Insanity

David Shaw looked down. He was ready. He jumped. It was not like him to consider suicide, let alone actually commit it. But it wasn’t the real him anymore. He fell closer and closer to the ground. Suddenly, he hit. He was instantly killed. This was what life had led him to.

One Year Earlier:

Shaw got out of bed. He went over to the kitchen. His wife, Holly, who obviously had been up for a while, greeted him. “Breakfast?” she asked. “Nah, I’ve got to get straight to work today,” Shaw replied. “Most important meal of the day,” Holly said almost instantly. “Yeah but this is more important than a meal” Shaw replied. He walked down to the basement.

Holly found what her husband was doing creative, but she knew he was getting obsessive. What he had been doing was fairly unusual. He had been writing a Superman comic, he had been hoping to send it in to the company and get it published, as he was a big fan. He had no idea why he wanted to write it.

Everyday as he walked down to the basement he would work for hours on end. The only sound that could be heard was a “drip drip” from a tap on the other side of the room. He had tried to fix the tap once, but he failed to succeed in doing so. Everyday he worked to the sound of the tap dripping. He had no idea then, but this noise was slowing turning him from a fan of a comic to an obsessive schizophrenic.

Six Months Later:

Shaw was still going down to the basement everyday now. He had finished his first comic, but for no real reason, he continued to write these comics. He was to send them in as a trilogy. He was working on his fourth. Everyday he continued to work to the sound of the leaking tap. He was near the end of the comic when he looked up. Suddenly, he started hysterically laughing out loud.

He got up the next morning late, and made his way down to the basement. He was now eating every meal there. He looked around the room, and smiled. All his limited edition comics were in their place. He sat down to begin his final comic.

Two Months Later:

Shaw looked up from the basement. It was quiet, except for the constant dripping of the leaking tap. Suddenly he yelled out, “I’ve done it!” He ran upstairs, and past his wife, he was too ecstatic about his work to hear her cry, “Honey, I think you need some help”.

Shaw ran outside and straight to the post box. He posted his comics and ran home. For the next three months, he sat in the basement, staring at the wall, awaiting the company’s reply. The only sound that could be heard was the “drip drip” of the leaking tap.

Three Months Later:

Shaw ran into the basement, eyes filled with a joyous madness. He had received a reply from the comic company. It read as follows;

Dear Mr. Shaw,

We are sorry but we are going to have to turn down your work because it is not to standard. In our apology, here is a limited edition copy of “Superman Vs The Fly”. We are very thankful for your efforts though.

Yours sincerely,

Michael Richards

Head of Marvel Comics, LMT.

Shaw ripped apart the letter in anger. He ran insanely upstairs, but sane enough to hear Holly say “did they turn down your work?” Shaw pulled a butcher’s knife out of a drawer and stabbed Holly in the chest. “Yeah! They did!” He yelled.

He laughed all the way to the Marvel Comics building. When he was finally there, he went to the top floor. He walked into an office. Blood was smeared on his shirt. He picked up a chair and threw it at a window. It broke. He walked to the edge of the window. He was going to jump.

The End