Hi, I’m Schizophrenia. My intention’s to break Theo down. He called himself God. Did you know Theo means God? What a fucking loser.
I wait until he’s focused on something and then I, using his ears, make him hear a voice. The voice doesn’t talk to him, it always talks about him. There are multiple voices, as I like to optimise the impact of the voice with Theo’s preconceived notions at play.
He thought he was tough. I had to hand it to him. Worked out like a soldier, he did. There was no stopping him. But I am more powerful. Though it shames me to admit that he beat me, once. Once when I was at my full influence, my full power.
The Idiot had swam through a fucking river and climbed up snow covered hills. He was even eating the shit! So I invoked a sound. Dogs barking. I wanted him to head over the snow covered peaks.
Darkness was approaching. I don’t think he’d be strong enough to resist the cold. But you know what this bastard did? He chose civilisation over isolation. He lept over barbed wire fencing and ran towards houses, away from the snow covered peaks.
Tried to get him a second time. Made him think, in his sorry arse sodden wet clothing, that people were going to kill him. He jumped out of the pub kitchen window and ran through brambles. I cut him, but he didn’t tire. I couldn’t understand it. He’d surpassed all physical fatigue. He ran like the wind.
He jumped through people’s gardens, over their fences, trying to get away. I chased him to a cliff face. The Idiot climbed up in the wet and cold night, feeling his way over rocks and foliage.
“There are easier ways to get up there!” I threatened, in a woman’s voice. A woman I made Theo think was going to chop his penis off, earlier. He fell off the cliff, and for one glorious moment I thought he was dead. But he twisted in mid-air and caught himself on an outgrowing branch. It’s like there was no stopping him. It was only later I realised he’d called on the help of Archangel Michael. Theo felt he was possessed. I don’t know…
Anyway, so I put this vision, using Theo’s eyes, right behind him. A hooded man. He lept up onto a wall and dived towards a metal post, slid down it like a fucking stuntman. I was angered by this. Theo’s safety is my boredom and my bane. I chased him still.
He ran up to a church building with an electric pole next to it. Shimmied up the wall using the pole like a fucking ninja. Balanced on top of the pole like he was the fucking karate kid. Then he starts shimmying his way along the slope of the wet roof. Climbs up the edge and sleeps, (I’m not kidding), sleeps on the top of the church roof. Just sprawled over the top.
I sent the idea of spirits and ghouls into his mind. Made him think gunmen were going to shoot him. And in the freezing cold he slept. His sleepy brain witnessing a ferry, large and buoyant, over the hills. There was no ferry nor a large enough body of water there. I tricked his mind, using his eyes. He stayed there all night.
I had to laugh, watching him climb down from that roof as the cloudy sky shot light down to his exhausted person. And watching him limp aimlessly, his entire body crunching and aching with every movement, towards civilisation. I cut the pay phones off. Made him walk around a secluded and deserted Mount Snowdon public area.
Finally he got through to a relative. Reversed the phone charges. And I witnessed him, watched him trying not to fall asleep on his feet. Kept closing his eyes, nearly falling. That’s when his family picked him up.
I wasn’t going to give up that easily. My power is infinite. Only now he’s taking these pills. It’s cut most of the connection between Theo and I. I can only do small acts of magic. He’s not listening as closely. He’s not as worried. But I persist, waiting until the next time.
As soon as we can get rid of those pills I’ll have my full power to manifest back. And I’ll wait, patiently grooming him for his own demise. Defeat is on his card, and that card is the ace of spades.
Her hair’s thin. She’s short. Her tits are small.
I snap back to a time of superficial values and shallow comparisons. I’m hardly the catch, now, am I. For the first time in a long time I feel my own hypocrisy, and that’s a good thing.
I’m fat. My teeth are black. I’m balding. See? Doesn’t feel that nice, does it. I wouldn’t have cared at one point. I would have felt above insecurities, better than others. Oh how sweet it is to take the king from the throne by force.
I look back to a time when I was busy, surrounded by smiling faces. Inundated with events to go to, people to see. And I know that was the time of my life.
I’d joined the lion dance team. I was dating attractive women. I’d made friends in kung fu and was deeply enthralled, reading up on and practising exercise routines daily. I was the star of my show, and nothing could detract from that.
Now I live a basic existence. I’m in this flat, I’m alive. What more could I ask for? And to be honest, looking deeper, I realise that that’s just got to be enough, for now. Free of terror, free of the horror of psychosis I sit. I realise I am grateful. Black teeth or not. Disappearing hairline or not. I do feel fortunate.