He only did one thing well.
This new medication, it – went to his head. In the coffee shop he tapped out a sequence on the table, tappity-to-tap-to-tappity-to-tap, until he got it right. Those people were looking but he had a book and you can go to a coffee shop with a book and sit all day.
Sweat began to form on his brow and he shouted. A short burst about the color blue which he hated, especially sky. Then he thought of the park with its green, and shivered once.
Those people, smiling at the other table. And the ones at the park with the children. They did things well, he was sure of it. Had money, and boats. He knew they were watching him so he was careful but still – he knew they did many things well.
But at least he had one thing, he thought.
He crossed at the crosswalk. Waited for the white pedestrian light until he could walk and then he ran. He ran for the bench at the park with the twisty jungle-gym and the children laughing. Then the howling. The howling from his dreams and the horse hooves like thunder he couldn’t stop any of it, they were laughing, he remembered that deformed dwarf telling him…what? So ugly and ungodly, face of a vagrant, a heart-thief, twisted like the striated muscles he could almost see in his own flesh.
The switchblade made a “thok” sound when he opened it. Solid and for a minute everything stopped, like when the noon church bells passed the twelve mark and there was nothing but pigeons flying scared.
Then they started again, this time louder, a Mongolian horde pressing across the plain straight for his brain. He knew he could do one thing.
As he stepped onto the chair, later, carefully balancing himself, he heard muffled shouts outside. He looked at the rope and it seemed to him that the knot he’d tied there was the best one he had ever made.