Schizophrenic Outburst

The pitter patter of little feet across the wooden floors echoed down the hall.  It was quiet other than that.  Anxiously my eyes moved from the horizontal rows of words comprising my journal that had less than captured my attention to the door frame.  “Is someone there?”  I leaned forward as if to go cautiously into an abyss.  The journal fell from my lap and smacked the floor.  I heard a giggle.  I paused for a moment waiting to hear it again and when nothing came I let out a sigh and relaxed into the fluff of the purple velvet arm chair.  It’d been occurring more frequently lately that I was hearing things that were not in my scope of reality and I was unsure why or what to do about it.  Boredom stirred it up.  I stood in the door way for a moment waiting for God knows what; I paced across the room about six times when I heard the voice of a small child say “it’s getting worse, you know” in a very sullen way.  I giggled.  To the left of the door was a white table about waist high with three drawers and a shelf, on top of the shelf was a piece of bleached paper folded in threes. 

The walls were white and towering and I feared the collapse of everything around me was inevitable.  Outside everything was decaying already.  I faced the contingency of decaying like the rest of you in a shit heap full of angry midgets and monstrously violent and deteriorating society masked in media addicted ignorance or a controlled environment where all of my basic needs would be met.  From what I gather most of you see this dichotomy differently.  More of a dichotomy like this: A free world versus a selective environment where you are controlled.  Not me.  I realized that beyond that door I would have complete and limitless freedom of self expression.  One foot in front of the other, heel to toe through the automatic doors, with a rather confident stride I rode in there and laid on the floor with my ass in the air and my face planted on the tiles.