Paranoiac

CHAPTER 7

As I stumbled purposelessly throughout my day I couldn't help but wonder about the child from the previous night. None of it made any sense! What would a small child, she couldn't have been more than ten, been doing wandering the unkempt streets of a ratty old town in Brooklyn? And maybe that was the whole point. No person in their right mind would walk alone along these streets at night, much less a little girl! Should I call the police? No, then I would have to open the door. That wouldn't work at all. I would just have to live with it then, live with the knowledge that for whatever reason, that child needed my help and I let my Paranoia take over. But could I? After all these years living a relatively meaningless life, had I just shied away from the only chance I would ever have to do something important? To save a life instead of destroy one? Maybe it really was time that I just ended it. There was nothing left in this life for me, my disorder had ruthlessly ripped any chance of a normal one from me. So what was the point? I slowly started making my way to the kitchen, taking small deliberate steps on the way. As I took the knife in my hand I felt no fear, no pain. Just a disturbing calm settling within me. I could finally be free of them! No one would ever ridicule me ever again. As I clumsily lowered the tip towards my wrist the bright red light of the analogue clock flashing on my oven caught my attention. As I stared at the numbers the red markings seemed to etch and burn into the back of my mind. 9:47. It started slow, then became more urgent, more desperate. Her knocking was relentless. How could this be? Same time, same voice, same pattern. The knocking, the screaming, the begging. The knife clattered to the floor as my vision became blurry, my only line of sight a small tunnel of light. I blindly stumbled to the door, this time I would do the right thing. I had to. My hand flailed out to the side,  flinging a decorative vase onto the tile floor sending shards of porcelain everywhere. I didn't stop until my sweaty palm was flat against the door, until I could feel the vibrations of her violent pounding through the thick wooden door. My anxiety, I knew, would take over if I didn't act soon. Just to be safe I slid my shaking fingers over the swing cover to the peephole and lowered my eye onto it. No. I tripped over a pull in the rug as I stepped hurriedly back from the window. Even after I went crashing to the floor I continued to crawl backwards, retreating from the door. There was no way what I had just seen could be real. The little girl screamed even more desperately now, wailing for me to help her. But I couldn't, because that wasn't just a child standing outside my door, it was me.