senseless
03-12-2009, 07:06 PM
A quarter after midnight Jake lay awake alone. Grotesque, disturbing thoughts ran through his head like speeding bullets. Things like this were becoming increasingly common for him as of late. The thoughts were indescribable and unwanted by Jake, but he found it impossible to rid himself of them. He had thought about seeing a doctor, but in his slump he lacked the motivation, or even the funding to do so.
“Oliver,” he whispered to his roommate in the darkness of his room, “Oliver, are you awake?” After about a minute of silence he decided that Oliver was rightfully sleeping. He had worked all day and deserved his rest, but Jake felt an increasing need to talk to someone. “Oliver,” he whispered a little more forcefully, “Oliver!”
“Hmm? What? What is it?” the now roused Oliver stirred. “I just fell asleep, what do you want?”
“I don’t feel right, Oliver, I feel like I’m alone, man. I feel like I’m freaking out.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Oliver responded to this unsuspected, rude, and awkward awakening.
“I don’t know. I feel like I’m losing it, you know?”
“No, not really,” Oliver responded now a little more conscious, “Go back to bed.” Oliver was used to Jake’s odd self, as they had been best friends since their youth. Ever since they had met, Jake was a little ‘off’ as Oliver could so kindly put it.
“I don’t think I can, Oliver. I feel like my mind is melting. I feel like I’m insane,” Jake suddenly jolted up, his voice getting increasingly more frantic, “Man, what’s going on?” Jake started to breathe heavy and his insanity rose at a rate so quick that Oliver had little time to react. “Oliver, man, what’s going on? Where are you?”
“Dude, Jake, chill the f--- out, you’re starting to scare me. I’m right here. Did you get drunk or something before you went to bed? You’re acting drunk as hell. Just chill the hell out and lay down before I call someone.”
“Who? Call who, man? Call the f------ police? Call the f------ hospital? Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” Jake cried back at his best friend, offended at what he thought was a directed threat. “What’s your problem, Oliver?” Jake continued his voice now beyond recognition, distorted by the hysterical shake it now owned. His voice was now so frantic, Oliver fully intended to pick up the phone and call for some sort of help.
“Jake, I’m calling your Mom, you’re not right. Are you on drugs, bro? Why didn’t you tell me anything, you know what that s--- can do to you, man. I’m calling your Mom,” he shouted at Jake as he reached for his phone.
“My what? You’re calling my what? Is that a new joke?” Jake laughed ludicrously, his mental health seeming more unstable by the second. “You aint gonna call s--- if I can stop you, I’m not crazy, man, you’re f------ crazy, now drop the damn phone before I do something you don’t want me to.” At this last statement Jake ran into the kitchen, flicked the lights, and grasped a knife, during which time Oliver took Jake’s phone and called his Mother. “You on the phone, Oliver? Huh? You on the damn phone because you don’t want to live with a psycho? Huh? You think I’m a psycho, Oliver? Think I’m a psycho do you?” Jake yelled at the top of his lungs now walking closer towards Oliver, knife in hand.
The phone rang for what felt like ages before an answer. “Hello, what's the matter?" She asked who she thought was her son.
“This is Oliver and your son is acting insane," answered the man on the phone whose voice was instantly recognized. "He’s shouting about how he feels alone or something. I don’t know, there’s too much to explain and I’m really scared and I think you need to come to our house now,” Oliver explained through shaking words, “He's run into the kitchen and grabbed a knife, but I don't know what he's going to do with it, I'll try to stop him, but I think you need to get here quickly."
“Oh dear God,” the mother whimpered. She was terrified and confused at the same time, as if she couldn't quite grasp what Oliver was telling her
"Talking to my mommy Oliver? Telling her how sick I am, telling her that I need to be picked up from day care because I'm being a naughty little boy?" Jake belted out a maniacal laugh at this statement as he raised the knife towards Oliver's chest. "I hate living with you," he said, barely a whisper. And then, as though Jake had been waiting to do this forever, without a second guess, he slid the knife into Oliver's heart.
The phone dropped, and the mother had heard every last word, and was now barraged by the screams of pain she heard through the receiver. She didn't know what to make of the situation and rushed towards her son's house. When she arrived, she already knew what to expect, and indeed got it. There, lying in a slump in the kitchen was her son, impaled in the chest with a kitchen knife, and a blood soaked phone lying next to his hand.
