Fiction Anonymous

Fiction Anonymous

by Jonny Kelley

The man who looks like Patrick Stewart is asking me personal questions.
He is tapping his knee several times.

“Repeat what I'm doing John,” he says, sounding very commanding.
“What is in your head now?”

I'm thinking of the time I was sick after sucking all the artificial
ink off a chocolate bar wrapper. But I would be foolish to say that to
Patrick Stewart.

“I'm thinking of the time the bone was sticking out my leg, they put
an orange pillow over it - the leg that is.”

He tells me to banish the thought, rip it apart in my mind. I do this
so well I fool the psychologist - what a stupid man he clearly is.
Still I hope for there to be no life on the billions of stacked universes.
There was a stupid woman who put belief in God - I killed her, I bet
she is rotting in the ground.

“Do you feel better?” asks Patrick.

“Yes,” I answer.