Rocking chair.

This place is full of reminders; that I’m a fraud and a failure, a cheat and a liar. It is boring, conservative and religious. There is no scene here, gay, straight or just plain freaky. There is no excitement. There is no culture. This place breeds leeches and cockroaches, desperate to wriggle into holes of admiration from middle class cunts. Self-assured pricks safe in this placid environment, happy to continue on this road of steady average. I need to get out of this box, I need to escape before I start to cause mayhem and get myself locked up. Then what, be here forever? If my wrath gets the better of me, please realise that no one can escape. You threw me into the blizzard to freeze. You will all pay for that. I don’t trust myself, timescales between docile behaviour and manic episodes are decreasing and erratic, half of the time I don’t even know who has possessed my mind, who is in charge of this machine.

It is raining hard outside, this usually makes me feel calm and content but right now I want to set fire to every fucking droplet and let it fall onto my wretched body, burning me alive and causing me horrific physical pain. I’m so isolated, being a genius is soul destroying, I’m far more intelligent than everyone around me, meaning I cannot connect with anyone. I hate all the people I know and I’m becoming a recluse, plotting my revenge.

Josh sat in the rocking chair, moving his body forward and back quickly to increase the speed. The back of the chair was almost splitting with the force in movement, but he kept going. He swallowed hard, feeling a lump rising from his acidic stomach, his lunch fizzing with aggression, bursting to get out. He swallowed again and kept rocking, a calming childhood action which focussed his dangerous thoughts.