical garden was a large peaceful place where people did picnics and took pictures of various flowers and butterflies. Families and couple came because it seemed like a nice place for them to bond. So when David and Katherine entered the premises, it was obvious they hadn’t come to appreciate the flowers or bond over anything. His jacket had bloodstains all over and they looked fresh. She had several cuts on her face, one very deep and slowly bleeding out. They appeared to have come from a battle zone and the botanical garden did not seem like the first place to think about when hiding.

 As if they had picked up on how strange they looked to others in the gardens, Katherine grabbed one of David’s hands. But this didn’t help at all. It was more obvious now that ever that they didn’t have any kind of relationship. They were holding hands as if they were grabbing a freshly caught fish.

 They enter the largest greenhouse and there they were able to rest for a while. People seemed too be more focused on the beautiful colors and insects than on the couple that had come in. Katherine touched her face and noticed the blood whereas David took off his jacket and turned it around. It looked kind of funny but it was better than displaying blood all over the place.

 But still, that did not help that much. After all, David was dressed in his usual attire, which meant tight jeans, suspenders, black polo shirt and red boots. Yes, David was a skinhead but, as he explained to everyone that cared to ask, he was not the “bad” kind of skinhead. He just liked the ideals, the real ones, behind all of it. He was used to people staring at him everywhere he went but now wasn’t the time to be noticeable. With his jacket’s sleeve he cleaned some of the sweat from his almost bald head (his hair was very short).

 Katherine, on the other hand, was a bit older than him. Not enough to be his mother but old enough to be a grumpy older sister. But they weren’t related and had just being together at the wrong time and the wrong place. As a matter of fact, they did not know anything about each other, except a mad man was chasing them. Katherine grabbed her phone from her pocket and checked some things very fast. After all, it was her tool of work. She was a very important part of an advertisement company and she knew her boss was probably wondering where she was.

 After all, she had just left to pick up some photocopies that were needed in the 5 pm daily meeting. Although she thought her work was important, it really wasn’t. She was basically and errand girl, running around with coffee mugs and photocopies and various folders. Her main task, after all, was classifying every document the company had in order for their main archive to be in order. She just liked to think it was important because after turning thirty, every job matters as if it was the best of the best, even if it’s obviously not.

 The couple picked up the pace, went all along the inner path of the greenhouse and got out of it on the other end. Fortunately, they noticed there was a different exit than the entrance they had used earlier. In a very hush voice, David told Katherine the best thing was to go to a police station and tell them everything that had happened. They would provide security and the mad man may be even apprehended for following them. But they hadn’t seen him since they had entered the gardens, so maybe he had just gave up. At least that was Katherine’s opinion.

 They walked slowly, following a brick path through a forest of palm trees that lead to the other exit. Katherine stated that it was probably best of they each left for home and just let it go. David looked at her as if she had lost her marbles and didn’t even reply anything. If they separated, he was going straight to police station. Maybe they wouldn’t believe him, it had happened before. But after the mess that man had caused, it was going to be very difficult for the police not to believe him.

 As they got closer to the entrance, they realized two things: the man was on the other side. He had apparently not seen them yet but he looked oddly calm and controlled, very different from his display at the stationery store. The proof was that both David and Katherine started to tremble as soon as they had seen him and hid behind some bushes. The woman then agreed that they had to get to the police so she took out her phone but wasn’t able to dial because someone kicked her hand. It was the mad man.

 He looked enraged but controlled. It was very scary to see such a normal looking guy with so much evil in his eyes. He was holding a gun with a silencer and told them that he would shoot if thy screamed. He then advised them to stand up and walk in front of him, slowly. He would put the gun away but advised them not to run away or he would pull it our fast and shoot them both in the head before anyone could catch him.

 Katherine and David stood up and complied. The group came out of the botanical garden as if nothing was happened but anyone that would noticed the twitching in David’s eyes or how sweaty Katherine’s hands were, would instantly now that something strange was happened. As the man had told them, they walked in front of him slowly, just as if he was a friend and they were there with him. But they didn’t even talk so the image was even stranger than one would think. They crossed the street and the man told them to board a red car that was parked on the sidewalk. They looked at each other before doing what the said.

