My living room is proof of a non-existent tornado strike, and I’m laying horizontal, slowly becoming a stationary component of my recliner. I haven’t been to work in so long. I haven’t left my house for what must be at least a week. I still have the stench of cold, dry blood on my hands, though the stain is gone.

My food supply is running low. Not much left to eat. There’s a carpet of wrappers and nut-shells that secrete a stiff odor into the air, and with the windows all boarded up (excepting the one) it’s gotten quite stuffy in here. The air falls in around me like an extremely light but stubborn gel. The content of the room is like a slow moving cyclic solid, its dull resistance slowing all activity, mental and physical. It’s depressing.

I’ve totally lost track of time. The TV’s glow blurs the difference between night and day, and I don’t really care enough anymore to notice. I feel like I’ve been half-asleep for as long as I’ve been here. I wonder if I’m going to be found out. Of course I am. These days, staying inside alone for longer than a day is more than enough to convict. Whatever’s odd needs to be punished. But I guess that makes sense. I’ve totally destroyed any life that I may have had by simply procrastinating my reputation away.

Spreading like a rabid fungus, the bottles, wrappers, trash, old food, vomit and piss begin to annoy, depress, and soon anger me into a cold stable frenzy that exponentially builds up inside of me. I feel energy.

The TV begins to lose its reception a bit, fuzzing up the picture and buzzing in my ears. The reception goes in and out exiguously, developing a phase that speeds up as each wave feeds me a visual build up and release, build up and release. The noise seems to be throbbing though my head. I attempt to rise, at least to find out what the hell is going on, and more importantly to stop it. In response, the waves disappear, just like nothing happened. The news is on.

I lean my head back to rest in the deepness of my chair and soon I’m back in a less than conscious state: too rested to sleep and too hopeless to move. A commercial catering to the low-level common-denominator Mr. Public ends with a high-speed slur of hidden catches and warnings, and focuses my attention on the fools that are going to have my head. How did I lose control to them?

The TV pumps out stories of kids killing kids, bomb threats to schools, serial rapists, campaign promises and mass murders, all disrupting the common person, making them trip over each other in effort to get "away." It’s disturbing seeing them all run around like the statistics they’re supposed to be. While individuals can be anything, you have to admit that the general populus is a disgrace to God.

Slowly the phasing of the TV creeps into the back of my head again. In and out. In and out. It seems to grow as I near sleep. In. The phasing frequency speeds quickly this time and with it rises the volume. And out. Soon there is a huge pulsing static pumping through my head, and my body is unresponsive, I can’t move, and the volume is presently much higher than I would normally suspect my TV to be able to handle. Pulsing. Fast. In, out; wave after wave; contract, release; contract, release; contract, release.

All I see is that gray I saw before. All I feel is this pure blue-gray. Pure blue-gray. All I see is this color. The color of consciousness, The color of me.

Click.

The TV turns itself off and I’m back… in control. I look around the room and feel as if I just woke up. I know where I am; it’s all familiar, but it’s all new. It’s all different. It’s all real. Clear and defined. Like curved glass.

I’m staring into a bottle. All the other crap on the desk seemed to part from it, and it was all at once so incredible, so relevant. It’s curves are so impeccable; it’s form complemented by its substance so perfectly. It’s a ripened image, an immaculate idea. It’s shattered completely.

I didn’t touch it. I don’t think anything did. It just shattered, and little glass slivers fell to the ground in a mess. Did I do this? How? What’s happening?

A knock on the door snaps me back into perspective. This has got to be it. They’ve come like a mob to kill me. I suppose this is as good a time as any, though. I’m hallucinating. I think I’m done in anyway. I want to see them. Slowly I redirect my consciousness to my body, and a tingling from reinitiated blood flow floods over my body. I look at my hands: I’m shaky. I do my best, and with a bit of effort get out of the chair, stumbling over myself as I regain physical awareness. I pull back a little of the foil that lines my window, and peer out to see them, but it isn’t them. It’s him.

He was supposed to pick me up and we were going to go do something. Perhaps this is my chance to return to life, return like nothing happened. What kind of a mess am I in? Do I look normal? Would going out raise or lower my chances? Jesus Christ! I’m naked! I fumble around for clothing in a hurry, get dressed, and answer the door, hoping for salvation.

He looks distraught, but then again, so does everything to me right now. We go through the normal greetings stuff, and I follow him out to the car. In an attempt to look normal and not-guilty, I try to strike up conversation.

"What are we doing?"

"You’ll have to wait. You’ll see when we get there," he answers, then silence returns. That didn’t really work too well. That’s okay, though; we don’t talk that much anyway. I shouldn’t overdo it. I feel a tension coming from him, and decide to look outside. It was clear, and the drizzle gathering on the window smoothed everything out into a cool blue-gray. Even in their boredom, the people outside look so much happier than I’ve ever been. I want to be like them: normal. Being all boring and ignorant doesn’t sound that bad, you know, once you compare it to this. I could be like them. I’ll fit in. I’ll turn my life around.

My friend looks at me, so I look back, and I can tell there’s something wrong. His face is distorted with a cerebral strain, dismal and sad, so I turn away to avoid staring. I center my vision straight ahead, and everything fades to gray.

He’s going to commit me like you do a crazy person.

I don’t know how I do, but I know. These are my last moments. I’ve screwed it up for too long, and I have no chance to change, at least not for the better. My envy for the people outside turns to a hatred. Look at them all, totally unaware of the fact that their society is putting me away. Look at all those idiots. They don’t even know about my secret. My secret. They don’t know and they never will. They don’t know how dangerous I am. I’ll have to show them.

A woman in a deep red dress catches my eye. All the other people on the street seemed to part from her, and she was all at once so incredible, so relevant. Her curves are so impeccable; her form complemented by her substance so perfectly. She’s a ripened image, an immaculate idea. I’m going to kill her.

Onward, to Part Crap! No! Go back! Go back!!