Nobody understood him.
But it wasn’t like that was a bad thing. No, it wasn’t a bad thing. In fact, he preferred it that way. It gave him a sense of satisfaction – knowing that he was on a plane that was far above the others’. He relished it, the thought that people couldn’t get him.
They labeled him ‘crazy’.
They were wrong.
“Dr. Surya, don’t be distressed. I am different. That is true, but do not let it bother you.”
He was sane – he was perfectly sane. He knew himself better than anyone else knew themselves. He always – always – knew what he was doing. Everything, every little action of his, had a purpose. He was a demi-god, with “Demi-” being the key word. No, he wasn’t a god yet. He deserved to be one, though.
This cowering piece of human before him was clearly a testament to his claim to godhood.
“Now go on, doctor, give me the keys.”
He cocked his gun to the side, giving his captive a silent reminder of the hold he had on his life. Indeed, a gun to the head was just like a stranglehold on the throat, only better, because it was easier to maintain.
Though, he had to admit, he still preferred the latter. There was nothing quite like the feel of a bounding pulse before it withers, weakens, and finally…disappears.
The doctor hesitated, apparently quite willful, but eventually relented.
“Good. And the keys to your car?”
By this time, the doctor had all but given up. The keys were handed over to him without much ceremony – none of the hesitation, only abject resignation.
He loved it.
He took a deep breathe, taking in the scent of isopropyl alcohol, medicine, and latex gloves all at once. It would be the last whiff he would get of the Asylum, he would make sure of that.
“Thank you, Dr. Surya.” He said, bowing politely. “It was a pleasure doing business with you.”
He slid down from the examination table, slipped his feet into the hospital-issued slippers, and went on his way. He was planning his escape route in his head, wordlessly scanning the blueprints he had memorized, taken into heart before he even entered the said institution before he realized – surely, he couldn’t go out into the world clad only in his standard-issue uniform. No, he had to wear something better. After all, he had to fix the world. He had to fix its consistencies, make it as ‘sane’ as he was.
Wordlessly, he turned around to face the doctor once again.
“Doc, I need some clothes”, he said, gun at the ready. After all, what better outfit to wear when fixing the world than a doctor’s frock?