Reality

Reality?

What is reality? Reality is that which man can comprehend without losing their sanity. I have lived my whole life to this motto and everyday my own sanity is questionable. My story begins when I was a child or so I believe for the events described are not relatable to any beast or man on this earth. And as I type this story, your role is to think me as just a narrator but I will try and put as much detail in the story for you to think I stand beside you, telling the story. Know that these events happened to me and not the author. And on that note, I begin the tale.
One Monday afternoon, as I returned from my prison, or school, I passed by a friends house to say hello. I stayed there a while, for my friend, his name was Jason, wanted to show me his collection of toys. After an hour there, I remembered that I had to get home, so I thanked Stephen and his parents for allowing me to stay there, and I was on my way. The day was starting to merge into night. As the sun hid beneath the horizon, my heart knew something was wrong. I began to hurry home. And when I finally reached my doorstep, I reached for the knob and as I began to turn it, I heard the piercing shriek from the inside.
I stood, for what seemed to be an eternity, there trying to comprehend what had happened. I slowly opened the door. And I peered inside, and what I saw both brought me horror and sorrow. The image of my own father holding a .22 caliber down his side, laughing. Laughing, laughing at the lifeless doll of my mother. He turned his head slightly, only to realize that I had witnessed his madness. He raised his hand and aimed his gun at me, and slowly pulled the trigger. What happened next describes the step between sanity and reality. The bullet traveled at me, for my father the bullet traveled quickly, but for me the bullet traveled as if it were a slug. Despite its speed, I couldn’t move. The knowledge that my father had just shot at me, froze me. And as the bullet reached me, I knew that not one person can hold their life in their hands, only the lives of others. The bullet sent me flying through the door frame. And I lay, bleeding and dreaming, there until the paramedics came. If only. If only I would’ve come straight home, I could’ve interrupted the event, or maybe not.
Five years later, I had recovered from both the shot and the shock of the incident. I had learned that my father had escaped the scene of the crime. And this drove me to and fro between insanity and paranoia. Will he come for me? Will he kill me and my friends? These thoughts tormented my head for a long period of time. I knew it wouldn’t be long for him and I to meet once again, but I wished for it to be much later. I lived alone for most of my life through the fear that “he” might return. I didn’t want anyone to be hurt because of him.
Everyday I cry for my mother and pray that I will avenge her murder but I couldn’t until the night of January 15th, 2009. Allow me to set up the story; I’m on my wedding day with a girl I had met only three months before. We loved each other like no other couple could have loved. And I was dressing into my suit, and preparing to walk down and join with the girl of my dreams, whose name was Tiffany. For the first time in my life I was happy. I wasn’t paranoid, I wasn’t insane. I was perfect, and so was she. Skip ahead to the ceremony, she and I are standing together allowing the priest to continue his word of both warning and blessing. Then came the “I do” part. I hesitated not, and said it with more passion than most would ever dare. She had said it so sweetly, I was sure I had died and drifted upon the gates of heaven.
And the priest finished and said the words that finally banished the insane and paranoid me. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.” He gestured at me and pointed towards my new wife and soul mate. I kissed her. I kissed her more passionate than when we were dating. We were together forever and so began our new journey.
I will skip ahead to two years after our wedding day. We have two children both of which are twins. And we named them Christine and Jesus (pronounced Hay Zeus). I loved them all and they all loved me. We were the happiest family in the world. One day, I came back from work and when I reached the doorstep, I reached for the knob. I turned the knob, when came the shriek form the inside. Then it all came back to me. My old self came back.
I opened the door and saw my father with a deranged look upon his faced. He was holding the same gun that he had held on the day that he killed my mother. I knew someone was dead. I just didn’t know who. He laughed, laughed harder than when he killed my mother. He didn’t aim the gun at me, this time he threw it at me. His demonic body shook as he spoke, “Oh, come on son. You didn’t think I would forget to congratulate my own son on having such a ‘beautiful’ wife and two lovely twins.”
My father had come to “congratulate” me. Lies, all lies. I know him. He came back to erase the evidence that he had ever killed. This was the only thought running through my mind. I tightened the grip on the gun. I started to laugh! This laughter was not mine, I know this much. His face showed puzzlement. “Look, ‘dad’ as much as I wanted to invite you to my wedding, I knew you would be busy. So I decided against it. But now I think it’s time for you to go.” I aimed the gun at his head with the same precision he had aimed at me before. I pulled the trigger. The bullet whizzed at him and struck in the spot I had aimed for. He fell, dead. Dead as stone. I searched the house but it seemed no one was there. Then I remembered that my wife and the twins always hid in the closet in the twin’s room. I ran there, and I got the relief of a life time. They were all there, Tiffany, Jesus, and Christine. None of them were injured. But then I spotted something, something rather peculiar. My body was there. I had shot myself. But I’m right here. What is going on?
I turned and saw the paramedics enter the room, and take my body away. I awoke days later in the asylum. And scribbled upon the wall was a message. A message that described the events of the years before. I could not believe what I was reading. “Note to myself, I killed my mom and went insane thinking it was my dad, who had done it. I then shot myself because I had a hallucination that dad had shot at me. Years later I married Tiffany and had twins, Jesus and Christine. I then went insane again; thinking dad had come to reclaim me. I fought against myself and beat myself up. I grabbed the same gun I had used to kill mom, and shot myself in the twin’s room.” Oh no, how could this be? I belong here. I belong here, forever.
The story ends with me recollecting my memory. Tiffany still visits me because she understands me. She understood what it meant to go insane. We loved each other. And we still do. And so concludes my story, reality has fooled me. I couldn’t comprehend it and so I lost it. Hopefully, you the reader can hold on to it. Never let it go.