The weight of Reality

I sit, methodical, with time turning in on itself, everything crashing and burning at once, viewing both the end and the beginning. The crushing weight of reality was enough to knock the initial excitement of my entry completely from my mind. I now know what must be done.

The lock picking kit came early in the mail yesterday and like a child waiting for recess I fidgeted anxiously all day. The clicking pen, the tapping foot, the lost trains of wondering thought, all tell-tale signs pointing to me, the future culprit of the night. I didn’t care; I was uncovering the drawer’s sacred contents that night.

Although Corrigan had long returned from his previous trip, despite the potential danger of repeating past mistakes, I made my move. I waited for the departure of the last of my co-workers, I double-bolted the clinic door and then scooted the couch an in or so, just enough to make entering difficult and buy me enough time to escape, if needed. My nimble fingers raking and pushing, it took about an hour and then, click, the final pin released itself; the drawer was mine. Moving slowly and holding my breath, I slid open the drawer. Immediately the numbers, “5836,” jumped to meet my eye. Dropping the rake and tension tool with a silver clink on the linoleum, I seized the orange-marbled colored folder.

Pouring out came Jeih, locked behind the doors of Byberry, forgotten psycho-path, Corrigan’s first subject. Memorized with unblinking eye, I read the preliminary testing results. The Byberry rumors were true and Corrigan played part, slowly driving this man further and further into insanity. Hunted and haunting his dreams and drawings struck me, hollowing out in the pit of my stomach, expanding like empty corridors and deserted minds. All the while my disbelief faded with each echo: “he sacrificed this man for the sake of his machine.”

I dreamt of caterpillars eating my face that night.