The Mental Patient

Chapter 21 - Everybody's a Bully

RIGOR mortise has set in, plated on my gourmet gurney, I am neither awake nor asleep, neither dead nor alive. I am here, finger-nailing off the walls beige paint. Time has rooted into me, we're in a symbiotic relationship, I need her and she needs me, survival of the wickedest. I alert upwards, both ears radar around to a light vibration tearing throughout my lair. What is this? Is something on its way? My eyes trace down this irritation, it is but a fly.

How did you get in here? Your invisible hum and spine-tickling walk suits your annoyance. The black blotchy beastie randoms around the dulling light of my room, with a dink and donk he head-butts his ceiling Sun.

"You're not supposed to be here, little guy. Do you know where you are? You're just like me, aren't you? You shouldn't be in here either."

I have no uneaten food for you, no linen bed to bring larva forth. Why are you here? On the wall, your nature is mechanical and artificial, I guess, in nature it's the art that fits you. Are you male or female? I'm unsure, but I reckon you are a pesky parasite which deadens my paradise, a demi-clap could axe your life, an early nap, give back my night. From your high form, you dive-bomb, is it because you have my eyes on you and you're being spied on? I sprawl a hand and wap at nothing as your leak through my finger breaks.

"Do that again, motherfucker, I'll squish ya'." Am I really arguing with a fucking fly?

What are you doing, Kyle? Know thy enemy before your enemies gnaw you. Simplify him – He is an insect, with a rotary skull, aerobatic, his or her speed matches a walker pace; I also read somewhere flies help breakdown faeces, now I understand why he or she is here.

"Hey, little man, are you looking and listening? Now, I will introduce myself to your shit spiralling species. I am the breaker of things, the locked door in a house fire, the loose screw of the table and you will not best me, for I am man."

I pick up my copy of the Short Horror Stories Collection, resting quarter naked on my desk chair; I take aim with it, over arm throw at the top corner of my paddock, the book flaps open mid-flight, beating its wordy wings into the everywhere. The fucker escapes; damn it. My eyes exasperate into an ultra-speed rate, desperate to find the bastard, with his size and fleeting flutter, he camouflages into the background. I stand here on the spot, waiting for the fly I know, only when my eyes know. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, show yourself.

There he is whizzing over my bed, I pierce the air with single claps and my martial artist reflexes, trying to catch him in hand like they do in ninja movies. She evades my killer reach, pinning herself to the wall above my door. There he goes goading me, conjuring his next assault whilst rubbing his two front legs together. I need height; I need upper-ground for the upper-hand.

By my desk chairs hind legs, I train it across the floor with a hollowed stutter which bounces off the walls. I position it under my new friend's nose. Can flies hear? I hope not, I don't want him or her to fly away.

I careen on and upwards, hands pushed outwards for balance and more airspace if he wants a sky war. As I am growing up, the cogs in my knees click into place, I take a firm breath in through my teeth, with my sizzled saliva sound Mr. Fly freaks-out and flees.

"No you don't, you little... Oh fuck!" As I swipe at my pester pet, my footing over-exceeds their boundaries, I succumb to gravities ropes and nosedive, down, down, down. When my face crash-lands on the metal bed footer bar, my left eyebrow bursts and out barges my blush being.

"Ahhh... Holy-Jesus-fuck-biscuits..." My hands palm acts as a plug to stop the cool push of pools of plush. As I lay in humble, his hum still humiliates me. With a flat foot, I boot the fumbled chair away from me; I'm blaming my stool, he should have stood up for me. I have been a fool wrapped in a roughshod vortex of dickery and prickery. I've been chasing myself, catch me if you can. The fly is me, and I, him or her. The fly is carrying out their purpose and ideals and when he/she is met with a vainglorious authority who connives to snare your right to prevail, your surmount passes expectancy and the empire falls. This is how it happened.

Metal latches are unclamped and rusted in rushed pushes. Here comes Jake to take the pain away. He roars in through the door, out of breath with his wheezing smoker's lungs. If I knew, I was entertaining guests tonight I would have spruced-up the place, with some decorations, candles, slow-jamming music, strobe lights, the finest of wine no one could wine about, and a mound of cocaine.

He kneels before the prince of sharpness; both his hands enter and disappear into the endless medical purse searching for antiseptic and tourniquets.

"How're you feeling, big man? How's your vision?" He holds a white patch over my eyeball. "Can you see the two fingers I'm holding up, man?" Waving his digits around in my face, I'm mentally ill; I'm not a dyscalculia retard.

"Yeah-yeah, I see them, oh fuck, you left the door open, now he's escaped. I'm fine, I'm fine, help me up."

My elbows stilt up my shoulders and head.

"Hey-hey, come on, Kyle, just lie there, you could have severe internal damage you can't feel or see." His hand shields my chest to block my rise.

"Move! I've had worse than this papercut. Remember, abused childhood. Get off me, dude." My feet find their voice.

Greg's hindquarters and belly blanket the doorway. More orderlies follow suit, I'm outnumbered; I wouldn't have a chance in Hell to assail even one of these saners.

"Kyle, you were lucky Ellen was doing her rounds when she heard the commotion, so please, let us look you over." Greg says. I screw up my face and hope the wind changes.

"Save me? Save me! I think you're a few years too late for that. How about this? Fuck your rescue attempt, I didn't ask you to come save me..." He piggybacks on my train of thought.

"Do you need a time out? Perhaps you have this attitude because you haven't had a nap, I can always make you take medicine that will piss away your day and when you awake, you'll be less pissy. Know your place in here. Do you understand me?" Blood descends down my face, to my jawline, to my overalls, in one straight red line; a red line that shouldn't be crossed.

"No thank you, sir. Please can I have a medical professional to observe my cut?" Good little soldier boy.

"Why, yes you may, Kyle. Jake, you wanna give him the once over? He's fine."

Jake comes to my side, shining lights and testing reflexes. "You're good. Just a bump on your noggin', take it easy in future, okay brother." He strays away with a stiff smile.

Greg and I clench ember eyes. "Everybody out." He chows as everyone vacates my vision. "Sweet dreams. You know what? You're not as bad and scary as people make out. What springs to my mind when I think of you? Smallness or weakness, yeah, that suits you, tough-guy." Sniggering until he's gone with a turned key.

Is he right? Am I small? Am I weak? Wait; stop thinking like that; fuck what that fuck thinks about you; here in our world, his opinions and words have relevance only in the science of silence. I am a glass bottle, say this with me, I can only hold so much until I overflow my crown or break because of the bubbles, this world is filling me up and the outcome will come out soon. Reign in your anger and put your brain into action.