Something I wrote to day coz I was super bored. I know it is rather reminiscent of The Matrix, Conspiracy theory and Read Or Die, but I kinda like it. I doubt I will ever do anything else to it, but meh, ‘waddya want for nothin’? A rubber biscuit?’ [from the blues bros.]
Paranoid confusion is knocking at my door again. But I’m not gonna let him in this time, I’m just gonna cuddle my noodles, and bitch about him on the ‘net, until he goes away. Then I think I’ll bitch some more.
the_druid: You'll never guess who's bugging me again
rayman23: You're right... Who is it?
the_druid: That guy from #17.
Rayman23: If he bugs you so much tell him to scarper.
the_druid: Tried that. It doesn't work.
Rayman23: listen, I have to go to work tomorrow. I'll catch ya later yeah?
the_druid: Shit, its that late already?
the_druid: Wait you can't leave me! What am I going to do about Mr. Paranoia?
rayman23: How should I know? Sorry hon. I have to go.
rayman23 has signed off.
I gaze around my small, dark and rather crowded apartment. Books, manuscripts, CDs and DVDs stacked everywhere complete with used dishes and dirty clothes. In case you were wondering why, I'm a librarian for an on-line university. One day, I tell myself I will fix the light so the whole place is illuminated and one day I will tidy and wash the dishes and do laundry. I push my computer chair back. And pigs will fly.
I carefully make my way to the door, and, making sure the chain is on, open it. A slice of light detaches from the hallway and make its way grudgingly into my apartment. Silhouetted is the figurer of my neighbour across the hall, Jacob Stevens.
"What is it Jacob?" I ask bored already.
"Ms Amber? Ms Amber, can I come in?"
"No Jacob you can't, and how many times do I have to tell you, don't call me 'Ms'?" By the way Jacob has Asperger's Syndrome. "Just tell me what you want."
"Well, Ms Amber, umm, you remember what I told you about my friends? When you came over last? And what we talked about?"
Yes Jacob, I remember only too clearly. Call me a softy, but I go round sometimes with a shop bought cake. We spoke at length about certain feelings of unreality he experiences. I thought, when he started talking, that it was part of his condition, but as he went on, he started saying things I could relate to. That he felt like he was really in a box even though there may be miles of space around, that he touched something and there was no texture. Stuff like that. He said he had these friends who helped him. Again I thought that these were part of his paranoid fantasies. But this time, I wasn't so sure.
"Yes I remember. What of it?"
"They want to meet you. They're waiting. Down stairs." He paused. "Please?"
Well, what do you all think?