Paranoia

                        

     Bloodshot eyes paralyzed with fear. Still. All is quiet, except for his hushed breathing and rapid heart beat. His mind flashes static buzz, unable to comprehend or draw a conclusion. He begins to violently rap his fingernails on the table. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap....
     The Grandfather clock chimes. His eyes dart to it, paranoid. Paranoid. Paranoid. The eyes watching him. He feels them. Why are they looking? He turns to there the feeling hits him. From behind. Nothing's there. Of corse not; that's make him sane. He was insane. Or so the meds he took told him.
 
    Meds he flushed down the sink.                                                                            

He didn't need them. He DIDN'T need them. He was fine. He could do it himself. As his fingers tapped, his right foot begins the same rhythm underneath the table. Again, he felt he was being watch. He shot up from the chair, knocking it over onto the floor. His body convulsed from side to side, scanning the room. Nothing. Nobody. Who  -what-  was watching him? He raked his fingers through his hair, and settled into a fetal position on the torn carpet. No sleep. No sleep in three long, agonizing months. To afraid to close his eyes and face the darkness behind his lids. To afraid to see...them. They polluted his dreams; plaguing nightmares. He rubbed his hands back and forth across the felt floor. Soft. So soft. Comforting. The clock ticked. And ticked. And ticked. And ticked...
      He ripped it from the wall. Bolts and pieces of the clock clanged to the floor. He kicked them to the side. While up, he shut the blinds. No one needs to see anything. To know. From the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow walk past.