dead ringer.
By the time I'm done writing this, I’ll have been awake for 48 hours.
I don't know how much longer I can hold out.
I need to start from the beginning, because, well, I just need to write this.
Most of what follows is true. There are, of course, some lies.
At 4 a.m. one morning, I decided to go to sleep. My shoulder was burning with pain. It's been like this for a week now. It's keeping me up at night. I keep tossing and turning in bed.
On that morning, at 4 a.m., I couldn't sleep. My shoulder was on fire. It was hot in my bedroom. My fan was noisy. I decided to try a sort of "meditation", hoping it would ease me into sleep. I closed my eyes, and relaxed completely. I focused on the tiny whirling bits of color in my subconscious mind. I didn't know if I was awake or not.
I'm looking out of my kitchen window and...there's someone...outside. I don't know who it is. I always glance just in time to see a man walk quickly past the kitchen window. I call out, but no one answers. I don't know what he wants.
I didn't know what had happened, I just kept staring in the direction of my windows. I have new shades. They don't let any light in. Not even moonlight. My room is completely black.
There's something on my window sill. It comes, and it sits there. It watches me while I sleep. It's...watching me right now.
I started to get afraid. I clutched my burning shoulder, and faced the wall. A cold grey light slowly started to seep into my room. I had focused on one tiny point on my bedroom wall, and had been staring at it for the last two hours.
A hammer started to beat on the side of my house. It was my dad. Putting shingles up. On his day off. It was 7 a.m., three hours after I tried to sleep. I didn't feel tired, and amazingly, wasn't angry at my dad for starting house-work so early. I wouldn't have been able to get to sleep anyways.
I got out of bed, and went downstairs. I walked into the bathroom, and attempted to put my contact lenses in. They were forcibly (and painfully) rejected by my bloodshot eyes.
I looked around at my house. The light looked so strange, so pale. I found this funny for some reason.
I walked into my kitchen and poured a bowl of Life cereal. There was a Chinese boy on the box.
"Life cereal, now with a Chinese boy on the box." I said to myself. I started to laugh uncontrollably. It was the funniest thing I had ever heard in my life. I sat down and started to eat the cereal, and all the while laughing.
I saw something that made me stop laughing. I receipt, from CVS pharmacy. There was a little coupon attached to it:
$2.50 off of pain reliever purchase of $10.
I looked at that, and it made perfect sense to me. Nothing had ever been clearer. I knew what that coupon meant. I really knew. I stared at it jealously. No one else could ever know about it.
I finished the cereal, walked into my bathroom, and prepared to take a shower. I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
There's a gun under the sink. It's loaded. Kill yourself with it.
I thought about smashing the mirror and using the glass shards to cut my face open. Instead, I just started laughing. I couldn't stop. I told myself that I needed to shave, knowing full well that I had already shaved yesterday. This made me laugh harder. I calmed down and stepped into the shower.
I was shivering in the shower. It was already seventy degrees outside. I turned the hot water up, and let it hit my burning shoulder. It felt good. When I got out of the shower, I looked at myself in the mirror and started laughing again. I dried my hair, put my pajamas back on, went outside, and then opened the door to my cellar. The clothes I had washed yesterday were hanging up there. They were dried.
I descended into the cellar. I kept thinking that the door could slam shut at any time, and I'd be trapped.
I started to take my clothes off their hangers. Something about the grey concrete of the cellar floor made me want to curl up and go to sleep. It looked so smooth, and cool.
The son of the serial killer lives here. There are twelve bodies buried in the back of the cellar, rotting. They're his victims. he kills them with a safety-pin knife. He is far too small and weak to attack me when I'm awake! If I'm sleeping, however! he'll crouch over me and jab the knife into me over and over again! Hunched over me. Poking. Jabbing the knife into my skull. A sadistic smile on his face.
I froze in place. I was afraid to reach for a t-shirt. I couldn't make up my mind. If I chose the wrong one, then I'd be trapped down here. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing...I need to get some sleep. No, I reached for my Ramones shirt. Yes, that was the right choice. I ran back up to the outside world, and into my bedroom. I got dressed.
I felt unsure about what to do next. I paced back and forth nervously. I rubbed my burning shoulder. I turned my computer on, and then went downstairs for a glass of cranberry juice. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror again.
There's a gun underneath the sink
I went upstairs and played music. Music, that was, by nature, loud. I played this music at a high volume level. My body wasn't prepared for the aural onslaught. I shuddered and convulsed with delight. I hadn't felt music like this for over a year. Every note bore its way into my soul.
Here lie the murder victims. I smile when I think about them. Beautiful women. The streets they walk on hate their beauty. Now they lie sprawled out on the concrete. Skulls shattered into toothpicks, bodies covered in a luxurious blanket of stab wounds, insides turned into modern art by black bullets, teeth snapped in half like Chiclets, saliva smeared on their faces.
I started to get tired of the music. I turned it off. Hours and hours went by. I swear I saw something in my window. It was just my dad, shingling the side of the house. I started to wake up; I ate something. I noticed the way that ice cream is malleable like human flesh.
Demon blood flows through the pipes in my cellar, where clothes hangers dangle like spent nooses.
I found myself doubled over on my computer chair, clutching my head in my hands, pulling at my hair. My tears burned tracks into my arms.
The girl who lives next door, the one with black circles under her eyes…she’s staring at me from her window. She looks like a gorgeous preserved corpse. She’s taking her clothes off. She’s staring at me.
