Claustrophobia
The alarms buzzes. Six thirty. 1960. Monday morning. The man groans, smacking
his head as he rises from his slumber. The blow reverberates, mimicking the
throbbing pulse that was tearing his mind asunder. Rummaging through his
garments, he pulls on an old, worn-out, grey sweat shirt. He pours a large cup
of steaming coffee and begins the day.
The man returns to the grey,
infinitesimally cramped cubicles that mimic the bricks in the wall that encloses
the building. No space for privacy, no space to breathe. Lunch consists of
bread and milk. Times up, return to work. Endless filing and analyzing legal
documents. Eight thirty, he goes home, alcohol assists in relieving the
repetition of his everyday life. The liquid runs like quicksilver, tearing down
his throat, launching him back into his sleep.
Tuesday morning, he goes about his
usual schedule, waking up, pouring coffee, going to work. He notices a co-worker
staring in his direction, he turns toward the co-worker and the stares are
diverted. After work, he notices the same man walking behind him. Beat. Beat.
Beat. His heart thunders. There was no doubt in his mind, the man was following
him. He felt the knife he keeps tucked into his sleeve but dismisses the
incident as superstition and drowns his worries
Wednesday morning, he sees the man
on the bus to work with him, heart racing, he continues his monotonous cycle of
everyday life. After work, the man follows him another day. He ducks into a
shop as he watches the man pass by. The question “why” thunders as he struggles
with his predicament.
Thursday morning, the rain beats a
pattern on the sidewalk. The man notices his co-worker stalking him around with
obvious malevolent intent. He resolves to end it. Ducking into an alley way, he
waits for his stalker to pass. He leaps out; slashing his coworker’s limbs and
torso. Panic. Everyone runs for their lives as the man ran, cackling as he
ravages his co-worker’s chest.
Project MKULTRA. 2:00 AM, 1953. The
patient shudders and wakes from his dream. The warden looks up in shock, the
man hadn’t moved for 10 years now. A grim smile slowly cracks the man’s chalky
white face as scarlet blood trickles from his mouth.
I like how the man goes crazy and convinces himself that his "stalker" is a threat. Strong diction and good use of imagery.
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