Paranoid

ParanoidBy: Madison HatterIt was dark.He could hear a voice. A man’s voice, echoing in the darkness.“Dear friends and family,” The voice said, “I can no longer bear the pressures of life. Please know this is not your fault. Maybe there’s something better on the other side. Signed, Joe.”There was a click, and then some crying. He felt as though he were being pulled. Pulled out of the darkness. Then, suddenly, there was light.He blinked for a moment, not used to the light. He looked around him, observing his surroundings. He was in a room full of furniture, and was sitting at a writing desk. In his hand was a gun.His name was Michael Cunningham, and it had now become his job to make Joe Cunningham happy. This was because Joe and Michael Cunningham were, in fact, the same person.Joe was about to commit suicide when Michael was ‘born’. It wasn’t that he was having a bad day, or even a bad week. No, it was a bad life.Nothing ever seemed to go his way. Everyone always seemed to have something better for him, but it never quite worked out. He’d been fired from three of his jobs, been laid off twice, and for a vast majority of jobs his interview didn’t go well.But that would change. Michael was much more organized, calm, and collective than Joe.“Things will be better.” He said to himself. He closed his eyes and allowed the darkness of Joe’s mind envelope him once more.--------Joe woke up with a start. He didn’t remember when he’d fallen asleep, or, the more likely possibility, passed out. He looked down at the writing desk. The gun was still in his hand, and his suicide note was gone. In its place were three simple little words: “Get to work”.He looked at himself, surprised to find he was already dressed. He decided not to contemplate over it much longer, and stood up from the writing desk. He walked outside and opened the car door. He’d forgotten his keys, but it didn’t matter, they were hanging from his rearview mirror.Again, he decided not to wonder why, or how, the keys had gotten there, but instead used them to start up his car and drive to work. It was a thirty-minute drive to the office building he spent countless hours doing paperwork at.He chuckled to himself. Today was going to be a good day. The workers had grown lazy. This meant that someone was going to be fired soon, and he would surely be promoted. That’s what the boss always did.When the workforce was low, and everyone was tired of doing the same old things hour after hour, day-by-day, and month-by-month, the higher-ups would fire someone. This was to make an example to the other employees.The boss would look for the laziest employee he could find, one the company could afford to lose, and fire him. It wouldn’t just be the laziest though, but someone everyone knew, someone everybody would notice missing.This factor alone ruled Joe out. He wasn’t a social person, he had no friends, no supporters, not even acquaintances. In fact, he’d hesitated on writing the ‘friends’ part in his suicide note, but decided it’d be best to, in case someone he was unaware of was his friend.He pulled into the company parking lot. Someone had taken the spot he usually had. He was angry for a moment, but it passed over quickly as he saw another spot. No use getting mad over a parking spot. He told himself.He turned off his car, opened the door, and stepped out. He took a deep breath. Yes, he thought, today is definitely going to be a good day.He walked into the building and headed straight for the elevator. He stepped in and pushed the button that would take him to the sixth floor. He waited patiently for the doors to close. He never pushed the button to close the doors, because he felt as though he should give everyone else a chance to get in.The elevator doors at last began to shut, but as they did so he noticed a man frantically running toward the elevator.”Wait! Hold the doors, please!” He shouted.Of course, Joe didn’t. He allowed the doors to shut upon their own accord. The way he saw it, he was generous enough for waiting. Had he pressed the button to close the doors, the man wouldn’t have made it anyway.The elevator reached the sixth floor, and he began walking to his cubicle. As he arrived at his cubicle, he immediately noticed someone else was already in it, filling out papers and stamping them much the same he had done just the day before.”Who are you?” Joe asked.”Me? Oh, my name’s Derek. You must be Joe!” He said as he stood up to shake Joe’s hand. He was a younger man, around his early twenties. He had sleek black hair and a friendly face.”What are you doing in my cubicle?” Joe asked without bothering to shake Derek’s hand.