Misconception

Misconception Prt 1

Misconception Prt 1

I saw the lights passing by me as it passed by the shutters. It was him again; he visited every night and stood idle every morning. Those lights would hound me in my sleep. I could see his silhouette in the growing light outside through the window. I know this was wrong, but I couldn't will myself to call the police. I never trusted them anyway, they never seem to be able to do anything right, incompetent people wearing pristine uniforms sitting comfortably on their ass was what they were.

But I feared him, he scared me, I don't know what his presence meant, or what he wanted but it kept me with a heightened sense of paranoia. I usually pass him without any hitches, but what if one morning he thinks, "I'm going to make my move"? Whenever I passed him my heart would pound and it feels as if my lungs are tightening. I never look directly at him; if I did he may see the fear in my eye, and what if that's his time to strike?

It was another morning, another in which I had to pass him. Quickly enough that if he jumped out I'd have a head start, but slowly enough not to arouse suspicion. I hastily walked by him, I glanced at my watch to make it seem as if I was in a hurry, a routine I did every morning. When I got to work I felt a sense of relieve, like all my bones would turn to liquid soon. I sat down at my desk, which was a pale white, and began to work. The hours passed by quickly, which I wished it hadn't. It was time to go home, this had also become routine.

This was the time of night that he'll start walking steadily behind me; I always quickened my step at this point. But tonight I would do something, I couldn't keep living in fear, I would do something unlike those cops. As I walked my eyes picked up an object glinting in the path, it was an empty glass bottle. I quickly ducked down as if to tie my shoe. I heard the steps stop behind me, he was waiting for me. I held my breath, got up quickly, and spun around holding the empty bottle in my hand. He blinked in confusion, his face soon recognizing the situation and he soon distorted in fear. Suddenly I felt myself smiling; I held my hand up high and brought the bottle down on his head.

"Have you heard of Mr. Roland?" A nurse working at a mental hospital said as she spoke to another. "Yes, I can't believe what happened I don't' know what made him act out so violently." "Yes, Mr. Sasley was supposed to be taking care of him, but somehow Mr. Roland had found a glass bottle." "What was Mr. Sasley doing?" "The routine he does every day, he takes Mr. Roland to the counselor in the morning and returns him back to his room at night." "Well Mr. Roland has been transferred I heard." "It's for the better." "Yeah he was in trouble with the police a while back when he killed his family, but they issued it was due to mental illness" "It's the hospitals fault for not placing him in seclusion". As the head nurse walked by the nurses went back to busily working.