Locked in my Mind with my Delusions

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Warning: Literally what the title says. It's me letting you into my mind and revealing my Delusions. Thanks to all those who've fed into them. NONE OF THIS IS REAL! All in my psychotic little mind. (Meant in the best, most non threatening way possible)

Submitted: June 18, 2017

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Submitted: June 18, 2017

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It isn't real, this place. It only exists in my mind, and that's a terribly dangerous place to be. It's only the one room. Sometimes it cold and damp, sometimes it's warm and sunny. It's always kept locked, tight and secure. There's only ever one visitor. I wish they'd stop coming. It's usually at the most inopportune times of the day. There's no sound until they're at the door. They watch as I draw on the walls. I have black ink. Black ink and blank walls. Not always blank, just when I need more space.
 "I love what you've done with the place." That velvet voice murmurs.
 I don't turn. I don't want to see them. I've seen that face enough now, and each time, the butterflies assault my stomach. I shouldn't feel like this. This isn't right. I pretend not to hear the sweetest voice I'll ever know. They laugh, low and gentle. I hear the lean frame leaning against the bars. Why should I be tormented so?
 "Are you not speaking to me, Darling?" They ask, almost purr.
 "Give me one good reason." I retort, just as civil as they've been.
 "Who else have you got here?" They ask, indicating the lonely cell around me.
 "Bob. Bob likes pancakes and running with scissors." I reply, and right on cue, Bob the stick man races by; silver scissors preceeding him down the hall, a white patch over one eye.
 "Ah, right." They state, watching Bob's progress. "You know, you probably should give Bob a new hobby." They point out. Damn their Eton educated mind.
 "He still has the one good eye." I state, sounding like a stubborn child. They laugh, somehow finding my response adorable.
 More proof, that's all that is. More proof that this isn't reality. Of course it isn't, they'd never speak to me otherwise. I sigh with vexed impatience. Why did it have to be like this?
 "What is it?" They ask quietly.
 "You're here." I reply. "Would it do any good to ask you to leave?"
 "Maybe if you asked nicely." They say with a small laugh that sends my heart fluttering.
 I finally turn, trying and failing to brace myself for the sight of those damnable eyes. Eyes that will always haunt me. That's not even including the smile. They're leaning against the bars, just as I thought, the long elegant arms looped through and folded casually. Oh god did they look magnificent in jeans and that sweater. From my vantage point on the floor, they're taller than the Frost Giant they portray.
 I stand and approach the bars, they hold out their hands in a gesture of friendship. I take them reluctantly, feeling electricity in my blood as the long fingers wrap warmly round my hands and wrists. For a moment, all is quiet. Well except for Bob racing back down the hallway. He now has a pancake skewered on the scissors. They seem to be searching for words as they gaze down at our linked hands.
 "Why do we have to meet here?" They ask at last, looking up with a thoughtful expression.
 "Does it matter? You aren't really here anyway." I retort, a hint of bitterness in my tone. "I've merely conjured you up in my psychotic little mind." I add, leaning my forehead against the bars, keeping my stinging eyes down. "This-" I squeeze the fingers. "Isn't real. This isn't you. This is merely the idea of you. People have knowingly and unknowingly fed into my deleusions...God, I hope I don't become Annie Wilkes..." They laugh involuntarily. "I'm serious..." I protest weakly, but I can't help a smile myself.
 "You could leave." They murmur, their breath hitting my face and sending me reeling. "Why do you stay here?" They wonder, forcing me to meet their eyes.
 "It's safe." I laugh. "It's...my comfort-zone...I'm in control here." I bite my lip to stop talking, a tear slips free from my eyes. They wipe it away with exceeding gentleness.
 They produce a key from their pocket and hold it up. "Come on. Unlock the door and let's leave." They whisper beseechingly.
 "You don't get it." I laugh, somewhat wildly. Shouldn't they be smarter? Eton, after all. "This-Isn't-Real." I stress each word. Why couldn't they understand. "You can leave all you want...you'll take my damn heart with you when you go...how is it possible that-...it doesn't matter." I'm rambling, staring at the silver key. I take it, staring at the way it glints in the light. Making a decision, I cross to the window and hurl the key through the bars. Turning back, I see they're wearing a look of complete shock.
 "Why-? You...I-" They stutter as I curl up on the cot, careful to keep my back to the door. "Explain yourself." They demand, revealing the anger which seemed so odd coming from so sweet a person.
 "I want to be in here. I choose this solitary cell over..."
 "Me." They supply. I let a sob escape.
 "You aren't real." I whisper, more to myself. My fingers rake through my hair. "You aren't really here...this isn't real." My eternal mantra. "Please leave." I beg.
 "Say that like you mean it." They command in a low voice.
 I let out another wild laugh. "You know I can't do that...just...please?"
 There's silence for several heartbeats, then I hear them slowly walk away. It doesn't matter. I know they'll be back. They always are. I wish they wouldn't come back, but I loathe the thought of them staying away. This is my hallucination, my rules. I've gone too deep into my own mind. I've become ensnared with a fantasy, and now I'm in hell. How can anyone willingly suffer this? To offer out the one sacred thing you have...to have it taken away and unrecpriocated...unknowingly of course. None of this is real. This is all in my head...and that's a terribly dangerous place to be.
 


© Copyright 2017 C A Sechler. All rights reserved.

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