hello again. this story is a more gruesome version of an old movie called "groundhog day" the character, Michael, is living the same day over and over again and is driven mad by the experince. i mention "groundhog day", but in all honesty, i got the idea from a videogame. not the story in the videogame itself, but its mechanics. in the game "fallout 3" you can save your game at anytime. if your bored, you can save, go do crazy stuff like spend all your money, or kill everyone you see, and then just load the game back. that idea of being able to 'reverse time' got me thinking and this is what i came up with. rape, suicide and murder are all mentioned in the story, but not in much detail. i hope you enjoy. the story's title is explained in the first paragraph.

                                                                The Interworking of the Mind.

                                                 A Collection of short stories by Thomas Dark.

                                                                                Sisyphus.

                In Greek literature, Sisyphus was a king punished in Tartarus to roll a large boulder up a hill, only to watch it roll down again before he could get to the top, thus he would start over. This process would take him forever. Constantly watching the boulder roll down the hill, and he would constantly have to bring it back up, only for it to happen again.

                As Michael looked at the webpage in his computer, he wondered if the Greeks somehow knew of his situation. If somehow the person who created the story of Sisyphus was stuck in a loop like he was, but was somehow able to overcome it.

                When it first happened, Michael was overjoyed. Suddenly, nothing he did mattered anymore. Everything would just reset once he was done. He could do anything, no matter how despicable and inhumane. No matter the blood he spilled and the wounds he made, they would all just vanish into the loop. But it seemed lately, what Michael thought was a few months, the loop was getting old. He’d lived Wednesday, the sixth of November 2006 too many times.

                When it first happened, Michael thought he was just living life. A day to day routine that had just become too predictable. The fact that the date never seemed to change was just him not paying attention to the calendar. But eventually, he noticed something. He noticed that, everyday, the same thing was on the news. He noticed that, everyday in math class, he received the same test with the same grade. But he wasn’t absolutely sure until he did something he knew wouldn’t be forgotten.

                During his last bell class, he and his history teacher got into an argument. In which, Michael and firmly raised his hand and uplifted his middle finger. This gesture, accompanied with some foul language, would be remembered for months by the student body and even longer by the teachers. But when he came in the next day, his history teacher acted like he never seen the gesture or heard the words, because he didn’t.

                That night, Michael stuck a knife to his arm and slashed, making a large cut on his forearm. The scar would remain there forever, but it was well worth it to prove that what he was thinking was wrong. But when he fell asleep that night and woke up, his arm was free of any such marks.

                It took him some time to become bold in his actions. It started out with a few shouting matches between people in power over him. Teachers that he didn’t like, upperclassmen that pushed him around, his father. But the next day, people still looked at him the same. The people he’d cursed at, the people he’d punched and the suspension’s he was issued never existed.

                It was then his anger made him do the unthinkable, the unimaginable. The vilest most grotesque thing he could think of. He knew that, in this world where he only lived on that Wednesday the sixth of November, he would never be able to hold a relationship, as any progress he made on that Wednesday would just be forgotten. So why not just take what he wanted from the women and girls he coveted so much? As vile as it was, they would be none the wiser. The action never technically happened, no one was ever hurt.

                It was after probably a month of Wednesday’s when these thoughts entered his mind. he stalked a girl home on night, followed her back to her house and memorized her address. Then he made note of her schedule. He had unlimited time to do this, and her schedule never changed. Every night, after she got home, her parents would leave promptly at six to go to a dinner party, leaving her alone. At six thirty, her friend would call her. At seven, she’d make dinner while watching TV, and accidently burn the fries after forgetting they were in the oven. At eight, she’d do her homework, and at eleven, when her parents got home, she’d go to sleep. There was such a large window when Michael could do it. it was as if though whoever, whatever, put him inside this loop, wanted him to try it.

So he did. On Wednesday the sixth of November 2006, Michael sneaked into her house through a window she kept open to let the smell of the burnt fries disperse. He crept up behind her, while she was watching her show, and during the moment when she laid her head back into the sofa, he threw his arm around her neck and choked her until she was unconscious.