“Jack wanted to see you.” He answered, letting his hand drop to his side. Jack was the boss. Joe always called him Mr. Harriman, but he knew some of the employees called him by his first name.Joe turned around and walked into Mr. Harriman’s office. The secretary didn’t bother stopping him.”You wanted to see me, Mr. Harriman?” He asked.”Who are you?””Joe Cunningham… I was told you wanted to see me.””Joe… Cunningham?” He asked.”Yes sir.”Mr. Harriman flipped a few pages on the desk, examining each one carefully. At last he seemed to have found what he was looking for.”Ah yes, Joe! I see now. I’m sorry to inform you, but you’re fired.””Fired?” Joe asked, shocked. How could this be? He was so sure that it wouldn’t be him. He thought it might be the guy next to him, or even the girl at the front desk, but not him!”Yes,” Mr. Harriman said angrily, “Fired. Now get out before I call the police.”He turned around and left the office without a word. He’d been fired before. He was used to it by now. What made him angry was that he was so sure it wouldn’t be him. It could have been anybody, why’d it have to be him?He walked to the elevator, alone in his thoughts. The doors opened. Standing in the elevator was the man who’d called out for Joe to hold the doors.”You!” He said angrily. Joe didn’t say anything. He just stared at the man. “I was five seconds away! All you had to do was hold the doors open! Why?””You had your chance.” Joe said emotionlessly.”You jerk.” The man said as he left the elevator.”At least you weren’t fired.” Joe replied as he stepped in, pushing the close button.”Serves you right.” The man snarled as he walked away.-------------Michael opened his eyes again. He observed his surroundings quickly. What had set Joe off now? Being fired? That could be fixed. He was outside, in the company parking lot.Sitting in front of him, with the windows bashed in and hood dented, was Joe’s car. Upon closer inspection Michael found that the tires were also slashed, and the CD Player was stolen. Joe didn’t have any CDs, so that wasn’t a big loss. The tires, however, would be a problem.He opened the trunk, looking for the spare tires he’d put in the day before, when he was ‘born’. He’d packed them in case Joe got a flat, though he never expected someone to slash his tires. Michael pulled them out and quickly changed the tires, packing the damaged ones back inside the trunk. As far as he could tell, the motor would still work, damaged though the hood was.He looked around at the cars next to his. None of them were damaged. Why Joe? What had he done?Revenge is a pitiful thing. Michael thought as he opened the car door. He turned the key, and after a few tries finally got the motor to roar to life. He wasn’t going to seek out the person who’d wrong Joe. What good would that do? Would it fix Joe’s tires? Repair his windows? Pay for the dents? The answer was “No.”Revenge is a pitiful thing. He repeated to himself as he drove his way to Joe’s house.----------------Joe woke up in bed. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, or even driving home from work.It must have been a dream, he concluded to himself as he got out of bed and made his way to the shower. It was a horrible nightmare, he recalled as he stepped into the shower. He dreamt that he’d been fired from work, only to be called a jerk because some guy didn’t make it to the elevator in time, and to top it all off his car had been horribly damaged.He chuckled to himself at the memory of that god-awful dream. How would he react if the dream were true, he wondered? He began to chuckle again, and then actually began to laugh.He finished up his shower, turned off the water, and began to dry off. Once that was done he began to dress for work. He straightened his tie in the mirror and laughed again, “Fired!”He walked to the garage, still laughing to himself, but then he saw the car.”What?” He said, slightly annoyed, “This can’t be…”He examined the car thoroughly. Everything was like in his dream, except the tires weren’t slashed. He opened the trunk to discover the slashed tires.”This…” He said as he shook his head in disbelief, “This can’t be! It… It’s impossible!”But no matter how many times he told himself this, the car did not renew itself.He walked back into his house slowly, brushing his hair back in disbelief. He walked over to the writing desk. He didn’t know why he was going to the desk in particular. Maybe for the gun?Unfortunately, the gun was not there. Instead, there was just the slip of paper that had been there yesterday morning. It used to say “Get to work”, but someone had crossed out “to work” and written above it “a job”.“Who’s doing this?” He yelled angrily, flipping the writing desk over. “Who’s in my house!” He shouted again. “Who’s ruining my life!”You are.”Who ruined my car? Who’s writing these messages? Why me?” He yelled over and over and over. The only thing that answered him was silence.He fell on his knees and buried his face into his hands, crying. What more could possibly go wrong?----------------------The scene Michael saw was pathetic. Normally Joe’s mind was dark. The way Michael liked it. It was a comfortable nothingness, an ultimate peace.Unfortunately, this time it changed. It was still dark, but no longer peaceful. He could hear Joe’s shouts of rage, could sense his agony, and could feel his remorse.“Who’s ruining my life!” Joe’s voice echoed through the darkness. Michael could stand it no longer.You are. He said.”Who ruined my car? Who’s writing these messages? Why me?” Joe’s voice echoed again, ignoring Michael’s answer.The breaking point, as Michael now called it, finally occurred when Joe fell to his knees in pathetic agony.Michael now felt the tears rolling down his face, now saw the blurred light of Joe’s world, now breathed the air. Now Michael was in control.He stood up and looked at the piece of paper with the words “Get a job” written on it. The writing desk was overturned, and the paper now lie at his feet. He thought that the message would work like it did the first time. He’d even written a list of available jobs on the back of the paper.”Joe needs professional help.” He said aloud, “Joe needs a psychiatrist.”He looked up the phone number and called. He scheduled an appointment and asked to be called back for a reminder.