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September 20, 2002

Something in his hand ~ Short fiction

There's that guy over there again. For awhile he has been looking better, but this week he seems to have fallen into a slight dip again. So I approach him and pat him on his right shoulder. And? Well, alright I guess, at least for now. You see, the last time he climbed over the fence it took them almost a whole week to find him and bring him back. Bring him back to the place where he really did not belong. They should have been more respectful when they dragged him back. Yes, I could understand perfectly well. Dipolar syndrome, they kept saying. I removed my hand from his shoulder and started talking. Talking just about anything, it did not really matter. When they brought me back, they didn't have to do that. Going up? I agreed with him, but there was no real way to comfort him anymore. Except through words, trying to explain what is real and what is not. You see, that has been his problem for a long time, a very long time. I am losing touch with the boundaries and how to define them, he says looking directly in my eyes but not really looking in them. Well, it is not that important anyway, I answer. Going down? You know that. Yes, he did but did not at the same time. That was the dilemma really. There was something in his hand, a piece of paper which he had wadded up and made all sweaty. Obviously something had been penned on the now crumpled note as the blue ink was or had been dripping due to body warmth or other natural causes. Something important I was sure. Is there something you want to show me? No, not now. Maybe another day in the not so distant future. I will have to wait then until I see that guy again before I find out more.

Posted at 10:15 AM

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