To Michael, it was a dream come true. All his fantasies were coming alive. She screamed and struggled but to no avail. After three or four failed attempted to tie her down, he’d made an art out of it. He did everything he’d imagined to her.

And she was but the first in a long line of women whom he coveted and lusted for. He’d made it a mission, a quest to past the time, to have sex with every girl in his school, including the teachers. And he did! After what must’ve been a thousand Wednesday’s November the sixth 2006, he’d made love, forceful as it may have been, to everywoman in his high school. And not a single one of them was hurt by the attack. Not a one of them remembered or where traumatized, because it never happened. the only person it happened for was him.

It took him another month’s worth of Wednesday’s November the sixth to take another step up on the crime scale. Murder. Why not? How many people could he kill without them ever dying? It certainly wasn’t hard to obtain a weapon, and using the same technique with the women, he watched as the person he hated the most, his father, walked into his house every day, doing the same thing. So, he decided to do it. the worst that could happen would be that the loop would end the day he do it, and seeing if he told anybody his story, they would believe he was insane.

So on Wednesday November the sixth, as his father sat in his chair reading his newspaper, Michael grabbed a golf club from his father’s trophy room and swung it at his head.  Again and again. The blood and brains splattered all over Michael. His father, dead after only three or four swings, was alive and well the next morning. Nothing had ever happened. He’d never killed his father.

He’d killed almost every person he knew at one point or another. After a decade of Wednesday’s the sixth of November 2006, he’d killed everyone within his reach at least once. His crime spree’s rained supreme. On more than one occasion he was arrested and thrown in jail, only to be safely back in his bed when he fell asleep. He’d been shot, beaten, and his arm was even cut off once, all to be repaired and safe in the morning. After over three dozen attempts, he’d managed to rob the local bank by killing everyone inside. Although he had no time to spend the money, as he was apprehended shortly afterward, it was fun to be able to swim in money.

  In the next few years of Wednesday’s November the sixth, he had made it his business to uncover every secret he could. He knew that one of his teachers was gay, that the principal was sleeping one of the seniors. He knew that the lady next door was cheating on her husband. He knew that, on Thursday November the seventh, a young man in his math class was going to bring a gun into school, but thankfully that day never came.

But after another few Wednesday’s November the sixth, Michael had grown bored. His anger and lust had subsided, his curiosity satisfied. He’d read every book in the school and public library, ate every kind of food he could get his hands on, watched every movie there was to watch. He’d done everything he could think off. He even played his hand at being a vigilante, but there was no crime in his little town to stop.

And that was why, on Wednesday November the Sixth 2006, after breaking into the town’s gun store, he retrieved a pistol from a case, loaded it with bullets, and turned the gun to his head. He had written a will and pinned it to his chest, explaining his situation and why he did what he was doing. Going from the school, to his house, to the gun store had taken some time. it was almost two AM when he finally retrieved the weapon. Michael had never stayed awake past eleven.

He pulled the trigger, splattering his brains across the floor. He was smiling as the bullet pierced his skull. He was finally released from his torment of predictable days. Wednesday the Sixth of November would haunt him no more. No longer would he be caged in a loop.

But the bullet did not completely kill him. He fell to the ground, struggling to keep his eyes open and remain conscience. He feared having to try the entire process again. So even though his body was in extreme pain and even though there was a hole in his head, Michael stayed awake.

Michael watched through the broken glass that he entered through as two policemen and an ambulance showed up. The policemen looked down at Michael, believing him to be dead. He shook his head and muttered.

“I hate Thursday s.”

            hello there, my name isnt Thomas Dark like it says below. thats just a pen name that i use for certain stories. im new to posting and blogging, so if im doing something wrong, please tell me in a comment, or something. that being said, this is part of a collection of short stories im doing, all with a common motif, which i like to simply call insanity or madness. of all the stories, short or otherwise, im writing, this is probably the most generic, and the longest of my short stories. please rate, reveiw, or whatever it is that people do here at Xanga (i just came from Myspace.)  thanks, and i hope you enjoy.                           

