Me, Myself, and Madness

          At two in the morning I'm watching a show about ghost hunters. It's more about three idiots with cameras.
         On the screen, one of the men says to the ghosts in the house, "We are calling to the spirits in this house, to use our energy and use it to hurt us, or communicate with us, or something."
         I shake my head, stunned by their sheer stupidity.
         "Those guys are just begging to get possessed."
         As soon as the word 'possessed' escapes my lips, the room changes.
         The two lamps that are illuminating the room fade from a brilliant gold to a revolting green. The whole room is now bathed in their green glow.
         I gasp as I turn in my chair, scanning the room for anything that could have caused this sudden change. There is nothing.
         I start breathing fast, and I can feel my heart threatening to burst from my chest.
         I look through the room a second time, jumping at every shadow. They seem to move, to dance across the walls. The putrid green light hurts my eyes, and I feel like I'm going to throw up.
         I stiffen as I feel a new change in the atmosphere. I slowly turn to the T.V., waves of terror convulsing in my stomach.
         On the screen is someone I hate. Someone I fear. Someone I know the best... and the least.
         It is me.
         Wilder hair, a crazy glint in her (my?) eyes, but me nonetheless.
         I scream and fumble with the remote, trying to change the channel. But every channel is the same. It's all me.
         Behind me on the screen is a room also illuminated in green. It looks like one of those interrogation rooms from one of those crime shows.
         Television me smiles.
         The smile shows layers of anger and madness I have never known of before. The sadistic grin is that of insanity and darkness, of diabolical destruction.
         “What do you want?” I ask, keeping my voice as steady as I can.
         Television Me starts to laugh. With every second of laughter my head feels like it is being stabbed with nails of iron and the horrible sound reveals a whole new world of darkness and blissful insanity. It’s too much. It’s too much!
         “What are you!” I cry, putting my hands over my ears and shutting my eyes, in a futile attempt to close out the sadistic shrieks of laughter peeling from the television.
         “I am she and she is me,” it says, giggling.
         “What?” I ask, shaking.
         This time, she gestures wildly. I notice that on her left wrist is an old, rusty broken shackle. Like she had escaped imprisonment.
         “I am she and she is me!” she repeats, annoyed.
         Maybe she has escaped from somewhere.
         “I am she and she is me?” I whisper, shuttering.
         “Ah!” she cries, ecstatic that I seemed to get whatever it is she is saying.
         “You are me,” I say.
         The room darkens. T.V. Me gestures with her shackled hand. Go on.
         “You are… my madness. My escaped madness,” I croak. I feel cold tears streaming down my face, though I don’t remember when I started crying.
         Madness- that’s what I’ll call her- has a look of smug content on her face.
         “Not just that,” Madness purrs, her- my- circled eyes gleaming evilly. “I am your hell; your fury.”
         I choke back a sob. This thing is me. This is what I have hidden deep inside of myself, until even I have become ignorant of it.
         Madness smirks at me. She rests her hands on the sides of the screen. What is she doing? I wonder numbly. Then she climbs out of the television.  She climbed out of the television. And she stalks toward me.
         “What?!” I scream, backing up against a wall.
         Madness corners me and presses me against the wall. The dark light in the room shadows her face so that I can only see one of her glaring eyes and the edge of her smile. I try to strike her, but she grabs my fist with an iron grip, and I can feel my bones crack. She is me. She knows every move that I’ll make.
         She wraps her cold fingers around my neck. Her eyes gaze into mine, and I see the depths of her evil are endless.
         So this is what it’s like to be consumed by your own insanity. I think as black patches smear themselves across my vision.
         With horror, I realize this will be the last sane thought I will ever think.

         Now there is only darkness.