Crazy

Before

They labled me as crazy, insane, mentally defective, schizophrenic...however you want to say it. The only thing that matters is that I'm not. I'm not crazy, I just have a gift. I'm just blessed to be more aware of the subtle things, the little blips on the radar that otherwise would go unnoticed. The things that could add up and cause someone to snap. And they did. But I have an excuse. Sitting in that hot, stuffy courtroom, listening to the very-large-and-in-charge judge read the charges brought against me, saying I was crazy, I knew he was wrong. I did not commit first degree murder, it was an act of self defense. My wife, Mary, or Macy, or Margaret, something like that, was planning. I could tell. I saw it in the way she laughed at my jokes, when I deliberately made them boring. I tasted it in the food she made for me when I was sick. She probably put cyanide in it, hoping to kill me. But I had prepared. As soon as we were married I bought some cyanide in a less than friendly alleyway, ingesting the tiniest amount everyday, slowly increasing the dosage, until I developed an immunity. Pretty soon I could drink pure cyanide without feeling a thing. But the worst way, the most haunting, we're her eyes. They were the grayest of gray, the first warning sign. Everyone knows only witches have grey eyes! I can feel there gaze pierce my soul, trying to peer inside to find my deepest secrets. And I feared it was working. Whenever I dared to stare into those eyes, I didn't just see the eyes of a devil worshiper, I even saw myself! Slowly, those eyes, the eyes that never blinked, they were stealing my soul, forming them piece by piece into a mirror image of myself inside of her, so that she could see everything, so that she would know, how to end me. It had to stop. And because I didn't trust anyone, in fear that they worked with her, I had to rely on myself. So in her sleep, I did it, I slit her throat. But I couldn't stop there, not that I knew of her witch powers. To make sure she stayed dead, I committed what the police referred to as an unspeakable act that made him question the ideology of the human race.

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I gutted her. I opened up her stomach, taking out all the organs I could. I hid each one in a different place so that there was no chance of them reforming. I nailed the intestines to the ceiling, I put the lungs into the sink and ran the garbage disposal. I tried to flush the heart down the toilet, but it just managed to clog the drains so I just left it there, missshapen from the violent suction trying to pull it away forever.

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Somebody must have spied on me, in league with the witch, and told the police though, because after a few days they showed up, demanding to be let in. I tried to stop them, I had a knife in my pocket and I tried to stab them, but all I magaged to do was graze one of them in the temple, dropping him to the ground, while the others forced me down and handcuffed me.

That's how I ended up there, in that hot stuffy courtroom, listening to the judge sentence me to life in a state asylum.