[ WP ] One normal day you see a mouse pointer move across your field of vision , right click , and delete an object .

I 
 
 ‘ June 16, 2009. Hey me, or my subconscious or whatever... I know you ’ re not really using to talking to me or reading from me I guess, but desperate times call for desperate needs right? So ninety-eight cents for a pad of paper and forty-five minutes of looking for the only pen that works in my Brady Bunch vomit pastel bachelor pad and boom! You got yourself a fucking journal and me writing like a fucking crazy person… ’ 
 ‘ But that ’ s why were here right? We ’ re crazy right, I ’ m crazy? People just never understand… The clicking won ’ t go away. It just won ’ t... ’ Tears started falling painting the pages like a Jackson Pollock. Distorting the neat little lists of missing items, hastily scrawled notes, reminders to eat, water the plants to go outside. Reminders that the clicks are in his head, that he ’ s just been misplacing things and they haven ’ t been magically deleted or stolen. 
 ‘ Jason you ’ ll be okay I promise ’. 
 
 II 
 
 The apartment was a shambles, dishes lined the counters, posted notes covered the empty cupboards, puncture wounds riddled the sickly green walls. There was a man on the floor, his face concealed by a bramble of scraggly facial hair, his body was bare, laying on checkerboard linoleum he just lay there, not a blink, not a quiver on his goosebumps covered body, his chest still. No one knew he was there, his landlord hadn ’ t contacted him about the overdue rent, his girlfriend not a word since he had gotten worse, since he had started seeing it. And there it was again, his eyes snapped to it with a trained precision, they were the colour of straw, a fragile pale gold shot with blood. As big as plates they followed the it, hovering suspended six feet above him. A little white mouse danced and flickered around the small room slowly, with the elegance of a ballroom dancer six glasses of champagne too far gone it selected its target. It stared down at a teapot, the kind that you ’ d find in a Victorian tea time, the paint was chipped, the flowers a pale blue on a field of neglected mould and stark white porcelain. With a shuddering descent the mouse dropped dramatically, it ’ s mind decided on the target. His eyes shut, he couldn ’ t see it, if he couldn ’ t see it, it couldn ’ t hurt him it couldn ’ t take, but he could still hear the sound that came to ruin him. His body curled in anticipation like a beetle curling up in preparation for it ’ s dramatic end. “ click ” It was a simple sound, a one syllable prelude, the sound of scrolling filled the apartment getting louder slowly until he knew it stopped on the last option. And with the prodigious patience of a ballerina it deleted the teapot. A hissing pop filled the room as that piece of America ’ s tribute to Britain ’ s biggest pastime vanished forever. 
 
 III 
 
 “ Hey Jason! I ’ m Doctor Radsyuk, but you can call me Evgeni, or Gino if you ’ d like! ” He had wiry copper sprouting out the top of his massive six foot three body, his shoulders broad enough to stop a fight by picking two people up and actually knocking their heads together. His belly foretold of a loving wife at home, or one two many beers during the Pen ’ s game. ‘ He looks nice enough, maybe this quack will finally be the one to understand. ’ Jason thought to himself surveying the room. 
 “ Hey Doc, how ya doing? ” Jason said, absentmindedly shaking the large Russians hand. “ Ya know I ’ m really glad you agreed to see me, you ’ re like the first shrink in the three months to take me on, I assume you ’ ve read my case? ” 
 “ Yes, I ’ ve never seen quite anything like it, very unique… ” Dr. Radsyuk said flipping through the textbook sized chart that Jason ’ s physician faxed his office. “ You say things have been going missing? ” 
 “ Not missing deleted ” 
 “ Hmm I see… And you ’ ve been hearing things ” Dr. Radsyuk sat now, observing Jason ’ s back with a keen interest, his piercing gaze not missing Jason ’ s rapidly bouncing foot, the sweat rolling off the back of his neck, the half healed scratches all over his hands, the blood under his fingernails. 
 “ Not things, we know what it is. ” 
 “ Please, tell me Jason? ” His hands usually a blur listing symptoms or facts at this point in the session lay still in his lap, his eyes and mind doing the work on this one, he leaned back awaiting the response that he already knew the answer to. 
 “ It ’ s a mouse. ” Jason said matter-of-factly. A look of puzzlement flashed across the good doctor ’ s face betraying his surprise. “ There ’ s this mouse, this computer cursor that appears and poof deletes my stuff. Everyone says I ’ m crazy it ’ s in my head… But my things are disappearing, and I don ’ t know what to do anymore… ” His foot was blur now, his hands wringing slowly nails digging into the clammy moist flesh. “ I don ’ t even know what ’ s scarier whether or not it ’ s in my head or real… ” 
 “ Jason exactly how many doctors have you gone to with this? ” Dr. Radsyuk slowly asked, a slight frog in his throat, further distorting his heavy Russian accent. Jason turned away from the window, the bleak Steel city berated with rain beyond the glass confines. 
 “ Fifty-seven in the tristate area ” Jason said “ and three in London, two in LA. A Tibetan monk and you ’ re fucking mother. 
 “ I ’ ve gone every where to everyone Doc. I think, I think I need some help. ” 

