Guilt Man

Oh wow. I wrote this 6/17/2009. That was so long ago…for some for-fun-competition I forget.
I was looking through old Google Documents, when I noticed a “post to blog” function. How convenient! I think I’ll use that more often now.

May 5, 2005
It’s nearing the anniversary of my wife’s death. I walked with John to the section of the building he worked in. I worked on the other side, but I came anyway since he had a conspiracy story concerning my wife’s death he wanted to tell me. It’s been eleven years.

May 6, 2005
There was a meeting today. It was on the side John worked at. Uncommon, but not unheard of. I found an open door I’ve never noticed before, since I don’t usually come here. I felt its open mouth was calling to me. It seemed so familiar.

May 9, 2005
I returned today to check out the door. It was locked. I peered through its small foggy window to see a dark room. I could have sworn for a second I saw a figure on the ground, watching me with its empty eyes. The medication I take this time of year can cause hallucinations.
May 10, 2005

I talked to my doctor today. He said I probably won’t need the medication anymore anyways. It’s been eleven years after all. I never noticed this until now, but I think I may have met my doctor from somewhere else before.

May 11, 2005
Last night, the dreams started coming back. My deceased wife called out to me with a horrible look on her face. I remember now. It’s been eleven years. The watching figure from the room made an appearance as well. I think it will be better if I continue my medication.
May 12, 2005
Restful sleep, no dreams. Today, I have to work overtime to pay for my bills in time. John called asking to pick something up from his office for him. It was getting dark, and as I walked through the corridors to the other side, I could hear my footsteps through the silence. As I passed the room from before, I ventured a quick peek through its window and froze. A pale face was pressed against the window, its mouth open in a ghastly way. There was congealed blood on the edges of the window as if it had been there forever. Worst of all, its eyes were open in fright, and locked with mine, unblinking. It was my wife.
May 13, 2005
Today was the day. The anniversary. I was so scared. But it’s alright now. I won’t need my special sleep pills. I’m in jail now. I confessed to the police. I killed my wife, in that same room. They believed me. From here, I could see John talking to a police. He looked just like my doctor. He said to the officer, “And you said that it was a lame super power.”

Feel free to reply. But I won't read cuz I'm shy. Unless it's haiku.

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