Eight days, Being captured is humiliating. I should’ve tried ending it before i was caught but I’ve been with her for four years. She promised me that we would visit the ends of the earth together, be it Italy or America. The German psychiatrist walked into my room with pills and waved them mockingly, he spoke perfect French which was bewildering to me. All he's done is asked for my life story. I don't know why but he’s got a needle that's large enough to scare me into talking. 

    Today seemed different however, he’s got a lot of pictures today. First he shows a wanted poster, the wanted poster looks familiar. Its got the face of a man on there, then the doctor waved something in front of me. 

    “Ecoutez”

    Next he waved a bark in front of me, he waved the object in front of my eyes again 

    “Ecoutez”

    He repeated this with glasses, pill bottles, wine cup, gelatin, handkerchief, and then a pistol he handed over the pistol. The trees waved around me as he did this. I'm outside, standing up from my chair. I’m looking at that pear shaped tree picking him up. I run at the boy who's choking him. 

    I punched the bully, one would never be enough for hurting her. But as I turned, there was a boy standing there. Shocked, looking down while my hands are bloodied. My body thrusted forward, He’s standing high above me poking at me, I’m searching under my pillow for pills. No, I never took any pills. As I'm searching the loud jazz starts playing behind me. Turning, I’m in front of him, hes eating gelatin trying to feed it to me. I found out I was allergic to gelatin that night.

Then a mob passed by me. They took him, he was slower than me. He was picked up and beat, I watched. I could hear him gurgling out blood. I watched, I could see his body unresponsive. I watched it happen.  He not only took paintings but took my pistol. That pistol was worth more than all my hard work ever. It was a work of art; it was a masterpiece that he sold for a few hundred francs. I returned to the room. The doctor smiled as he then held out the pistol for me once again. Cloudy, that's what everything in life feels like, I took the pistol. I killed him, i joined in and kicked him. For a gun. My hands shake, the sudden rush of dread, anger, and hate came over me. I point the gun at my head. Then a memory returns.

“Don’t ever be seen with me.” In the mysterious house under the hallway there he told me. His foot on my chest as he’s looking the other way, this was him, he was always stealing. Under the forest moonlight he also told me that there and then he sold my gun. For scraps of meat.  Why did i stay mad when his arms were that of twigs, broken at any moment. How did i stay mad at him when his face was being burned under the mob, his face melting into paste. 

I stayed mad, yet while being burned he said 

“Live.” 

Live Live Live, my head exploded and scrambled those words up. I had my gun to the doctors head. His smile turned into a fearful plea. “Testing if I’ll suicide from pain?”

His brains flew as that slow jazz started playing inside my head again, I ran for the door. Pulling the hammer ready for another shot as I busted down the door. I go to the cell across from me as alarms blare. I can’t seem to break the lock, instead I shot the lock and open the door waiting to see her. 

Waiting 

Waiting 

My arms had just flopped down, my ears could hear the approaching soldiers but that didn’t matter, none of it mattered when the man. No, the monsieur pointed a pistol right at my head. 

This old man talks too much. But something caught my ears, “who was the girl then?” I asked him.

“She never existed.” He replied

“Then who was there in the last two years of your life?” He just looked to the right of him as he rowed the small boat. I could hear the screams of the underworld swimming below me, the entire cavern dark. 

“A shapeshifting slime.” he commented long after the pause.

He turned back at me with his skeletal face. “What I hoped for was a slime.”

He pulled his long brim back down as I approached the arching gates of flame. He boarded a small dock. As I looked down I saw the human souls still moving around the stream of black. They’re small white wisps that flutter about. Before going to meet the king I changed into the soft squishy blob. 

“P-pierre?” the old man said without confidence.

I walked past the gate

That name did bring back memories.