Crazy

Escape

Mitch brings in the food, same as every day, only today there will be a surprise. A fatal one. But I don't tell him. That would spoil the fun! I test my nails on one of the cushions. It slices throughthe cheap fabric like a butcher's knife through some innocent infant flesh. Not that I would know that of course. But I do. Now I just have to wait. My stomach growls from the lack of digested food. But throwing up to keep my stomach empty is necessary. I want to send a message. A message so powerful, that people will know. Know how not crazy I am. Mitch starts laughing at a joke in the comics. I make my move.

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I run up to Mitch. I plunge my left hand into his stomach, using that as an anchor to keep myself steady. With my right hand I continually slash his face, keeping a nice even one-two pattern. I stop when my arm gets tired, when Mitch's head is a red slab of meat. I rip my hand out of his gut, tearing out some of his intestines. Now to finish. My hunger takes control of my body and I start to eat. Not my food of course. I eat Mitch. I am only hungry enough to eat most of his stomach and his right arm. Mitch is pretty fat. After my stomach is satisfied, I drag the remainder of the body into the center of the room. I grab Mitch's taser. I turn it on. I tie it into his tie and stuff it up his shirt. The electricity from the taser hitting Mitch's skin causes the body to twitch wildly.

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I laugh. Death can be so entertaining. I walk out of the room. Down the hall. Past the main entrance. Into the warm afternoon in the suburban area of Bakerton, Indiana. By entering the nearest phone store and scaring a smartphone out of the clerk with my blood soaked smile, I learn that my house is exactly 478 miles to the south. I walk outside and find a couple of empty beer bottles. I step on them. The glass enters the skin of my bare feet. Hopefully the nerve endings die soon. It's going to be along walk and I don't want to have to wince everytime I step on a rock.