                                         The interworking of the mind,

A collection of short stories by Thomas dark

  The Tenth complex

Neither shall you covet your neighbour’s wife. Neither shall you desire your neighbour’s house, or field, or anything that belongs to your neighbour.

                        -the tenth commandment.

            It was a slightly overcast day, a Wednesday, in October. The leaves on the trees near the suburbia Dr. Cliner had entered had fallen, and they either followed his car, or ran away, depending on his direction and speed. However, Cliner had no time to view what he would usually consider so beautiful. No, someone life was held in the balance.
                Cliner pulled onto a road that he knew from his file on Mr. Draper. 2345 Chardon Road, in the pine village suburbs, just off the highway that Draper used to get to his job in an office in nearby Cincinnati. The office, Bernard Inc. a business that only hired Dr. Cliner as a requirement as set down by the department of mental health, due to the fear of office shooting that have become just as common as school shootings these days. Cliner met with Bernard’s entire staff, from the CEO to the janitors. Never would he believe that he would actually find someone like Draper.

                He saw drapers house. It was a usual, medium sized suburban home. Draper worked as an accountant for Bernard Inc., and he was very good at what he did. At only twenty nine, working there out of college at twenty five, he had already been promoted twice. It seemed odd to Cliner that he would develop a Tenth complex, being so successful, wealthy, and a fairly handsome young man. He came from a well off family, however, his next of kin, and his only family left, was his sister. The rest of his already small family had died recently. For many complexes and mental health issues, Cliner would say the loss of almost his entire family had a hand in it. However, he seemed to have this complex since he was a child. It was Dr. Cliner that put a name to his illness, and put the illness to Draper.

                He started to turn into Drapers driveway, but caught himself. Draper needed help, to be sure, but it was his neighbour that was in danger. How ironic, Cliner thought, that it would actually be his next door neighbour that Draper resented so much.

                Cliner pulled into Cramer’s driveway. It was only by luck that Cliner had seen Crammers name and address, not to mention his position. He ran the department that Draper worked in, so Draper worked under him. Cramer had come into Cliner’s office as well, he, however, had no mental health issues whatsoever. Cramer was married, two kids, and was only one year older than Draper. He made almost double the money, had a much bigger house, three cars. He had played high school football, got a scholarship to Ohio State and played while getting his education. He didn’t pursue a career in football, but was picked up by, at the time new, Bernard Inc.  He was a success story, period. Even Cliner somewhat envied him.

                He got out of his car and pulled his jacket over him, and put his hood up. If Draper saw him here, it could spark something. What, Cliner didn’t know…nor did he want to find out.

                He walked up to the door and pressed the doorbell.  In a few seconds, a beautiful, model looking woman opened the door. Cliner could see the inside of their home. It was clean, save a few toys on the ground, and lined with great furniture and knick-knack’s filled shelves.

                “Can I help you, sir?” the woman asked in a voice that could make most men’s knees weak. She had tan skin, a beautiful body, black hair, and bright blue eyes. Even though she was beautiful, Cliner wasn’t immediately impressed. His wife was quiet a looker too.

                “yes, can I talk to your husband?” Cliner struggled to remember his first name. Luckily, before he became embarrassed about it, Mr. Cramer appeared behind his wife.

                “Dr. Cliner?” he asked. “Haven’t seen you since Bernard set up the appointment.” he sized Cliner up, realized how cold it was outside, and waved him in. “come on in, doctor.”

                Ms. Cramer stepped out of the way, and Cliner thanked her. After a short introduction between the two, Cramer began to wonder why Cliner was there.

                “Is something wrong, Doctor?” he asked. “I'm not insane, am I?”

                “Hopefully not.” Cliner said sarcastically. “But I need to talk to you, its extremely important.” Cramer nodded his head. Cliner noticed the two girls sitting in a couch in front of a TV. If Cliner was about to make an unfounded claim on someone, he didn’t want many people to hear it.

