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arts






sierra kempster
(writer - california)

web site
darkmoon@calweb.com


"Only a Madman is Dead Sure of His Sanity"

I watched as his skin melted off his face. It was like it had suddenly been given the consistency of honey. It dripped off him, his hair sticking to it in little clumps.

I had no idea as to the cause of this phenomenon. We had just been having a normal conversation when his skin started melting. Well, it was as normal a conversation as any two complete strangers can have on a New York subway.

Subways are strange places, where you meet strange people. You find people who talk to themselves, people who look as if they could kill you on the spot, paranoids, people who are just plain crazy. That's why I sat by this man. He seemed like the only normal person on board. He even sounded sane enough when we started talking.

What really gets me, I think, is that he just kept talking as if nothing had happened. I ran out of the subway as soon as we reached the next stop, trying my hardest not to scream. He looked at me as if I were crazy, which is ridiculous. I know I'm sane. How could I be crazy?