Psychosis

Another day in hell, he thought. It had been a year. Busy year doing nothing except getting fired from job and the stereotypical decline of his mental health.

From cyanide to nuclear radiated earrings. From human trafficking to the drug operation of the whole world.

Who knew that with the technology to control the climate of the whole fucking planet it would only take about a month to set things in motion to fix globalwarming.

The running joke. in his head of course. was that every and all of the other intelligence agencies… in the world. We’re in his computer watching.

You would say their job is to keep humanity safe. But shit changes when they decide you’re not human. From water to internet, supposedly human rights, taken away.

How water? It’s a beautiful thing of science, called H bomb or 25 as in Christmas as he called. It was a wonder of science at least as he understood it, it changed the chemistry of the body to weaponizes the hydrogen in water making you thirsty and wanting more water which would then poison you more and dry you more which would then make you want to drink more water. The “antidote” used to be electrolites but they might have taken a page from their book and use a lower dose of 25 to make you buy more Gatorade.

even his own family poisoned him lol why? because of a book mostly. they all hacked him and stole the stories sold them to people to say they were the writers and when his book came out he was the fraud lol but they forgot about a website with dates of all the stories he posted. Of course the book has more than 100 stories and the website doesn't.

But it was more than two years writing every night even with them fucking with the autocorrect and the whole fucking internet so that he couldn't post.

anyways they didn't leave him alone so he posted on his website sinking absolutely everyone because it happen right in front of the fucking face of "the law" and non of them did shit.

He wrote angrily in his website as he had done for a long time. Writing in his notes app and then posting the best stories on the website.

Then he felt it, the sudden pressure and pull of the what ever it could be that changes thoughts and deletes memories to stop him from writing, their last resort so that the story didn’t get out.

It’s a throat a voice said in his head. As he felt the cut on his neck. You will be garbage if you don’t stop. Said another voice.

Garbage as they call it is when they put you inside of someone getting tortured. every pain they feel you feel it too but from your bed.

He wrote thinking about the decline of his own health and how that could be the pain.

The best of the worst part started when he decided he’s had enough and thought pill would be the solution. Prescribed antidepressants of course.

He started to call the voices behind the voices “echoes” and right as he got prescribed medicine one of the echoes said take two.

This send him into a spiral of analysis that the pills he was about to take that night were not really for his health.

Writing in hi website alone was an act of rebellion as every secret written and posted is paid with a cut on the throat or poison. usually not lethal enough but bad enough to send the right message.

the food at home wasn’t safe and he found himself smelling every inch of food at the house to see if he could smell the poison. To his misfortune his mom saw him smelling food and asked him.

Without any other option than to tell the truth he told her that he was thinking the food was poisoned.

the next day or the next one after that, its all a blur to him, his dad got sick. electrolytes he thought is what his dad needed because is what he himself was taking to that point.

The day passed and he got informed, through echoes at work, that the now antidote was also poisoned and his dad was better off drinking water.

it’s all a blur because it could’ve been one day or a week. Time stopped passing the way it should after the one night where garbage was about to get a lot rougher.

How can it be rougher than getting tortured? I’m not sure but that night after more than a month of being garbage. in a panic he resided to end his life.

A bottle a booze and sleeping pills all at once and when that was not going to do the trick fast enough he went downstairs and grabbed a knife.

Frantically cutting his arms and a specific spot on the his where he knew there would be arteries.

to His luck or bad luck depending on how you see it the knife was dull and now it didn’t even live scars.

That knife after cutting he put his short back on and passed out from the deadly cóctel.

The next morning he woke up with an “oh no” because in his dream he had just been in a car accident.

it was a weekday. St Valentine’s Day he got up and got ready to go to work, after all it would’ve been too much to explain to his parents that he had just retired to kill himself the last night.

The computer was death and the phone as well so that meant he had to go to the office. he plugged in the phone at the car and left without breakfast because he was going to be late.

In the car he saw the first shadow, in the back sit of his car a man sitting waiting. He saw the man through the rearview mirror of his car as he made his way to work.

At work two more shadows danced behind him reflected in the black parts of the screen. “he saw ….” Said one of the echoes as the woman behind him arguing with someone despaired.

There were a few more faces and bodies moving but then the shadows took one shape a hooded figure that got closer and closer until it put a hand on his shoulder.

It was lunch time and the office felt dark a feeling he could not explain but he knew it was time to go home.

At the tail end of winter the day ended early and that night a the figure was back.

His room was full of people that only he could see faceless and shapeless except for this one figure. a dark shadow that grew as he turned off the light to go to sleep. The figure moved around the room until it was floating above him and right when it was about to touch his face he grabbed it with a hand.

The smoke coming out of his hand the small pricks in the palm of his hand let him know he was not going to be able to hold it for long.

So he ran to the patio door and moved his hand as if throwing it away from the house. he saw the shadow take a different shape outside and closed the door.

When he turned his mom was at the dinner table working on her computer and with a glance over the glasses he smiled awkwardly and ran back upstairs.