Paranoia

when you watch too much television, news reports telling you what to believe and what not to believe. It takes a toll on your mind and how you perceive the world around you.

The headlight of the news report read: "Another Victim Found, Killer On The Run."

I caught myself peeking out of my windows to the sweet old lady across the street from where I lived.
Mary Sue, I think her name was. She was a widow with no children of her own. She lived alone with one cat and a bunch of dolls. I never spoke to her, myself, not that I didn't want too, but because she was a new neighbor who was just starting to settle in. A neighbor who kept to herself and attended her garden on occasion. She never left her house unless she needed to. I caught myself thinking that maybe...just maybe...she could be a blood thirsty killer. She did play the part well, if she wasn't. So coy and silent, so mysterious and alone. She held the cat in her arms as she strolled along her garden late at night, looking at nothing in particular. It could be a distraction, so when kids came to pet the kitty...she'd grab them up and throw them into her basement...She'd take out their little eyes, replace them with marbles, stitch them into parts and adorn them on the walls. So they could fill her collection of dolls she already had. Forever frozen. Smiles stitched onto their faces to show their mommy how much she meant to them, all the while she already knew how much they meant to her. They were her children she would never have. 

The headlight of the news report read: "Another Victim Found, Killer On The Run."

I rubbed my temples with my free hand and turned my gaze to the daddy of two across the street. The one who doesn't believe in "violence" and lives an Eco-friendly lifestyle with his solar paneling and his green vegetable car. Of COURSE he loves the environment...he uses natures BEST fertilizer for his flower bed....DEAD BODIES. He only says he can't stand violence as a way to get you off his scent. Because who, in their right mind, would question a man who doesn't lift a hand? right? WRONG! He chops people up, packages them inside his Eco-garbage bags and buries them underground so that his dandelions and daffodils grow up biggggg and stronggggg. REUSE, RENEW, RECYCLE!

The headlight of the news report read: "Another Victim Found, Killer On The Run."

Hey...look....see that? I think I seen the pastor, who lives on the side of me, shift his blinds a bit. I think he's onto me. I think he knows I know that I know what I know. Of course he is a god fearing man, he fears that god will see him as the monster he truly is...so as a way to keep him from going to hell, he surrounds himself with pictures, idols and music to help God see how religious he is. But god isn't blind to what he does. He knows under those relics is a graveyard of bones. Under the carpet of fine religious tapestry, is the bones of a boy who went missing ages ago. I see him going in and out of the garage at night, the same ritual day after day. Taking out what he does from the trunk of his car. He owns a thrift shop, they say. Well, I would too if I killed all the people who helped supply me the goods. His biggest phrase of the bible, he uses on people everywhere he goes, is: "God only helps those who help themselves" and he does just that. With the confirmation of god's written word, he does exactly what HE believes that sentence means. 

The headlight of the news report read: "Another Victim Found, Killer On The Run."

I fidget with the curtain, so no one else can spot me. If they find out that I am a witness to their crimes, they'll come after me. They'll make me their next victim. I can't allow that to happen. I mustn't. If I am the only person alive who knows their dark secrets, I need to be stealthy. My attention is then turned to the family who lives next door to me, the children loud with their toys as their mother tries to gather them inside for dinner.

"Come in, so we can eat." she says. the kids, like soldiers, march inside to obey mothers command. Of course they would, mommy had them wrapped around her finger. She was the mastermind behind the family, what mother said was law. If mother said kill, the kids would obey. "Dinner time" was just a reason for them to do her crime. Hack the victim into bits and throw them in the pot to simmer. The sooner you finish, the faster the rest of us can feast. After all, mother knows best. 

The headlight of the news report read: "Another Victim Found, Killer On The Run."

I log everything down in a book, each time my neighbor does something suspicious. Each and every time. I start to become reclusive and my life, as this point, is only to research the behaviors of my fellow man.

"2:15 P.M. Monday, March 13. Mary Sue peeks out her front door. An exchange of items with the post man. Maybe he's in on her plot too."

"4:30 P.M. Monday, March 13. Pastor receives a suspicious letter from someone acting like his mother."
"4:45 P.M. Monday, March 13. Everyone is silent. Nothing has been done. Everyone is inside their home. I can only imagine what they are doing inside their houses."

I know what I know and what I know is what they all know, I know. If I know what I know, they'll know what to do with me. I need to find an escape route. I can see them all looking at my house. Walking past it as if to torment me and my knowledge. The news report said another murder happened last night, I guess I wasn't aware of it. They are leading me in circles, around them. Where they will stop will be the death of me. If I can't stop them, I must stop myself from being found out. It's too much pressure, too much pain. My sight catches onto the metal box on my coffee table. I know what's inside the box. For emergencies, I said. This is an emergency. I reach inside the box and pull out a gun. The metal winks at me.

The news report highlighted a new story: "Body found in house, Killer Finally Caught."

(I was inspired by criminal shows. I watch a lot of crime investigations and well, I had a similar experience last night involving my neighbors and thus, this story was born. Paranoia sparks inspiration, at least for me. haha)