 Inside, the car was incredibly hot and the leather seats were not helpful. The man boarded too and put the gun on the dashboard. Soon, started the engine and he drove, without telling a word to them. He looked straight to the road, not moving his wide-open eyes for nothing. It had to be said: he was a very good driver, even letting old women cross at the corners and cleverly avoiding buses and trucks. He didn’t look like the man they feared.

 A couple of hours earlier in the stationery, that man had been waiting for some photocopies too, or at least that’s what it looked like. Katherine had come in because of work and David had to pick up several pages of a book that he wanted to read carefully. He had just begun the career of social studies at the university and wanted to nail every class to be the best social worker he could. Each one of them was there, minding their own business. It was when two petty thieves entered that it all went insane.

 Those two attempted to steal the money but, in the process, hurt people all over the store. They pushed Katherine towards a glass structure, which broke and cut her face and shoot a little boy and his mother, whom David tried to help when the men weren’t watching. It was when one of them tried to drag one of the girls that worked there to a storage room, that the mad man acquired his nickname.

 Without even hesitating, he pulled out his gun and shot one of the guys in the head. His body collapsed right there, for everyone to see. He then ran to the storage room and grabbed the other man by the hair. He had his penis out but hadn’t raped the girl, who was lying on the floor, crying. The mad man put his gun on the thief’s mouth and pulled the trigger. Everyone screamed. Then, people thought an even crazier man had rescued them and that they could go. But, what was his business there with a silenced gun?

 The man was aware people were scared of him and decided to take Katherine by the arm. She had been helped by another woman with her wounds but the man stopped that. He took her as a hostage because, in his mind, people had turned against their savior. David tried to talk to him and even got him to say a few words. For a moment there, it seemed he understood what had happened and that if he released Katherine nothing would happen to him. Everyone would say to the police how much of a nice man he had been by saving that girl from being raped and all of them from being hostages.

The man released loosened his hands and Katherine took that moment to step on his foot and run outside. David, stupidly, followed her. And now they were hostages again, in his car, going who knows where. The man didn’t say a word until they had left the city. He took the car through an open field and then parked right in the middle of it.


 He came out of the car, taking his gun with him. As he walked on the moist grass, he looked up. Some stars could already be seen. Then, he pointed the gun to his head and shot himself. The couple in the car where just to scared to scream.

martes, 20 de enero de 2015

Hate

   They all hate him. I know I do. He acts all perfect and many people around here think he is just that: perfect. I bet he hide so many thinks beneath those stupid smiles and acts of kindness. No human person is like that; we all act of cowardice or shame but never just because we are good. We just want to be it so bad we go to great lengths to transform in those idiotic beings that just spit positivity.

 He’s a fake. I just know it. He gave everyone a present on his floor last Christmas and even organized a party for them, dressed as Santa Claus. And people danced around him like dogs under the hypnosis of a really good trainer. It was disgusting how they looked, as if they were in the presence of God himself or at least one of the many saints. And he even acts the part, always helping and doing and being all over the place.

 Was he fat as a kid? Or did his parents maybe hate him? No, of course not. That wouldn’t have happened to him. People said that he would speak of his childhood often, remembering how it was all easier. Ha! Easier than now, when almost every single idiot in this office building treats him like his a deity? I doubt it. He must have been one of those insufferable jocks, full of himself, with everyone cheering around just because he looked like some guy from a magazine.

 I always try to get away from people like that. All they do is treat people like the stupidest of pets, making them do, as he wants. He doesn’t even have to ask, which is even more revolting. They just do it, as if getting the reward of his smile was more than enough to feed their children or pay their bills. I’ve heard them, women and children worshipping him in the elevator, talking about how kind and sensitive he is.

 People will believe anything if they want to, even if it kills them. They’re not smart enough to feel, to sense. I laugh in my head overtime they organized that annoying secret valentines game. They always try to pull me into that and, once, I almost agreed to do it. At the end of the day, I’m not much more smart than they are and I do work here with them. But then they spoke of how that stupid fuck was organizing it all. So I just said no and left for my house.

 Days after that I ran into him. He smiled to me! As I was a friend or one of his dogs. I just got out of the elevator and went to the bathroom, as I had no need to stand more than a minute in the presence of that cheeky smug smile, expecting me and anyone else to do the same. I want him to know that we’re not all enthralled by his physical appearance and his effort to be liked by everyone.