                “is there somewhere private we can talk?” Cliner asked. “like I said, its important.” Cramer nodded his head, and led him to a downstairs office. Inside the office were pictures of Cramer in his football youth, of his graduation, and pictures of his family. He noted his two beautiful little girls in side by side picture frames.

                “You’re worrying me, Dr. Cliner.” Cramer said. “I mean, really worrying me.”

                “Well. I mean too, as bad as that sounds.” Cliner started off. Cramer nodded and offered him a seat in a red leather chair. Cliner sat, and Cramer sat down behind his desk in a larger chair. It seemed reversed to Cliner, but he didn’t put much thought in it.

                “okay, tell me what's so important.” Cramer said. “and why you couldn’t tell me over the phone, or meet me in the office.” Paranoia was the only answer to that. there was nothing suggesting that Draper had tapped Cramer’s phone line, but there wasn’t anything against it either. People with his complex were, essentially, uncharted. It was Cliner himself that had introduced the theory, and it would be arrogant to say that it’s widely used or explored by other psychiatric practitioners.

                “Well…” Cliner started. It then occurred to him that he didn’t prepare a speech, an explanation. It just occurred to him that Cramer might be in danger, and he hoped into his car and drove from his office in Cincinnati to warn him.

                “Do you know Frampton Draper?” Cliner asked. Cramer nodded his head.

                “Yeah, of course I do. he works with me, and he’s my neighbour.” He said. “Why?”

                “well, when Bernard sent him for the psyche check-”

                “We all had to take those, right? Some political B-S?”

                “yes.” Cliner said. B-S that might save your life. But he disregarded that. “Anyway, I’ve been seeing him since the interview that Bernard made him under go. I have to say, he isn’t exactly in peek mental health.”

                “he isn’t?” Cramer asked with a surprised look on his face. “he seems like a normal guy to me. kind of a workaholic, but that’s not a bad thing for a guy like him. I don’t think he has much of a family, or a girlfriend, or anything like that.”

                “he doesn’t, that’s true.” Cliner said. “what I mean when I say he isn’t in peek mental health is, that…” Cliner hesitated. If this were simply an inferiority complex or god complex, or even a stranger more immediately threatening metal illness, like DID or schizophrenia, this would be much easier.

                “do you know what an inferiority complex is?” Cliner asked. Cramer nodded his head.

                “Yeah. Its where someone thinks there lesser than everyone around them, or something.” He said. “Why?”

                “Well, I believe Mr. Draper has a mental condition derived from an inferiority complex, called a Tenth complex. It gets its name from the Tenth commandment-”

                “Ye shall not covet thy neighbour.” Cramer said.

                “Correct. It’s just a name though, the actual odds of the person with a Tenth complex being violent towards there neighbour is unlikely.”

                “Violent?” Cramer said, his eyes widening. “Frampton? He doesn’t seem violent at all.”

                “I know. And he’ll only be violent towards you. The person he admires, hates, and covets the most. Violence is what I believe to be the last stage, but I bet he’s spied on you, stalked you, probably broken into your house.” Cramer stood up and sighed.

                “I have noticed that he seems different at work.” Cramer muttered. He turned to Cliner. “What makes you think he…covets me?”

                “You’re a handsome young man. Your only one year older than Draper, but you make double the money. You have two beautiful daughters and a good looking wife.  You have what he wants.”

                “That’s messed up.” Cramer muttered.

                “Plus, you have a position of power of him, making you all the more of a target. The fact that you’re his neighbour means that, every day, your success is being shoved in his face.”

                “I’ve never bragged about my money or anything like that!” Cramer said, raising his voice.

                “Doesn’t matter.” Cliner said “in fact, your modesty itself may be another trait he envies.”

                “Okay, fine.” He said submissively. “What should I do? Should I call the police?”

                “No.” Cliner said. “No way, that would bad. I'm making a mostly unfounded claim here. it occurred to me the other day that Draper had classic Tenth complex symptoms, since then I’ve been trying to figure out who it was he envied so much. He let it drop today during our session how successful you are, and that’s how I knew you and your family was in danger.” They sat in silence for a moment.

