Experiment in Madness

I've stopped taking their medications. You know the ones. Those giant, powdery horse pills that turn your stool into a thick, coffee coloured paste. But finally, the side effects, like sleep for instance, are begining to wear off.

A most distracting thing, that sleep. All those dreams, giving face to the voices. Dark hallways. Shadow figures breaking my fingers. A woman in the distance, eyes covered, following but never catching me. I deal with most of it just fine, but those teeth. Those goddamned teeth. Just the ends, scratching against my neck, past my nipple. Razor sharp and six inches long, it sometimes seems almost erotic. As I've never wittnessed any jaw or mouth to contain them though, that illusion is quickly splintered. Jump awake, sweats, breath lost to the shock. Yes, I'm most happy to be rid of sleep.

I don't need food anymore either. I know what's being done to it. Slowly poisoning my already fragile system. Drugs before the food. After the food. In the food. They won't get me that way. I just had to eliminate the source. Finding out how they were getting into the cans and jars, supposedly sealed for protection was the hard part, but that doesn't matter anymore. Besides, they have their ways, and they don't think I'm paying attention. Oh, but I am. That's why the pills you see, they want me to sleep and not notice what's going on.

They even tried to drive me mad. I can't tell you how they did it, but I came home and my key didn't work. Well, that certainly wouldn't do. So I snuck into the building when a delivery driver was let up. I would have buzzed myself, but I wasn't inside to answer the call you see. When I tried my apartment door, a woman I've never seen before answered, kind of. The chain was on. But I'm crafty you see, I pretended to leave. Then, after breaking into the janitor's room, I showered and changed into his coveralls. Not a bad fit really. Little tight in the crotch, but what's to be done? The best find down there was a pair of bolt cutters lying behind the furnace.

I went back upstairs to my apartment and knocked again, keeping my face hidden by the brim of the cap I found sitting beside the bolt cutters. This time, when the door began to open, I quickly used the cutters on the chain. I must admit, I didn't expect two different screams; the woman's and the baby's in the next room.

I started screaching at her: "What are you doing in my home, you fucking bitch? Who let you in here? Who changed the lock?"

She was yelling back at me in what must have been Atlantian, so I made a connection between her temple and the corner of an end table. I almost feel bad for that, that table must have been sixty years old. Then I was off to silence the brat. I'll spare you the details, but it's truly amazing what you can do with a utility knife and some electrical tape. Sufice to say, it's going to be a very long time before that little shit makes any kind of noise. That is unless I left the window open. Did I leave the window open? Too late now, doesn't matter.

Going back into the living room, I grabbed the woman by the hair and hauled her gravitationaly challenged body into the kitchen. I'm not trying to imply that she was fat, just that dead weight is a bitch to move, but move the bitch I did, and after lifting her into a chair, I secured her to it.

I wanted to ask more questions, but there were no answers, hell, there wasn't even a pulse. Too bad really, I was quite looking forward to showing her the tongue of her son. I had it in my pocket you see. Sorry, the janitor's pocket.

Anyway, thinking that I may have made too much noise, I figured I should work fast. What would the police think, I wonder, if they found me in my apartment surrounded by someone else's furniture, a dead woman in my bath tub (shaved from head to groin) and a mobile in the nursery made out of a toddler?

I still wonder what they thought, but none of them will tell me, they just force me to take the pills they bring.

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