In your mind

this is about a Schitsophrenic (thats prob not spelt right) who runs out of pills and refinds his deamon.

I wake and find its 3am. Great. I am not meant to get up for all of four more hours. I lie for a while staring and the odd patterns in the ceiling but as far as sleep goes I get no where. When I check the clock it tells me its now 6.32am, and I decide thats good enough. I get up and wash, eat, dress and head for my medicine cabinet. When I open my pills and dip them onto my hand I am horrifieed to find nothing comes out.

"No, no no no! Crap! No!" I shriek. I cannot go without my pills. God only knows what will come of this day. This dark, dark day. I go through to my room and there she sits in all her smug glory. Its like my brain has registered there are no pills and welcomed her back in the same second. My devil sits on the bed smirking.

"No pills?" she asks, and I know she knows there are no pills left. "Oh, well, guess you are stuck will me now."

"Why can't you just disappear already?" I grumble.

"Well I am in your mind." She points out. "Make me disappear."

I want, so badly, to walk over and slap her. But I'd be slapping air. God, why did you make me crazy? I turn my back on her and stalk into my livingroom, switching on the Tv to some mindless channel with some mindless show on. She, of course, is sitting next to me.

"Remeber the good old days?" she says dreamily, "When it was just you and me and the sky was the limit! What fun we had! Oh, I've missed you."

"I've not missed you." I mumble.

She acts hurt and pretends to wipe away a tear. "Oh, well now that's not nice. You've hurt my feelings."

"If you weren't a figment of my imagination I'd hurt your face, leave me alone!"

"Am I, though? You can see me. Clear as day. Just because all those doctors can't, they say I'm not real. But look at me, I look real, don't I?"

I reluctandly say, "Yes."

"They're just jealous. Such awful pills they give you! Have you had fun since they forced me to leave?"

"My life has been somewhat . . . easier."

She crosses her ankles and dwiddles her thumbs for a moment. "Call in sick." she demands. "No work for you my friend, call in sick."

"But I . . . feel fine."

"Ah, but you are fun deprived." She sighs, "I'll fix that."

"I don't want to know what you have in mind." I groan.

"Now really if you think about it - and believe what those awful nasty doctors say - it's really what you are thinking about."

"Just go away!" I explode chucking a pillow at her. She catches it.

" Now. . . if i were a figment of your imagination I couldn't do that right?" One of her eyebrows raise and she has a point I can't argue with.

Oh crap, I think. This deamon is real.

The End

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