-------------------------Joe was awaken by the phone ringing. He looked at the clock: Two o’clock. His house was picked up neatly, as though his outburst had never happened. He began to panic. The phone was still ringing.He picked it up, “Hello?””Hello, Mr. Joe Cunningham, we’re calling to remind you of your meeting with the psychiatrist today at four.””Psychiatrist?” Joe asked, his heart beating faster.”Yes. You scheduled an appointment last week.””You’re the ones?” He asked in a panicky voice.”Excuse me?” The lady on the phone asked.”You drugged me.” He said.”Sir, what are you talking about?””You! You’ve been writing those messages, you slashed my tires, and you ruined my life!” He shouted.”Sir,” the lady tried to explain patiently.”How’d you get my number then?””You called us last week.””I never called anyone!” He shouted angrily. He ripped the phone cord out of the wall and threw the phone itself through the window.--------------------------This was not what Michael had planned. He’d kept control of Joe’s body for the entire week, to prevent Joe from doing anything irrational until he received the phone call.Unfortunately, it did not go as he had hoped. He wasn’t planning on Joe freaking out. He listened to Joe’s ranting and raving and curses, all the while trying to think of a way to fix it.-------------------------------Joe looked into a mirror, at his own reflections. His eyes were sunken in from grief, his hair turned gray from stress, and that look in his own eyes scared himself.”Joe.” The reflection said suddenly. He didn’t back away though. He knew he’d gone crazy.”What?” He asked irritably.”Look at yourself.” The reflection sighed.”What does it look like I’m doing?” He asked angrily.”You’re a total wreck.””Someone’s ruining my life.””You are.” The reflection said. “I’ve been doing my best to help you, and all you do is mess things up again.””Just who do you think you are?” Joe shouted angrily as he slammed his fist into the glass. He didn’t mind the bleeding. He barely felt it.”Joe…” His own voice called from another room. Joe obediently walked to a mirror hanging in the hallway.”Who do you think you are?” Joe asked again.”I am Michael.” The reflection replied, just before Joe passed out.--------------------------------Michael was a bit disappointed at the results of their first encounter. With Joe unconscious, he couldn’t take control. He couldn’t help.Joe needed help. Joe needed Michael. Michael needed to help Joe, but Joe wouldn’t help himself!It was a very frustrating job, but Michael was used to frustration. That’s why he was ‘born’. He often tried to think back to the time before his ‘birth’, but found he could only remember the darkness.The same darkness he was in now. Michael loved the darkness of Joe’s mind; it was so much more peaceful than the many problems of Joe’s world.Michael took control over Joe’s body for two reasons, the first being to help Joe. Without Joe, there would be no Michael.The second reason was the darkness- the comforting darkness- that freed him of all Joe’s problems. He was afraid if he didn’t solve Joe’s problems, and experience for himself the frustration and turmoil of Joe’s world, that he would eventually grow tired of the darkness and lose appreciation for it.Only after you’ve been through hell do you truly appreciate what heaven is.Michael wasn’t used to being perplexed, as he was now. He was used to being able to observe his surroundings and within moments find a solution. When he first came into the world- Joe’s world- the solution was for Joe to go to work, and take his mind off things. Then Joe was fired. This solution was obvious, and Michael immediately set to work researching jobs and writing them down. Interviews would have to be up to Joe.Joe became paranoid, though. Still, the solution was obvious. A meeting with a psychiatrist would take away his troubles. Joe still freaked out, so Michael thought it was best to explain what was going on.Then Joe passed out. This was not a part of Michael’s plan.Michael couldn’t take control, and neither could Joe. His body would lie there on the floor until one of them gained control first or someone found them.Michael still had work to do, though. He still needed to help Joe, and he certainly couldn’t do it from the floor. He couldn’t do it while his body- Joe’s body- was unconscious. How would he talk to Joe now?Michael was perplexed. He was not used to it, and he did not like it. He thought for several minutes about how to contact Joe before finally giving up. This was a frustration itself, for Michael did not like giving up, but there was nothing he could do.Nothing he could do, but wait.