"Now what I want is facts." rasped the supervisor. Sweat beaded, running coldly down his spine. The guards quieted, leaving their fear to lay heavy in the fluorescent hum of the room.
The straitjacketed patient finally spoke. His eyes were wide but soft, his voice beamed out around the corners of his words. "God came to me, or gods... A gift of knowledge."
"All you see," pointing his nose around the room, " are the symptoms that you call God. Reality is, a little god's behind every particle. I understand the pieces, so I understand everything... I walk through walls."


Comments: 29
Eerie.
Regards,
Doyle I <~~~~~