Crazy or not

By Marie Parkins

(First prize in the Eastern Writers Group’s Biggest Little short story competition for 2009)

“What about people, Caleb? How do you see them?” “Well, you got the doers that do and the dreamers that dream. Then you got everyone else stuck in a mosh pit. Those suckers exist and dunno why.”

“Where do you fit into the picture?”

“Me? I’m a dreamer. Yeah, definitely a dreamer.”

“What do you dream about?”

“Being famous. 1 write stories. I’m workin’ on one at the moment. Dunno how it’s gunna end yet. 1 only write when its’ dark. Sometimes it’s dark all day.”

“Tell me more about your writing.”

“Well 1 wanna get my stories published, but it won’t happen ’cause I’m a nobody.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Okay. So you’re a singer, a footballer or whatever, then suddenly you’re a writer. Bam! Just like that! Publishers are trippin’ over ’emselves to get you ’cause you gotta a name. You don’t have to write – you just gotta be famous.”

“So you killed a man to give yourself a name. You stopped being the dreamer and became the doer.”

“Nah, I killed the weasel because he deserved it. The voices were right.”

“But don’t you think it will help you to get your stories published?” “Yeah, I reckon it will, but that’s not why I did it. 1 killed him because the voices told me to. They’re always telling me stuff.”

“Take this knife and show me what you did.”

“I don’t think you should give me that.”

“Why not? Are the voices telling you to hurt me this time?”


“So take the knife.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“You’re shaking Caleb. What’s the matter?”

“What matters is what I might do to you if I’m holding the knife.”

“I don’t think you’ll do anything. Iwant you to remember how you felt that day. I want you tell me what it was like to be so angry.”


“So I can help you.”

“Where were you when the voices were telling me what to do?”

“Probably at the hospital. So do you think I’m to blame for what you did?”

“Yeah I reckon you are. You’re lucky I don’t have the knife in my hand.”

“It’s still here if you want it.”

“Are you crazy?”

“No, and you’re not either. You don’t hear voices and you’re not a writer. I don’t even believe you can write. You’re just an angry man who lost his temper and killed someone. As simple as that.” “Then you’re just a dumb weasel like him! It was the voices – they told me what I had to do. They always tell me the end.”

“Caleb! Take the knife away from my throat.”

“You said you wanted me to show you what I did.”

“Well I’ve changed my mind. Take the knife away from my throat.”

“I gotta be crazy to kill my shrink. That’s what they’ll say. I reckon I’ll even get my

own room.”


“Yeah Doc.”

“Put the knife down!”

“Nah, I gotta finish my story!”