I flopped down on my bed, springs creaking slightly. I hit the play button on my CD player, and picked up the comic I’d just bought – yes, I read comics, judge me. That was pretty much the only reason I went out anymore. I didn’t work, even though I knew I probably should, but in order to do that I’d have to tell my employer about this ‘condition’ that everyone is adamant I have. And I reeeally didn’t want to do that. People tend to change the minute they hear about it. I either get bullied, which sucks, or I get sympathy, which sucks more. I hate sympathy; it just makes me want to vomit, quite frankly. People become fake when they feel sorry for you, and I don’t want that. I’d rather just sit in my room with my music and my comics, away from all the fake people who pretend they care to my face and then laugh about ‘that freaky insane recluse’ behind my back. Music doesn’t judge me, it doesn’t question my mental stability, and it provides me with an escape from the real world. I turned the volume up, so loud I almost missed the knock at my door a few minutes later. I threw my comic down and yelled “Come in, Momma!” I knew it would be her, nobody else knocked on my door. The door swung open, and she walked in and perched on the edge of my bed. The dim light glinted off her blonde hair as she turned her head to face me. “Gerard, honey, please tell me the truth. Are you taking your pills or not?” My fists clenched. “Yes, Momma. I am.” She studied me. “Okay,” she said finally. “I believe you. But please promise me, if anything is wrong, come and tell your momma, okay sweetie?” I nodded without meeting her eyes. I loved my Momma to pieces, but I hated it when she spoke to me this way. Like I was still the five year old she raised. Dad was the same. They always treated me like I was slow, like a kid or something. I knew they meant the best for me, but their condescending manner grated on my mind. It made me feel so… pathetic. They didn’t understand, but I suppose I couldn’t blame them. They’d been fed the stupid story the doctors liked to spill. They’d been worried and scared out of their mind by talk of hallucinations, delusions, paranoia, and the works. Those morons had even told my parents about past patients, who’d been driven to suicide by their mental issues. My family were all so worried for me, even though I knew it was pointless. I wasn’t like those other people, I had no mental problems; I was fine. I told them that constantly, but of course they believed all the ‘specialists’ who told them I was nuts. We sat in awkward silence for a while, before she got up, kissed my cheek, and left. I sighed, and turned back to my comic, but I was once again interrupted, this time by a familiar sound. I glanced up and spotted the source easily. A little girl, about seven years old, crumpled in the corner of my room. Her young age didn’t stop the fear that she brought to me. She was deathly pale, with raven black hair that was messy and fell unevenly around her face. A black dress, like something she’d wear to a funeral, torn in several places. She had scratches covering her paper-white skin where it was visible. She sat there, crying her heart out, face buried in her arms. In the past, I’d approached her, I’d questioned her sorrow. But I knew now that I shouldn’t. It only made her worse. I pressed myself back to the wall against my bed, knees pulled up into my chest, hoping maybe this time she wouldn’t notice me. But of course she did. She wasn’t an idiot. She cried for a while, and then her head snapped up with frightening speed. She looked me in the face, her shocking crimson eyes boring into mine. I cringed back as she got to her feet with unearthly grace, and walked toward me. She opened her mouth, and then she said the words again. The same words she always said, spoken in her guttural, raspy, hissing voice. Words I had memorized. “They’ll get you. They’ll take you, and they’ll destroy you.” I closed my eyes, knowing she’d be gone soon. But, to my surprise, she said something else. For the first time as long as I could remember, she said something else. “They’re onto you already. It’s starting.”

Notes

Woah. I wrote this a couple days ago, and when I just reread it, it kinda creeped me out. I was extremely sleepy when I wrote it. Anyway. So, Gerard has his first 'dream'. Is it okay? I kinda had to make it up, I have no idea what hallucinations are really like. Comment please? I hate to ask, that sounds desperate, but I really want to know what y'all think, cause this plot is a bit, well, weird. Paranoia Violence out xø