Welcome to Paranoia-ville

Welcome to Paranoia-ville.

Someone’s looking at me. I can feel it. Someone’s looking at me – what are they thinking? They’re all around me, you know. I can see the eyes behind their eyes. All gazing into me – all piercing my skin. They want to get under my skin…I can feel it. I know they do – their stares reveal all. I can see them – eyes in shadows, eyes on the desk, eyes in the radio…eyes on the ceiling.

I’m in a room with their stares. Alone with the gazes of the damned. I’m sure someone’s looking at me now. I’m flayed open by their stare. Don’t let them get me! If it’s not the stares, it’s their hands – always grasping and grabbing. Stretched out open and waiting. Hands and eyes – all of them. Reaching out for me. Get away from me!

I see their thoughts through their eyes. I’m not on trial here – I don’t need their hands all over me! Disgusting things, hands. I tried to cut both of mine off, but I bled too much. I hate my hands – grabbing and grasping tools of pure evil. They caught me trying to cut them off. They grabbed at me – said I was crazy. I’m not crazy! I know the truth. Hands and eyes…Satan’s tools of evil. Don’t get me started on those eyes.

Eyes…staring, even when cut out of the head. I know because I scooped one of mine out. Too bad I was bleeding too badly from my cut wrists, so I only got one out. It stared at me as well…in a pool of blood and gore. It didn’t hurt…I just knew I had beat one of them at their own game. They took all utensils away from me then…put me into a nice room as well. Nice walls, spongy and soft. They made me wear a jacket that was too long as well. Of course, I complained, but they just stared at me. With their eyes. Those hateful orbs filled with anger and hatred.

They’re still looking at me. Go away! Leave me alone and in peace! Stop that! Stop grabbing at me! Who’s behind me? Go away – bother someone else! How did you get in this room anyway? Those angry people said something about a deadbolt and welding doors shut – whatever that means. It doesn’t keep the eyes out though…or the hands…

I still have my scars. I think I do anyway. I can’t feel anything under this jacket. Those eyes are still looking. Get them away from me and I’ll pay you! Someone’s still looking at me through the door. I have feelings of my own…but they’re all out to get me!

Maybe Dad was right. Maybe sometimes only the paranoid survive…