Escaping The Factory

'How will we manage in Spain if you get sick? '
 
'I won't get sick. It's her persecuting me. Her. And you.'

Shush, he's wearing a dark gown. He has a kitchen knife in his hands. He wants to kill you.  

He laughed, unable to stop.  She believed him.  Believed they were going to Spain in two week's time.  Believed they were going to live in a villa belonging to his late aunt.  Silly. Gullible.  The aunt had never existed.  

'Don't do that,' Cassie said.  'You're frightening me.'

'Shut up. Shut UP!'

Cassie was sick.  Indeed, all of society was sick.  He was the only one who had escaped the daily humdrum of the machine that chugged away and carried along the unsuspecting masses to their eventual destruction. He had escaped from the factory.  He had jumped off the conveyor belt and landed safely, proving they had told him nothing but lies.  They would never bring him back.  No, no, no!  They would not steal his soul and pump poison into his veins.  First he would die.    

Not tonight, but soon.  
Very soon, very soon.
The die has been cast,  
We shall sleep,
All of us.  

He followed Cassie to the bathroom.