Author’s pre-notice: All characters and concepts in this work are MINE. As in I own them. I plan to go somewhere with these guys.

The composure of the work (the way it’s strung together) is deliberately loose to build feeling. It’s very quiet inside the mind of Fing… yet so very loud.

For those who are clueless, Fing, the central character, is one of the main characters in an amateur comic I do called Stick U. He is a stickbod. Basically a stickbod is a single-pieced body (in his case, skinny and ribs showing), with stick figure limbs, but well-drawn cartoon head and hands. Elbows and knees are circles.

Fing is a teen genius, I mean mastermind genius, with every mental disorder currently known to man, and a few more. He shares an apartment in college with an NRA/CIA/Mafia who has an afro loaded with guns (cartoon, remember), and the gay illegitimate son of Elvis Presley who was raised by Elton John. I know it’s not very feasible, but hell, it’s a cartoon.

In this fic he battles with the constant disadvantage of his most crushing disorder.

This fic in no way insults people with such disorders. It is more of an outlet for myself… Fing is the deepest character I’ve ever made and I have big plans for him. This particular piece only scratches the surface.

For the record, his full name is Fingworth Bladesheen. His knife’s name is Rosa.

MIND OF THE MADMAN

A pitiful fic by David Macintyre

Bleed.

Bleed I say.

That’s it… I knew you would learn to respect me. I knew you’d eventually listen to me. You’d see things my way.

Of course, you did need a little persuasion…

A little persuasion…

That I’ll live to regret.

But dear me, what’s a little razor between friends?

See… it’s not so bad… you’re not struggling anymore…

That’s good.

Are you comfortable? I’ve seen all I want to see… a little red… a little blood…

You can go now… that is if you want to…

How nice! You want to stay. My, you must be tired. Look at you, lying there, you can’t even move. Of course, the fact that I just slit your wrists may have something to do with it. But my, what a day you’ve had…

Here, I’ll just lay you on the couch…

You know, if I put your arms like this… what do you know. You look just like Sleeping Beauty…

I’m going to my room now.

Good night.

Sleep tight.

*

I woke up screaming.

It was terrifying.

I keep having that dream…

That dream…

Would you like to hear about my dream?

Well…

It happens every couple of weeks… but not frequently enough to be recurrent.

In this dream, I am a madman.

I always am.

But in this dream, even more. I am much more than a quiet, kleptomaniac boy with a high IQ and a passionate taste for violent movies and porn. In my dream, I am a silent, kidnapping man with a genius credit, a cunning tactical intelligence, and a passion, nay, clamoring for violent pastimes and rape. Oh, and I like meat…

That’s the problem.

In my dream, I like meat.

Particularly the red part.

And then, every time it happens, every time I have this dream…

There’s a dead person on our couch.

It’s always a woman. And she’s always laid out nicely, with her arms set on her chest, to hide the slits on the underside of her wrists… god, it’s so frightening… every time it happens, I have to fight to keep Elliot from coming out and tossing us off of a building. And I have an amazing struggle trying to keep Wesley calm. Poor kid…

We know what’s happening, though.

Every time I have this psychotic dream, and wake up, the others know. And we all know what’s going on… we all know which one of us did it.

I hate him. And I scowl at the fact that we both share the same name…

He is evil me. Evil Fing…

I heard a woman scream in the living room… Elve was already awake. And no doubt he’d walked in, planning to make some toast and cook the rest of us some breakfast, because he enjoyed it. And then he walked in, and all his assumptions that the killings had finally stopped had been shattered. Then he screamed.

I thanked Artemis for his prediction. I inquired Elve afterwards, and he informed me that indeed Artemis was right.

Elve, being his worrisome self, was quick to inform our friend, the CIA and Mafia agent Benedict “Bangoâ€