Paranoid Eyes

He sat across the table from the doctor, the restraints digging into his wrists, his twitching fingers going pale, sensation leeching away from them. His eyes darted from the pen on the table to the glasses on the doctor's face, the door behind to the crack in the ceiling, the joint in the padding on the wall to the lamp hanging from the ceiling casting it's lurid light through the room. It was swinging slightly, it's back and forth motion hypnotically engaging. He licked his lips, all his attention focused on the lamp, watching the slight motion, watching the fuzzy shadows that the light cast onto the pale surface behind the bulb. His breathing slowed, his hands stilled. Every muscle in his body tensed to the point of breaking. Still, poised at the brink of sudden motion. He existed in those shadows, his center, or lack of it, in that haze behind the lamp.
The sound of the hand slapping down on the metal surface of the table startled him. Every muscle in his body suddenly finding that they had the capability to contract and extend, tensing against the bonds that held them. The sound of his teeth grinding echoed in the confines of his skull, searching for a way out. He stared at the hand on the on the table. The wrinkles folding over the knuckles on the fingers, the hair between knuckles standing on end. He followed the hand and watched it stroke the slight beard on the face of the person sitting across from him at the table. His eyes not staying still for more than a split second. His attention flitting from one thing to another like a hummingbird.
The doctors rasping voice tried to get his attention, tried to grab at it, but it wasn't his to give. His mind was fragmented, not willing to acknowledge itself, not willing to assign an identity to him. A single flame, flickered fitfully in the little room, grabbing his attention. His vision blurred, pupils dilating to drink it in. The flame moved from one end of the table to the other end. The raspy voice said something. Even if he'd been able to understand the words, he wouldn't waver from his perusal of the flame. From the rhythm that it provided. From the structure that his fractured mind derived from it.
The creak of the hinges fell on deaf ears. He glimpsed movement from the corner of his eye but wasn't able to tear himself away from the randomness of the flame, from the waves of its motion. His skin felt the tightness settle around his neck but his mind refused to waver. Something pulled at his forehead, again his mind refused to acknowledge. His muscles taut, held his head in place.
The flame, still flickering edged to one side more than it had in it's pendulum motion, retreating into the shadows, dispelling some of them and creating others. It stood out like a star in the night sky, flickering fitfully, fighting for its position there. His eyes focused on the flame, pupils dilating further, gulping it with an unparalleled thirst. He pushed back against the chair as it moved closer, his head hitting the leather cushion behind it. He felt a tightness on his forehead.
The flame pulled back moving higher, to a little above his eye level. It kindled something else, something that changed colors in a slow rhythm. It started as white, seeming hot enough to make the sun seem like an ice cube. Turning to a fiery red. Finally to a dull amber. And then the sequence in reverse but much more quickly, as though the rise were more important than the fall.
The flame was gone! He tried to move his head but couldn't, the pressure against his forehead and neck holding it. He trashed back and forth trying to get free. His eyes darting around the room searching for the flickering illumination.
He heard a sigh and a sharp click behind him. The lamp in the room dimmed. A hum began behind him culminating in a sharp crackle. His muscles contracted of their own accord, straining against the straps that held him. He focused on the dull amber light, following the tiny white cylinder to the wrinkled fingers that held it. It grew to white hot before everything went black.


This is my perception of insanity. Or perhaps this is my version of it.