 He wants us all to like him? Then he should behave like any other of us, just work and shut the fuck up. We don’t wanna know about his colorful life full of beauty, and style and drama that’s only dramatic to him. Of course, he has been employee of the month so many times, no one even asks anymore about the picture they take when you win. They even said he asked fro the pictures to be removed, as he didn’t want to be disliked.

 Funny he said that, if he did say that is. Because I don’t dislike him. I don’t. Don’t ever get me wrong there. I hate him. I fully and truly hate his guts. I hate his smile, I hate those pictures of everyone’s holidays they put up once on the company’s Facebook page. Of course he was on a beach somewhere half around the world, tanned and his body ridiculously fit and lean. It was obvious that he was perfect in every fucking sense. And I hate that.

You may calm me resented or that I envy him. Maybe, I would not know if that is so. What I do know is that a fucking hate that guy and everything he stands for. He makes people feel less than they are and then he just greets them and think that will make everybody feel better because, like the Pope, he stretches the hand of all those less fortunate. And those poor devils do think that they are his friends just because he smiles at them or because they hear one of his stupid little stories.

 I’ve gone to the doctor, the shrink that is. Believe me, I’m not happy thinking about that guy every day in the office. So I went to see one of those doctors and he says I’m obsessive and I’m looking to deep into it. He tells me I should just leave it at that and live for myself. But I can, I have explained to him. How can I have time for my own when I have to go to that damn floor everyday and hear him make one of his lectures to people.

 That doctor doesn’t know I feel ill, sick to my stomach every time I hear that man’s voice. Many people say you can’t really hate, that it takes something really strong to feel that for someone. I tell you, I didn’t take a lot for me to feel what I feel. And it is hate, and I hate that feeling too. I have a life, not much but I do have it and I don’t want to spend it thinking of some male model that parades around.

 He hypnotized me once, that doctor. I thought the idea was stupid but I let him do it, as I wanted peace for once on my mind. He said, after I woke up or however you name it, that I have dangerous tendencies towards criminal behavior and that I have deep problems rooted in my brain. Fuck, what an idiot that doctor is. I could have told him that myself, awake and for a cheaper price. Of course, I never went back to see him. I don’t need people charging me for telling me the obvious.

 I want to kill him. That’s what the doc meant. And I have thought of it many times, carefully. I do it before I go to sleep or when I daydream at work. Some days ago he came to my corner and asked me for some papers. I wanted to throw up, right there. Sick isn’t it? Then, as I reached for the papers without saying a single word, I imagined punching him to his death. How beautiful would he look like with blood all over his face?

 This is not good. I know killing is a bad thing, that’s obvious. But what can I do? Every single time I see him, that strange rush invades my whole body and makes me feel like I could really do it. You know? I’ve thought several ways to do it, all of them fun to me. Of course I don’t share this with anyone. People would overreact and say I’m mass murderer or some shit like that. And the truth is I just want HIM dead. I know if I do it, I wouldn’t do it again. No need to.

 The day after he asked me for those papers, I decided I would follow him to his house. Why? Easy: before he dies I want him to tell me what lies beneath that entire perfect surface. Because, as you know, I don’t believe for a second all of those nice little details about his life and how he loves everyone and so on. I know there must be something really rotten below all that beauty. There always is. No one is perfect in this world and, the better the cover, the nastier the secrets.

 So I followed him down to the basement, because he’s one of few that comes work by car. And then it struck me: it doesn’t matter. His life, what he has or hasn’t done. I don’t give a fuck about that. What I really care about is the image he gives to the world. He might fuck children, kill whores or spread STD’s. I don’t care. I care about that fake smile he gives to everyone he meets. I want that finished.

 Yesterday, I almost went for it. I went to the bathroom to pee and he went in to and went for one of the stalls. We were alone. He was whistling. The rush came back and I knew that was the perfect moment. I could strangle him myself with my hands, seeing his soul leaving his body and his smile finally disappearing from his face. But when I decided to do it, another man came in and I just went out, breathing heavily as if I had been running.


 Then comes today. The guy announce to everyone, as if he was the president, that he will be leaving us to pursue other endeavors. I almost went crazy when I heard about it. But then, I relaxed. My life could get back to normal and I could make all these thoughts go away. Him leaving would be my cure. And the only person that would ever know about this all would be me because here, inside my head, there’s only me. And I’m thankful for that.