Razalgrim
New Member
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They say I’m crazy. The shrinks, psychiatrists.
Crazy as a madhouse mouse, that’s what they think I am. Everyone, even my wife.
The ghost of my dead wife.
---
She said so herself, just moments ago;
You’re crazy, Dave. You know that? You’re crazy, but it can’t be helped. I love you for who you are, Dave. Even though you killed me.
Yeah, my wife. Two months into her grave, but she’s still alive and well inside my mind, isn’t she?
But I’m not crazy, and she’s not inside my mind. I see her during the night, standing here with me in my cell. Just the two of us, alone in the dark.
I can see her illuminated by the moonlight, the steel bars of my window making dark slashes against her pale, dead face.
I can no longer scream. She has rendered me incapable of it.
Every night she comes to me. She looks at me, and the way she looks at me— triumph, pity, and rage, all in one fearful, indescribable expression.
She whispers to me... mocking me. Reminding me of what I am, what I did. Beckoning me to join her.
And I will. Very soon.
---
Death is my escape.
I cannot fight her. I cannot stab her in her sleep, as I once did before. And so I will kill myself.
She’s looking at me even as I write this, smiling— no, grinning at me. Her pearly teeth glaring against the darkness. I cannot take it anymore.
So yes, I am crazy. I am crazy and I am thankful for that.
There is a jagged shard of glass tucked safely inside my mattress.
I will rip the covers off of my bed, and I will get that piece of glass, and I will slit my throat with it.
Goodbye.
Crazy as a madhouse mouse, that’s what they think I am. Everyone, even my wife.
The ghost of my dead wife.
---
She said so herself, just moments ago;
You’re crazy, Dave. You know that? You’re crazy, but it can’t be helped. I love you for who you are, Dave. Even though you killed me.
Yeah, my wife. Two months into her grave, but she’s still alive and well inside my mind, isn’t she?
But I’m not crazy, and she’s not inside my mind. I see her during the night, standing here with me in my cell. Just the two of us, alone in the dark.
I can see her illuminated by the moonlight, the steel bars of my window making dark slashes against her pale, dead face.
I can no longer scream. She has rendered me incapable of it.
Every night she comes to me. She looks at me, and the way she looks at me— triumph, pity, and rage, all in one fearful, indescribable expression.
She whispers to me... mocking me. Reminding me of what I am, what I did. Beckoning me to join her.
And I will. Very soon.
---
Death is my escape.
I cannot fight her. I cannot stab her in her sleep, as I once did before. And so I will kill myself.
She’s looking at me even as I write this, smiling— no, grinning at me. Her pearly teeth glaring against the darkness. I cannot take it anymore.
So yes, I am crazy. I am crazy and I am thankful for that.
There is a jagged shard of glass tucked safely inside my mattress.
I will rip the covers off of my bed, and I will get that piece of glass, and I will slit my throat with it.
Goodbye.
. Could you use a spoiler please?
