Baratta.net Stories

A friend of mine says that paranoia for some is life blood for others. So simple, sweet and so true. It is deffinatly life blood for me. It has become my life.

You see, THEY are out to get me. I am risking alot just thinking about THEM. THEY know, just like Santa Claus. Sick but true, THEY know. Everybody else is dead. I can't tell you who, but it doesn't matter. You can't bring them back. Only those who don't know are alive. And, yes, me. I'm the last one to know. Of what I can't tell you. THEY've killed everybody I've spoken to. I don't talk any more. I don't do much any more but run. You see, THEY are always behind me and I've got to remain one step ahead. I've been called crazy but I'm still alive. That's my power over THEM. My life. As long as I'm alive, THEY can not do anything.

I lost my sight when I was 12 and sick with rheumatic fever.  My parents got me Tobias, my seeing-eye dog, 6 months later.  The visions started at the same time. It’s not that I can see exactly, I can sense the presence of “things”.  Normally everything is “black”, but other times I get this photo negative view that melts into view. I know it not true sight because the way the images flare and fade with a ripple inducing nausea. 

The night was young, unlike the observer who sat upon the plateau. He gazed down over the quiet valley community, watching lights slowly traverse dimly lit roads that crisscrossed the sprawling city. The air was dry and cool. As the wind picked up, his long gray hair floated in front of his cracked face and par­tially obscured his vision. He made no effort to remove the obstacle, instead he waited for the circling winds to clear his line of sight.

“So you’re saying the voices in your head started after your epileptic surgery?” The man’s voice was bland and disinterested. Seeming to take the interview as a checkbox on his list of duties.

He thinks you are nuts.

“Yes, sir.”

Bobby sat slouched in the hard wooden chair. The small room’s harsh light amplified by the stark white walls and the gloss of the mottled linoleum flooring. The man, his court appointed lawyer, sat across the table from Bobby shuffling through the court reports and handwritten notes that were neatly arranged in front of him.

The man pulled a page out of his personal notes pile, referred to it briefly and spoke again, “You think that the Epi-chip has a virus?”

I’m NOT a virus. I’m as real as anyone in this room.

“That’s one explanation, sir.”

“Is that the one I should take seriously?”

Is this meat sack the best the local government can afford?

“That’s the best of the bunch, sir. If you don’t go with ‘totally insane’.”

You’re not helping your own cause.

“Considering what I have to work with here,” the lawyer looks up from his notes and looks Bobby in the eyes. “Bobby, I have notes and court papers here documenting your behavior and you claim they are coming from voices. Voices, that you claim, have taught you how to move objects telepathically. An insanity plea is my most logical choice.”

He’s going to let you hang, Bobby. Get a new lawyer.

“I completely understand, sir.”

“So what’s Daniel saying about me?”

Hey, this guy knows?

“Excuse me, sir?”

“You don’t hide it well enough. You look like you are having two conversations at once.”

Hmm…He’s sharper than he dresses.  I like this guy now.

“Daniel doesn’t think you’ll mount a proper defense for me, sir”

“Heh. Just remember, son. Daniel doesn’t know everything.”

Huh?!

“Uh, I don’t follow you, sir.”

Taps side of head. “Some Daniel’s are built better than others, son”