                “I’ll buy a gun.” Cramer said. “I’ve wanted to get one anyway; there have been a few burglaries in the area recently.”

                “That’s a start, I guess.” Cliner said. “But, I'm going to try to get him admitted to a mental institution, get him better help and therapy.”

                “That’s good. Thank you, Dr. Cliner; I appreciate you coming here to warn me. There are two many people in the world who wouldn’t have

                “just be careful.” Cliner warned. After thanking him a few more times, and offering him a drink or two, Cliner was on his way. it was getting late, and he needed to be home with his family. This incident had made him worry about his family more and more.

                Cliner was married, had been since he was twenty three. Is twentieth anniversary was coming up soon. He had two kids, both in their mid teens. His son Eric, sixteen, and had hopes to become a navy surgeon, taking a medical path instead of a psychiatric one. All the same, there would be another doctor in his family, and from a family full of Doctors, he was just keeping up the tradition.

                His daughter, Sylvia, fifteen. She didn’t have the same yearning for medicine that her brother did, instead she wanted to peruse and art based career. She was an excellent pianist and a beautiful singer, and recently had tried her hand in acting. Her first performance was next week, and Cliner, especially after this event, wanted to see it like his life depended on it. When he got home, all he wanted to do was to spend time with his kids. Chat about medicine with his son and listen to his daughter drone on and on about singing.

                And then, there was his wife. His beautiful, red headed wife. She was a physical therapist in the hospital that Cliner used to work at, that’s how they met. She was a stunning young woman, and even though she was approaching forty soon, she didn’t look a day older than when Cliner met her.

                Cliner laughed. This revelation of all the things he seemed to take for granted was unexpected. He was a good father, a good husband. He never put his work before his family, and he always set aside time to spend with his family. Just the previous weekend, all of them had gone on a picnic outside the city, and although his kids pretended not to enjoy it, they did. Cliner wasn’t a slacker by any stretch of the imagination, however. He worked extremely hard, that’s how he was able to run and maintain his own office, with three other Psychologists. His office was one of the best in Ohio, and his co-workers were all some of the best in their field of psychology, all making great strides in experimental treatment and solving the puzzle called the mind.

                Cliner pulled onto the highway that led out of Cincinnati. He never liked the city, or any cities. He didn’t think you could raise a family in a city. Instead, he lived in a small rural community about half an hour drive from the city. His kids went to a private catholic school and received a top notch education.

                He made good time, in less than twenty minutes; he pulled into his neighbourhood, Pleasant Peaks, and drove down his road. Pleasant peaks wasn’t your average community. The houses were spread far enough apart to each house could have a yard, and plenty of seclusion. As a kid, Cliner lived in a farming community, where the houses were quarter miles apart, and he hated that. However, in collage he tasted the opposite end of the extreme, where everyone was close together. Pleasant Peaks was exactly what he wanted.

                He pulled into his drive way. His house was a western style, modern American home. Five bedrooms, one which he used as his personal office, a large but furnished basement, four bathrooms, and beautiful living room, dining room, and a large kitchen. He seemed to admire his house that much more, after his trip to Cramer’s house.

                He parked his car in his garage and got out. he walked inside and noticed it was unusually dark in his house. He shrugged it off. He didn’t wear a watch, but the sun had set a while ago. Everyone was probably asleep.

                He walked upstairs to his room and opened the door. He could make out the silhouette of his wife lying in his bed. He could just make out her fiery red hair in the darkness.

                He tried to undress and find his clothes in the darkness, but he couldn’t. he opened what he thought was his drawer, but it was empty. He looked with his fingers for the lamp on the nightstand on his side of the bed. It took him a full minute to find it, but he did.

                He pulled the string, and the light instantly brightened up the room, much more than he wanted it too. he glanced at his wife, she didn’t move. Good. He looked back at his drawer. It was open, and, empty. Instead, all of his clothes were scattered on the ground. he followed the path of clothes with his eyes, and it lead to a dark corner on the far side of the room.

                In the corner, however, was a dark figure. The figure was holding a pair of Cliner’s pants, holding it up to his face.

