Paranoia

A Tribute to Self-Esteem

There's a body in the ceiling. As the water runs over my skin, hot and calming, I can feel it waiting, about to burst from the white powder and fall down on me, an arm, and a head, bloody at the forehead with eyes rolling back into the skull and lips stretched wide over bleach-white teeth in a hideous grin. The arm will have streaks of blood running down it; the fingernails will be torn and jagged from trying to claw away from whoever killed it.

After all, why wouldn't there be a body in the ceiling?

On the bus to school, we're about to swerve off the road, trying to avoid another car. The sun will blind the driver and he'll jerk the steering wheel, noticing too late the flash of new silver coming right towards him. I'll hit my head against the window and my teeth will shatter and I'll be bloodied and broken, forgotten under a side of bus, with no one to think to look for me.

Why not? It's just as likely as not.

At school, people are following me; I see the same ones around every corner. It's a conspiracy; pretty soon all of them will gang up on me, they'll shout and pull at my hair, steal my homework, spit in my face. I'll try to run away, or to fight, but neither will work because there's so many of them. And then, later, my math teacher will tell me flat out that I'm stupid.

What's to stop them, anyway?

At lunch, I'll move from group to group, never quite comfortable with anyone. They'll laugh at me after, wonder why I'm standing all alone. I've deserted my friends and that makes it my fault, but I haven't made any new ones, and that too, is my fault. No one will approach, no one will ask if I'd like to sit with them, save out of pity, and only then so they can get a closer look at my face, if only to laugh, and then forget ten minutes later when an invisible bell rings.

Not like they have anything better to do.

On the bus ride home, I'll yell at my driver for never being on time. He'll yell back and tell me to get off the bus. I'll refuse. We'll fight, and he'll hit me. Of course, we go to court, but there everyone wonders why I've brought up a rape charge, why the witnesses all testify to something that never happened, and suddenly I'll be the talk of the school.

It could happen.

At night, I settle into bed, calm, comfortable, assured in the knowledge that my parents have kicked me out of the house, and wait for a faceless man to jump out from behind the curtains and hide me in my bathroom ceiling with a bloodied head and only half a forearm.

Fin

A/N: Concrit is highly welcomed; this was written very quickly and initiaitlly, I like it quite a bit. Not sure what I'll feel tomorrow.