---------------------------Joe stirred. He sat up, rubbing the back of his head painfully. There was a knot. He must have slipped and hit his head.Denial will do you no good.Shut up.It was like fighting with himself. A conflict of reasoning; He wasn’t in the mood. He looked at his hand. It was scarred and bloody. How did that happen?You punched the mirror.Shut up.He must have cut it on something when he fell. He groaned as he rose to his feet, and then walked over to the writing desk. It had caused him a lot of trouble lately. Why had he bought it?It’s helped. You just wouldn’t admit it. Shut up.He picked up the piece of paper with the words, “Get a job,” written on it. He turned it over, discovering a list of jobs, addresses, phone numbers, and fax numbers. Did he have a fax machine?Maybe you should get one.Maybe I shouldn’t. He reasoned. It would cost too much money.It would help.Shut up. He wasn’t going to get one. That was his decision.He decided to go for a walk. He hadn’t done that in a long time, and could use the fresh air. He grabbed his coat off of an armchair and slipped his arms through it. He picked his hat up from the floor. Had he dropped it there?I did. I should have picked it up. Sorry.Was he apologizing to himself? Maybe it was because he knew it would hurt his back.No pain no gain.He was only thirty-three, but with all the problems and stress…He walked out the door and took a deep breath. He let the cold air fill his lungs and enjoyed the moment. He sighed. He could see his breath. No matter.He began walking towards the city park, which was four blocks away. The exercise would do him good. Who would have thought that all he needed all along was fresh air? Normally the only time he went outside was to get to his car. The only time he left his car was to get inside another building. No more than a few seconds outside.He chuckled to himself, it was a wonder he wasn’t allergic to the sun by now.He took another deep breath. For the first time in his life, he felt relaxed. Truly, naturally, relaxed. He smiled to himself. A natural smile, not one forced through the teeth day after day to please other people. This was the first natural smile he’d had in a long time.Your life wasn’t that bad. Shut up.He took another breath. Relaxed.It couldn’t have been that bad. Shut up.He didn’t want to think about his life. For now, he just wanted to enjoy the moment.---------------------------------Michael was unhappy. This was something else he was unfamiliar with, and thus something he did not like. Joe was relaxed, and his job was done… But this relaxation was only temporary, and Michael knew it.Michael knew it because deep down, Joe knew it, too. Joe just wanted to avoid the fact, which meant Michael was the one who had to deal with it.Joe.This was the name Michael had known since the beginning of his existence. This was the name of a man who couldn’t do anything on his own. A man who wanted to avoid problems, but causes more problems by doing just that. It was a simple name, given to a simple man, who wished for nothing more than a simple life.Michael.This was the name Joe had never known, and through the process of denial, most likely never will. It was a name stored deep within Joe’s conscience; Saved for the personality that must have been hiding, waiting, for that exact moment.The moment that Joe would pull back the hammer of the gun, and in his desperation utter the words, “Maybe there’s something better on the other side.”And then, soon after, the same person, through a different personality, would state confidently, “Things will be better.”Unfortunately, things did not get better. It was at this moment that Michael, who had arrived to Joe’s world with the sole purpose of making life easier, realized that not only had things not gotten better, but also realized that things probably never will.Not for Joe, anyway.Joe did his best to avoid any social contact with anyone, trying to remain invisible. However, just as no one is unique simply because they wish they were, Joe had become more noticeable simply because he tried not to be.No one remembers who held the elevator doors open for them at work. Though they will surely remember the man who idly stood by as they hurried towards the elevator, thus resulting in being late for the sixth time that month and ultimately losing their job.No one remembers the man who approved their insurance claim in a car accident. Though they will probably bear in mind the name of a man who had cast them even further into debt simply because he’d misplaced the paperwork necessary for the insurance claim to take effect. Some people might even go so far as to seek revenge months later, when this same man is having an unusually bad day, and totally destroy his car with a baseball bat and pocket knife.No one will remember the man who had forgotten about his own appointment with a psychiatrist, though they will most certainly keep in mind the man who showed all the symptoms of a mental illness known as paranoia schizophrenia.No one remembers the man who sat in his office day after day without telling anyone anything.Everyone remembers the Joe Cunningham who ruined their life, simply so he could avoid his own problems.Everyone remembers the day that Joe walked to the park, feeling better than he ever had before in his life, but for some inexplicable reason still pulled the gun out of the pocket of his coat.Everyone remembers the day that Joe pointed the gun to his head and, without fear or hesitation, pulled the trigger.Everyone remembers the day that Michael decided that Joe deserved to appreciate the darkness, too. 1