Ok so this one was also for school. It was a simple piece of writing, I left open ended as a way to expand on it. Could still finish it and send it around, maybe find a forum to share it on. It was supposed to be revealed that the, spoiler, almost dead man was a victim of the narrators partner. What would follow is a string of lies as he tries to hide the truth. Love my opening though!!!!
They say reality is an illusion. Everything you see, hear, and feel is not real. It's just a series of neurons firing 100 times a second to create an idea of what reality is. This delusion varies from person to person, but sometimes someone's reality varies so much, they look at you, and they call you sick. I am one of those people. I am sick.
It started when I was just a kid. It small things at first, hearing someone call my name, things moving in the corner of my eye, etcetera. It grew worse, and fast, but it was just all chalked up to kids being over imaginative. It wasn't until I ran away from home, that I was diagnosed. The doctor said I was suffering from delusions, and I would have to start taking medication.
The delusions started to calm down from there. After a few medication changes, they have all mostly disappeared. It was nice to be free, to see the reality everyone else sees. I would still occasionally see and remember things that never happened or existed. It let me live a normal life though, a good life.
I graduated college, got my degree and got married. That's where I am now, with my husband Jerath.
“Hey honey, did you get those papers turned in?” my husband asks as he makes his way into the kitchen. Lackadaisical tossing his keys on the counter.
“Yeah Jer, I brought them in last night.” I offer as I continue to chop at a row of celery. Each stroke is fast and comes with little effort.
“Perfect.” Jerath embraces me from behind with a light squeeze, “Are you still sure about this? It's a big decision.”
“Yeah… I think we’re ready.” I offer a quick kiss, craning my head to meet his lips. “Together, we can handle anything.”
“I love you.” Jerath remarks as he loosens his embrace and makes his way to the kitchen table. “I’ll start the reservation process for the venue then.”
“Probably a good idea, this place could barely hold our friends, let alone our families. Plus I wouldn't want them thinking we live in a pigsty.”
“What do you mean?” Jerath asks with that slight inquisitive inflection, the type you get when they don't really care, just asking.
“Well I mean the place might not be a mess, but that stench is horrible.”
“What stench?” Asked now without that lack of care.
“You don't smell it?! I texted you ‘bout it earlier.”
SNIFF SNIFF “I mean I smell the stew, but I wouldn’t call it a stench.”
“Seriously?! It's like one of those raccoons died.”
“Oh...” my husband drawls out “Jake, you're probably just having an episode.”
“No, no this one is real! There is no way this one is a hallucination. It's been here all day.”
“Jake…” He spoke in that tone I hate, the one where he's hurt. This happened a few times before, and it’s always my fault. “Sweetheart, I promise there's nothing there.”
I let out a long sigh, “Okay, but like I said, it's been here all day. It can't be a hallucination that long.”
“Remember the Christmas party of 2019?”
“Good point… yeah, you're right. It’s probably in my head.” It is in my head. It always has been, but it still feels so real.
It has always been hard to tell realities apart. Even when I know they're fake, it's hard to believe it. I see it, I feel it, I hear it, yet it's not real. Our minds are one of the greatest liars. It's hard not to believe them, when they are everything you know.
I pick back up the knife as I continue to chop chop chop away. The amber coloured concoction of rice and meat boils and pops. I grab the cutting board to pour the celery in the angry brew. The knife scarps across the hard surface as plop plob plop. The stew's steamy smell is still overwhelmed by the scent of rot. Then I hear the window clunk.
As I look up, I am greeted with a face of rot. A once round and full face turned necrotic. It rots and droops as the dead shell decays. Maggots infest the wounds, and come crawling out from behind the swollen bloodied eye. The man groans out in a hoarse, agonized voice, “Help me.”
With one step back, my body is suddenly filled with a lightlessness. My body slips back as my leg kicks up. I feel a searing pain sprout up from my foot in an instant as it collides with the hard stove's surface. The crack of the snap echoes through my body, resonating my bones in a pained chorus.
I fell full force on my back. The wind is sucked out of my lungs. I desperately try to suck what I can back in. Now only looking at the hideous rotting face, it continues to moan in its agonized cries as it points inwards. What is it pointing at?! What is it seeing?! Then I see it too, the blade I held comes falling down. I can see the edge, accelerating down perfectly to my eye. I brace myself, for the pain as-