Dark dreams inside the purple house (unfinished first chapter)

The walls were breathing and my brain was twitching to the tune of paranoia and fear. I was no one and for a time it felt right, but the feeling was soon outlived by shadows and nightmare words, songs and creeping lullaby’s; voices of the mind in an endless spiral of tease and torment, smashing the Jellyfish in my head against the walls of my crumbling skull.
I was paralyzed, frozen. Seeing the world through plastic pixels and frosted glass. Every time I smashed through the mental carnage another transparent wall; stronger more stubborn and reinforced with added anxiety, chronic confusion – pain; the sound of Britney fucking Spears.
The reflection in the mirror resembled the image of a face reflected on a spoon; mouth stretched like a Demon, eyes bulging like a Cartoon; neither amusing nor disturbing, but something absurd and in-between. I pressed a finger on the cold glass – it rippled. Rippled like liquid metal across my reflection and across the faces of the pixelated cartoon corpses that were sat on the floating red sofa behind me. Sat in a perpetual state of chirps, twitches; an incoherent assortment of jagged verbs and nouns. For hours, minutes or even days I stood staring into the mirror like it was some other world a hidden dimension not seen through civilian eyes.
When I came to I was in the bathroom trying to figure out the difference between the toilet and the sink. I chose my seat and began unleashing hell! When I had finished I used somebodies towel to clean myself and out of some twisted sense of respect for other people’s property and household etiquette I folded the towel and placed it back neatly on the chrome radiator. Then – almost forgetting - I flushed the sink.
Panic took over as I noticed I had lost half my face. Fuck! Where had it gone? I was half a person half a head half a human and half, well – soap tooth brush and a bottle of pills. It’s a weird feeling, the confusion - no not the confusion, but the fact that the conclusion to the initial confusion is right there underneath the madness waiting to be discovered, so obvious – yet, so diluted by the derangement and the mess of the illuminated mind and all at once - lost in its shadows. The answers were there right in front of me. I managed to somehow run a coherent train of thought through the corner of my mind that was causing this horror and with one swift slide of the bathroom mirror my face had returned to its full fucked up and intoxicated glory. In my hand I had - what I thought just moments before was a prime component of my face – the plastic bottle of pills.
I tried to read the label but the letters were making fun of me, moving around flipping one way then the other. I twisted and shook the bottle trying to open it. The pills exploded half down the bath plughole and the other half on the tiled floor. Looking at the empty bottle again I shit myself at the words that had formed on the label.
“Touch this bottle and you will die!”

So I threw the fucker on the floor and panicked, pacing around the bathroom, regarding the bottle spinning on the tiles. Who would kill me for touching a bottle who was watching when I did it? Why? For the love of God why did I touch it? This thought cycled around my head the tyres burning rubber on the outskirts of my brain. I was going to die. I dropped in the corner behind the bathroom door shaking with fear.
You are going to die
You are going to die
You are going to die
You are going to die
You are . . .
I don’t know how long I festered behind that door in the corner but the liberation from the overwhelming fear I felt was to come in the most unlikely of forms.