Inspiration Part 1

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man suffers a burst of inspiration due to psychosis, that ends in tragedy.

Submitted: January 08, 2008

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Submitted: January 08, 2008

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? Winston laid down on the couch and stared into the ceiling that to him seemed to be much more. His mind conjured many things from the comfort of his own living room. He enjoyed his escape into nowhere, as he did it often. Winston was a thinker. He figured so many marvelous things in his head, it was all he lived for, but things would stay put, him and his thoughts, never to be shared with the world.
?
?He was relaxed and deep into a provocative thought, but his dreamy silence was broken. He heard the squealing and laughter that was native to the children. They lived next door and he found the noise to be displeasurable. Their pesky ruckus shocked him from his daydream. He blinked slowly, coming out of his haze. Sitting up, he found he was rather stiff. He'd been on the couch for some time now. He stood and stretched. He stared lazily at the television. He was in no mood to do anything. The cumulative stress of a lifetime was building to unsurmountable heights. A peak to high to climb and conquer.
?
?He turned on the T.V. and heard the droning voices and the idea of people diminished to mere pixels danced in his head. Mind numbing as it was, it didn't take his mind off things. He tried to absorb himself in the show, but the TV's blaring screen soon bored him. He heaved a sigh and forced himself off the couch and into the bedroom. Life was rather dismal nowadays, and things weren't getting any better loafing around the house feeling the way he did. If he'd had a hobby he'd love to be doing it now, but he had no hobby to speak of. He needed to go for a walk. The sun was setting and the temperature was dropping to a chilly forty degrees, but he needed it all the same.
?
?He stepped off the porch into the crispautumn air. His bogged down brain was refreshed by the natural atmosphere. His shoes clicked against the road as he strode onwards. He tried to unburden his mind and for a moment he found peace. It was something he had not felt for many years, that singular moment of sanity. Unfortunately it was to be the calm before the storm.
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? He had recently fallen into a trench of depression, that wasn't letting up. Winston had been medicated some years ago for all sorts of strange symptoms of a diseased mind. He knew that insanity had been creeping and conquering his mind in times since past but he hadn't had any trouble with such things in years. He took the medicine faithfully everyday, but two decades had gone by, and he'd been okay. He was doubting if he really was reliant on the medication anymore. He was unsure of the consequences of dropping the dosage entirely, but nothing had occured in so many years and he was feeling confident in his decision.
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?He found his way home, head buzzing. He stepped out of the air that, being so late at night had turned frigid, and into his house. He made his way into the bathroom. The lights, the mirror, the medicine cabinet. He shuffled through the cabinet. The desired medication now sat at the counter. He stared into it and through it as he decided what to do next. Did he dare? He knew he was supposed to take it. After all he'd been feeling really bad lately, and maybe the medication was at fault. The episodes had ceased long ago. He was better than before.
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? Before he knew it, the medicine in question was swiped carelessly off the counter, and into the garbage. That was that. He was seated in a plush chair from the living room, and was fixated on the painting that hung above the couch. It was a painting he had picked himself for it's beauty and color. He had an appreciation for the creativity and dedication that went into any craft, though he was never blessed with the creative gene. He was envious for it and his lack of talent was his final thought before drifting off to sleep.
?
?The dreamworld was ominous to him. Lines were no longer lines for they moved about him surrendering thier stationary roles. Dark and light clashed and the air was heavy. His rapid heart and shallow breath grew at a steady pace until a psychedelic splendor of horror flashed before his eyes. He shook and spasmed, weeping until all was calm once more.


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