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Flash Fiction: Descent into madness

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September 7th:

 

Going on 17 weeks without leaving my appartment.  If it weren't for Quixtar, I'd have starved to death by now.

 

I've decided to take my case worker's suggestion and keep a journal, though I'm not exactly sure what I'm supposed to write.  She said, "Write whatever comes to mind.  Whatever you're thinking."

 

I'm thinking no one is going to read this, anyways.  Who wants to hear about Mrs. Glaston cheating on her husband with that jogger that conveniently runs by approximately 10 minutes after Mr. Glaston leaves for work?  It's like clockwork.  I wonder if he secretly realizes his wife is a cheating whore.  I don't understand how he couldn't, the way she never seems to change out of that sleazy looking nightgown.  Housewives like her make me sick sometimes.

 

 

September 9th:

 

I think I'm going to stop taking my medication.  As I was watching Mr. Reed water his plants, I could have sworn he turned and looked at me with red, glowing eyes.  Perhaps he really is the devil.

 

Oh, and I have a new mailman.  He left my groceries I ordered down at the foot of the steps.  I'll have to call the post office tomorrow so they can let him know he's supposed to bring them to the door.  On a sidenote, what made them go with that bluebird as their logo?

 

 

September 13th:

 

Okay, so the mailman is being a fucking DICK.  I've called the post office 3 times now, and he just keeps stacking my groceries one on top of the other.  They said they talked to him about it, and he told them he would be sure to bring them to the door, but the worthless son of a BITCH has just been stacking them up on my porch.  I watched him through the window the other day, and I swear to God he looked right at me and grinned like a cocksucker.  He knows exactly what he is doing.

 

I think the Denbow's next door might be communists.  I wonder if they realize their daughter is sneaking guys in through her bedroom window and fucking them.

 

 

September 20th:

 

Well, my caseworker stopped by today.  Nice woman, but she dresses a little to scantly for a woman of her size and it isn't becomming of her.  Perhaps if she didn't bathe in that coconut scented perfume she wouldn't come across as so desperate.

 

Anyways, she was nice enough to bring my groceries in for me since the mailman is still being a dick.  If I were to ever go outside, it would be to tie him down and pound sand up his ass with a pipe and hammer until he bleeds.  I told my caseworker about it, and she said this would be a good opportunity for me to "start taking those baby steps towards going back outside."

 

Stupid bitch.

 

At least this will last me for the next couple months.

 

 

September 27th:

 

Since going off my meds, I have come to the realization that Mr. Reed is not the devil, but is in fact just a soldier demon sent up to watch over me until I die.  It all makes sense, actually, because I suspected for a while that the medication was just to supress my ability to see things for what they really are and this just proves it.  He unfurled his wings today when he though no one was looking, a pair of leathery black bat-like wings that originate from between his shoulder blades.  I find it interesting he decided to take the guise of a retired math teacher.

 

The jogger didn't come by this morning.  Mrs. Glaston keeps looking out the window.  I wonder how long it will take her to realize Mr. Glaston killed him and burried him in their back yard 2 days ago while she was at yoga.  I don't know why she bothers going to yoga; their youngest son has been out of college for 10 years now.  She isn't exactly a spring chicken.

 

 

October 1st:

 

My caseworker came by again.  She found out I haven't been taking my meds, and threw a fucking fit.  Fortunately I'm good at cheeking medications.  I don't think I'm going to let her inside anymore.  She passed gas while I was in another room and thought I couldn't hear.  In truth, I couldn't, but I noticed the subtle difference in the way the house smelled almost immediately.  Gross fucking bitch.

 

I've been starting to feel different, lately . . .

 

 

Undated entry:

 

BITCH COCKSUCKING WHORE BLOATED PARASITIC FAT UGLY COW CUM CATCHER

 

Fucking fat ugly bitch took my groceries away when I wouldn't let her in the door and called her a cunt and I FUCKING HATE HER but whatever I have plenty of food to last me I only eat once a day anyways so FUCK YOU YOU STUPID BITCH and I swear if that old man across the street tries to steal my soul one more time I'm going to throw bricks at him from the upstairs window

 

Also, I got a new roommate today.  His name is Jerry.  He was really helpful in talking with me and helping me calm down.  I think he might be gay.

 

 

Entry dated "Who gives a flying fuck":

 

My caseworker stopped by again.  I still wouldn't let her in the door.  When I told her about my new roommate Jerry, she told me Jerry isn't real.  I was half tempted to open the door so I could laugh in her stupid bitch face because he was standing right there when she said it.  She left my groceries by the door the way I like, though, so I don't have to step outside.  Too bad I already reported her for being a slut and stealing them to begin with.  Whore.

 

 

October 25th:

 

I've had about enough of Jerry coming on to me.  I don't care if he's gay, but he needs to stop.

 

My caseworker hasn't been by in a while.  I hope she got fired.

 

Mr. Glaston killed Mrs. Glaston last night and hauled her off in the trunk of his Benz.

 

I had a peanut butter sandwich for lunch.

 

 

Undated entry:

 

Jerry says I should get help.  Says I've lost my marbles.  Says I'm crazy.  He doesn't fucking know a damn thing.  Stupid faggot.

 

I still can't

 

 

October 42nd:

 

I killed Jerry today because the queer tried to fuck me

 

I was tired of him leaving his shit laying around anyways

 

 

December 12th:

 

bd db bd db bd db

 

(Below the aforementioned writing is a drawing of a dog eating what appears to be a stick figure with breasts)

 

 

Undated entry:

 

This will be my last entry.  Some men are at the door, and I think they're trying to break it down.  I've taken all of my medication at once to gain the lucidity necessary to make this last statement:

 

I am not sorry for killing Jerry.  I am sorry, however, for calling him a faggot.  I shouldn't have done that.

 

I'm not sorry for saying that bitch social worker sucks horse cock, either.  I am sorry, however, that I passed an ammount of urine into her bottle of iced tea while she was in the other room on the phone.

 

Oh shit, they're inside.  I wonder why they're here.

Garadain Uploaded 10/01/2010
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