The Delusionist

The skip is not enough to shelter me. I can feel them, those death rays, sweeping from the clouds, the red light watching, always watching.

I'm not stupid, I know what I'm thinking, I can see the world. It's just them, it's a big plot. The call it schizophrenia and they take you into the big white building they have named 'the hospital'. I know because I've been in there. They speak to you in kind tones, stroke your arms, tell you that no-ones following you, that you are safe. That's because they've already been taken over. Now they want me, to take me. But I don't give up so easily.

The skip is not enough to shelter me, I can feel them watching.

How long is it now, two years, three years since I started moving? Time is long but there's nowhere to hide. They brought out the CCTV cameras to find me, the spying cameras that follow you everywhere and take pictures, incriminating pictures. They already had the sky cameras that they call 'satellites' watching you wherever you go. They use them to pinpoint you on the computer and then they go to where you are and make you the surrogate body for their plans. But I won't let the Aliens take me, I keep moving.

The skip is not enough to shelter me. The stench of dried urine and rotting rubbish sweeps over my head. I run.

The gravel parking lot is big and open and flat. They make them like that to trap you. There's more time to see you if you're in the open. There's more time to copy your features on their cameras. Wildly from side to side, find them before they find you.
"Excuse me dear, are you alright?" They've found me. I spin around. There she is, that body of trapped human. But you can tell from the eyes, there's more light in an Alien's eyes.
"Get away from me Alien," I jump back, trip over a bottle, lean down and pick it up.
"I'm not so easy to catch."
She's edging backwards now, she knows I've got a bottle, perhaps she's calling to someone else. I throw the bottle at her and turn to run. My knees feel bloody. I'm so damn scared. I hear her fall behind me.

I'm hiding in the old house. I've been here before; it's not safe to go back where you've already been but there's nowhere else. My stomach is groaning . I unwrap the bread from my bag, pick at the cheese. It was in the skip, was the bag, forgotten by someone. I wouldn't have taken it, it could have been another trap, but I was hungry. I'm always hungry. I open the bag further, looking for more food. There's a newspaper in there, an torn newspaper. I flick at the front page. More missing children. Sarah Michaels, Tommy Woods. Those are the children who know what's going on, like me. Those are the children who can't trust anyone. I put the bag down, under my head. My eyes grow heavy. It's dangerous to sleep here but I do anyway. My dreams are filled with red lights.

When I wake up, the red lights are still there. I shake my head to clear them and I hear a voice,
"Right Missy, stand up now, you're coming with me."
I open my eyes; the red lights glare in two hands. Men in uniform standing by watching.
"You found me," I whisper. My voice croaks.
"I'm arresting you for assault of an elderly lady which resulted in an early heart attack and on a smaller charge for trespassing in private property. You're facing several years." He indicates to another uniformed man who steps forwards.
My heart beats faster than anything. That old body, she saw where I went. I should have been more careful. I look around me desperately. The long window closed; the door guarded by two more. The click of handcuffs opening; an instruction to hold out my wrists. Then a cold hand grabbing my shoulder. My breathing gets faster and faster and I stand tense and small. I will not be made to carry them. I drop to the floor, curl in on myself. Then I rock backwards and forwards, muttering so I cannot hear their silence. My tears squeeze from between my eyelashes, run down my nose. I hold myself in tighter as they attempt to prize my hands away but I say nothing. What's the use in saying anything?

She just sits there, on the floor, singing to herself, rocking backwards and forwards. Treston attempts to get her hands with the handcuffs but they are hidden tightly inside herself and she will not move them. He could tackle her but he chooses to leave it. Eventually he just lifts her up in that fetal position and carries her to the door. As he goes past I look at her. She smells dusty, of burning wood and mould; her clothes are faded and her hair long and matted. I say something to her but she does not reply. Her brown eyes, dark and lifeless, look at me with something like despair.