                “Even your clothes are better than mine.” The figure muttered. Cliner swallowed. The voice belonged to Frampton Draper. Cliner turned to his wife, but it was then he realized why she didn’t move when he turned on the light. She was dead.

                “no!” Cliner screamed. He jumped on the bed and examined her. There was a long slash mark over her stomach. The blood seeped into the already crimson bed sheets.

                “you have a beautiful wife, Dr. Cliner. So beautiful. And strong. She fought me every step of the way. But she, like everyone else, underestimated me.”

                “You…” Cliner muttered. He raised his wife face to his own, begging her to move. But when he moved her head, he noticed another body on the floor, another two bodies. His son and daughter. Both were bleeding from the back.

                “and your children, you did such a good job with them” Draper praised. “your son, he woke up first. He came in, screaming. he didn’t try and fight me though, he just tried to save his mother. His poor, poor mother.” Cliner rolled onto the ground in a futile attempt to help his children.

                “And your daughter. When she screamed!” he inhaled, as if though smelling a heavenly aroma. “Even her screams sound like music! Oh, what children have you raised, Dr. Cliner.”

                Cliner turned to the shadows. Draper had stepped forward into the light, but only half of his body was illuminated. It was the half Cliner didn’t want to see. The half that was covered in blood.

                “what children.” He muttered again. His eyes produced tears. “I’ve always wanted kids of my own. To raise them, to teach them like you’ve taught yours. But, women, you know?” he asked, if attempting to make a joke. Cliner just stared at him. Drapers eyes arched, and he raised his voice.

                “no, of course you don’t. look at your wife!” he said as he walked near her. “so beautiful. Some people have all the luck.”

                Cliner rose from his position and attempted to strike Draper. However, before his fist could connect, Draper plunged a long, slender kitchen knife into his stomach, and threw him aside like a doll.

                Cliner, powerless, attempted to rise, but couldn’t. He looked up at draper.

                “you know how hard I work?” he asked him.

                “I know…” Cliner said.

                “And yet…” Draper said. “No one loves me. No one gives a damn about me!” he kicked Cliner hard in the chest. Cliner doubled over from the impact, but didn’t feel the pain.

                “And you? You didn’t do anything that deserved this!” Draper yelled, extending his arms in every direction, spinning. “Look at all this! What did you deserve to get this? Work hard? Huh? Is that it? I’ve worked my ass off, and I never got anything like this!”

                “Draper, please.” Cliner muttered. Draper turned around and gazed in his eyes.

                “What? Are you begging me for forgiveness? You have nothing to be sorry for, Dr. Cliner. You, you’ve done so much for the world. You’ve fathered two beautiful children, made quiet a name for yourself. People call you the best in your field. And you are. You’re so damn smart, and talented. You’re such a goddamn a success story!” he stopped, and the hate built up in his eyes.

                “I hate you!” he yelled. Draper pulled another kitchen knife out of his back pocket and stabbed Cliner again and again, until all of his blood had been spilled onto the ground, until all of his blood had covered the red velvet floor.

                Draper rose up from his hunched over position. This was it. it was his now. He undressed and put on some of Cliner’s expensive clothes. Even thought they were just a pair of sweat pants and a large tee-shirt, he felt like he was in perfect attire.

                Draper laid down next to his beautiful wife. “Good night Sylvia.”

                “Good night daddy.”Sylvia said. Her voice was music to his ears. He couldn’t wait to see her in her play next week.

                “Good night Eric”

                “Night dad.”  Draper smiled, knowing that when he awoke, he would have a long informal discussion about medicine over breakfast in the morning.

                Then, Draper leaned over to his wife, Jessica, and kissed her on her forehead, just under her fiery red hair.

                “Good night sweetheart.” She said in a seductive voice.

                “Good night.” Draper said. he laid down, and closed his eyes. Everything he deserved has now in his possession. Everything he worked so hard to achieve. All the years he had worked all those miserable attempts at getting it. All he had to do was take it.

                He fell asleep. He slept soundly, knowing when he awoke, his house, his family, would be there.