I had just walked through the front door of my apartment
after a three-week stint assisting my psychology professor. She was touring
colleges giving a lecture on abnormal reactions to value enabled systems. Even
after hearing the lecture twenty times now, I still have no idea what that
means. I threw my luggage in the corner and wearily sauntered up the stairs to
my room. In the hall outside my door my roommate was seated napping by my door.
He had a cake in his hands with welcome back poorly written in blue icing on
it.
It’s nice to come home to cool roommates, not like the last
one I used to live with. My old roomie was the reason I had decided to get into
psychology in the first place. He had so many odd ticks and strange ways of
doing things. I’d say a severe case of obsessive-compulsive disorder would be
the most apt description. When he would get home, he had to flip the lights to
main room three times and walk in backwards. If anyone else didn’t do this, he
would chase that person out of the door screaming on the proper ways to enter
the house. Lets just say my social life suffered greatly that year.
I was ready for a well deserved nap, but decided I might want
to brush my teeth first. I had a feeling my breath could slay dragons at this
point. The bathroom was situated across the hall from my own room, which made
for easy drunken nights when I needed to find the toilet in an inebriated
stupor. I was not prepared for what I found on the other side of the door.
The bathroom was in a shambles; the sink was ripped from the
wall. The toilet toppled over into the bathtub. Water was rushing all over the
floor and in the corner sat a figure. It was my old roommate, laughing or
crying, which one I couldn’t say. He was hunched over himself when I came in,
but on hearing my entry he looked up and stared wild-eyed at me. He pulled out
a stick with razor blades affixed to the end. I didn’t know what to do, so I
ran down the stairs as quickly as my legs would let me. Hearing yells of glee and
splashes behind me, I was sure he had begun pursuit.
It had not occurred to me that my new roommate might be in
trouble. Perhaps he wasn’t just sleeping? I needed to do something and fast. I
ran to the kitchen, there should be something I could use to defend myself
there. It struck me as I entered. There was a strong odor seeping around the
room; someone had left one of the gas stoves on. The idea quickly formed in my
head, albeit not a terribly good idea, one that would work. I waited just
outside the kitchen in the back alley. Lighter and roll of paper towels in hand,
ready to strike at first sign of him.
He came into the room eyes ablaze, weapon in hand. I knew it
was the only way out. I lit the paper towel roll and lobbed it into the open kitchen
door. I was blown back against the alley wall with such intense force I
couldn’t breath for what felt like minutes. Fire was billowing out of every
window of my apartment. No one could have survived that blast.
Then it hit me: murder and arson, I had just committed some
pretty heinous crimes. Sure I could claim self-defense, but I would probably
end up in jail for some amount of time. I’m not one for that type of place, so
I ran. I’ve been running ever since. Perhaps you’ve seen me on a street corner,
or in another country, I don’t have a name anymore, well at least not one that
I will ever say out loud, I’ve become a ghost among men and its time for me to
hide again.
-V-