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“Oliver,” he whispered to his roommate in the darkness of his room, “Oliver, are you awake?” After about a minute of silence he decided that Oliver was rightfully sleeping. He had worked all day and deserved his rest, but Jake felt an increasing need to talk to someone. “Oliver,” he whispered a little more forcefully, “Oliver!”
“Hmm? What? What is it?” the now roused Oliver stirred. “I just fell asleep, what do you want?”
“I don’t feel right, Oliver, I feel like I’m alone, man. I feel like I’m freaking out.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Oliver responded to this unsuspected, rude, and awkward awakening.
“I don’t know. I feel like I’m losing it, you know?”
“No, not really,” Oliver responded now a little more conscious, “Go back to bed.” Oliver was used to Jake’s odd self, as they had been best friends since their youth. Ever since they had met, Jake was a little ‘off’ as Oliver could so kindly put it.
“I don’t think I can, Oliver. I feel like my mind is melting. I feel like I’m insane,” Jake suddenly jolted up, his voice getting increasingly more frantic, “Man, what’s going on?” Jake started to breathe heavy and his insanity rose at a rate so quick that Oliver had little time to react. “Oliver, man, what’s going on? Where are you?”
“Dude, Jake, chill the f--- out, you’re starting to scare me. I’m right here. Did you get drunk or something before you went to bed? You’re acting drunk as hell. Just chill the hell out and lay down before I call someone.”
“Who? Call who, man? Call the f------ police? Call the f------ hospital? Do you think there’s something wrong with me?” Jake cried back at his best friend, offended at what he thought was a directed threat. “What’s your problem, Oliver?” Jake continued his voice now beyond recognition, distorted by the hysterical shake it now owned. His voice was now so frantic, Oliver fully intended to pick up the phone and call for some sort of help.
“Jake, I’m calling your Mom, you’re not right. Are you on drugs, bro? Why didn’t you tell me anything, you know what that s--- can do to you, man. I’m calling your Mom,” he shouted at Jake as he reached for his phone.
“My what? You’re calling my what? Is that a new joke?” Jake laughed ludicrously, his mental health seeming more unstable by the second. “You aint gonna call s--- if I can stop you, I’m not crazy, man, you’re f------ crazy, now drop the damn phone before I do something you don’t want me to.” At this last statement Jake ran into the kitchen, flicked the lights, and grasped a knife, during which time Oliver took Jake’s phone and called his Mother. “You on the phone, Oliver? Huh? You on the damn phone because you don’t want to live with a psycho? Huh? You think I’m a psycho, Oliver? Think I’m a psycho do you?” Jake yelled at the top of his lungs now walking closer towards Oliver, knife in hand.
The phone rang for what felt like ages before an answer. “Hello, what's the matter?" She asked who she thought was her son.
“This is Oliver and your son is acting insane," answered the man on the phone whose voice was instantly recognized. "He’s shouting about how he feels alone or something. I don’t know, there’s too much to explain and I’m really scared and I think you need to come to our house now,” Oliver explained through shaking words, “He's run into the kitchen and grabbed a knife, but I don't know what he's going to do with it, I'll try to stop him, but I think you need to get here quickly."
“Oh dear God,” the mother whimpered. She was terrified and confused at the same time, as if she couldn't quite grasp what Oliver was telling her
"Talking to my mommy Oliver? Telling her how sick I am, telling her that I need to be picked up from day care because I'm being a naughty little boy?" Jake belted out a maniacal laugh at this statement as he raised the knife towards Oliver's chest. "I hate living with you," he said, barely a whisper. And then, as though Jake had been waiting to do this forever, without a second guess, he slid the knife into Oliver's heart.
The phone dropped, and the mother had heard every last word, and was now barraged by the screams of pain she heard through the receiver. She didn't know what to make of the situation and rushed towards her son's house. When she arrived, she already knew what to expect, and indeed got it. There, lying in a slump in the kitchen was her son, impaled in the chest with a kitchen knife, and a blood soaked phone lying next to his hand.
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Comment, rate, criticize, do what you will.