A sentence that someone once wrote ran through my head over and over again:
My evil twin has no voice, just the sound of helicopters crashing
I don't know how much longer I can hold out.
I need to start from the beginning, because, well, I just need to write this.
Most of what follows is true. There are, of course, some lies.
At 4 a.m. one morning, I decided to go to sleep. My shoulder was burning with pain. It's been like this for a week now. It's keeping me up at night. I keep tossing and turning in bed.
On that morning, at 4 a.m., I couldn't sleep. My shoulder was on fire. It was hot in my bedroom. My fan was noisy. I decided to try a sort of "meditation", hoping it would ease me into sleep. I closed my eyes, and relaxed completely. I focused on the tiny whirling bits of color in my subconscious mind. I didn't know if I was awake or not.
I'm looking out of my kitchen window and...there's someone...outside. I don't know who it is. I always glance just in time to see a man walk quickly past the kitchen window. I call out, but no one answers. I don't know what he wants.
I didn't know what had happened, I just kept staring in the direction of my windows. I have new shades. They don't let any light in. Not even moonlight. My room is completely black.
There's something on my window sill. It comes, and it sits there. It watches me while I sleep. It's...watching me right now.
I started to get afraid. I clutched my burning shoulder, and faced the wall. A cold grey light slowly started to seep into my room. I had focused on one tiny point on my bedroom wall, and had been staring at it for the last two hours.
A hammer started to beat on the side of my house. It was my dad. Putting shingles up. On his day off. It was 7 a.m., three hours after I tried to sleep. I didn't feel tired, and amazingly, wasn't angry at my dad for starting house-work so early. I wouldn't have been able to get to sleep anyways.
I got out of bed, and went downstairs. I walked into the bathroom, and attempted to put my contact lenses in. They were forcibly (and painfully) rejected by my bloodshot eyes.
I looked around at my house. The light looked so strange, so pale. I found this funny for some reason.
I walked into my kitchen and poured a bowl of Life cereal. There was a Chinese boy on the box.
"Life cereal, now with a Chinese boy on the box." I said to myself. I started to laugh uncontrollably. It was the funniest thing I had ever heard in my life. I sat down and started to eat the cereal, and all the while laughing.
I saw something that made me stop laughing. I receipt, from CVS pharmacy. There was a little coupon attached to it:
$2.50 off of pain reliever purchase of $10.
I looked at that, and it made perfect sense to me. Nothing had ever been clearer. I knew what that coupon meant. I really knew. I stared at it jealously. No one else could ever know about it.
I finished the cereal, walked into my bathroom, and prepared to take a shower. I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
There's a gun under the sink. It's loaded. Kill yourself with it.
I thought about smashing the mirror and using the glass shards to cut my face open. Instead, I just started laughing. I couldn't stop. I told myself that I needed to shave, knowing full well that I had already shaved yesterday. This made me laugh harder. I calmed down and stepped into the shower.
I was shivering in the shower. It was already seventy degrees outside. I turned the hot water up, and let it hit my burning shoulder. It felt good. When I got out of the shower, I looked at myself in the mirror and started laughing again. I dried my hair, put my pajamas back on, went outside, and then opened the door to my cellar. The clothes I had washed yesterday were hanging up there. They were dried.
I descended into the cellar. I kept thinking that the door could slam shut at any time, and I'd be trapped.
I started to take my clothes off their hangers. Something about the grey concrete of the cellar floor made me want to curl up and go to sleep. It looked so smooth, and cool.
The son of the serial killer lives here. There are twelve bodies buried in the back of the cellar, rotting. They're his victims. he kills them with a safety-pin knife. He is far too small and weak to attack me when I'm awake! If I'm sleeping, however! he'll crouch over me and jab the knife into me over and over again! Hunched over me. Poking. Jabbing the knife into my skull. A sadistic smile on his face.
I froze in place. I was afraid to reach for a t-shirt. I couldn't make up my mind. If I chose the wrong one, then I'd be trapped down here. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing...I need to get some sleep. No, I reached for my Ramones shirt. Yes, that was the right choice. I ran back up to the outside world, and into my bedroom. I got dressed.
I felt unsure about what to do next. I paced back and forth nervously. I rubbed my burning shoulder. I turned my computer on, and then went downstairs for a glass of cranberry juice. I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror again.
There's a gun underneath the sink
I went upstairs and played music. Music, that was, by nature, loud. I played this music at a high volume level. My body wasn't prepared for the aural onslaught. I shuddered and convulsed with delight. I hadn't felt music like this for over a year. Every note bore its way into my soul.
Here lie the murder victims. I smile when I think about them. Beautiful women. The streets they walk on hate their beauty. Now they lie sprawled out on the concrete. Skulls shattered into toothpicks, bodies covered in a luxurious blanket of stab wounds, insides turned into modern art by black bullets, teeth snapped in half like Chiclets, saliva smeared on their faces.
I started to get tired of the music. I turned it off. Hours and hours went by. I swear I saw something in my window. It was just my dad, shingling the side of the house. I started to wake up; I ate something. I noticed the way that ice cream is malleable like human flesh.
Demon blood flows through the pipes in my cellar, where clothes hangers dangle like spent nooses.
I found myself doubled over on my computer chair, clutching my head in my hands, pulling at my hair. My tears burned tracks into my arms.
The girl who lives next door, the one with black circles under her eyes…she’s staring at me from her window. She looks like a gorgeous preserved corpse. She’s taking her clothes off. She’s staring at me.
A sentence that someone once wrote ran through my head over and over again:
My evil twin has no voice, just the sound of helicopters crashing