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Another one. Things could get interesting, I dunno. Hope you enjoy.

I'm Alien or a Time-Traveller... or something. (Eight)

The imperialists have won and he was ecstatic for a resolution to these sordid ideological wars. The television, riveted high up in the corner and ensconced by a steal mesh casing to prevent damage from thrown items, currently displayed the news; the ticker periodically displayed a particularly interesting bit of information "Suspect apprehended..."

His eyes drifted to his writing; he wrote "Suspect apprehended for indoctrinating pigeons" A hoarse giggle emanated from his throat; he felt the unpleasant tingling of connectivity with the giggle, it felt like it had come from him so he flexed his arm and was further disturbed by the closeness of proximity it had to his body. This wasn't right.

"Betty!" he croaked. He knew her real name because he'd snuck into the office one night with a stolen key, memorised the staff names and their credentials, from then on he'd refused to speak to anyone but her, not that her real name was Betty, and Jason.

She crossed the room planting herself with stern eyes in front of him "Yes Mr. Smit?"

"I need pills." He placed an index finger on her exposed forearm "You feel that?"

"I feel your finger on my fur if that's what you mean Mr. Smit." She had long since learnt to play his games, they weren't irrational, however they required patience.

"Feel deeper woman! There's something disturbing there." He applied pressure, his strength forcing her to bolster her stance.

"There's a long list of what I'm feeling right now. But I doubt anything on that list is something you want to hear."

"God damn it cat, can't you guess the concern related to empiricism." For a moment it looked to him that she might salute and call him comrade.

"You are worried about touch?"

"I am worried because I can feel the touch. This institution is supposed to keep me doped up and right now I am approaching a dangerous proximity to clarity. I believe I might revolt and go on a killing spree now that my wits are available to me."

She frowned at him, gingerly took a hold of his finger and extricated it from her arm; her patience had worn thin "Don't even joke."

"I might rape you." He said darkly.

"No you won't, what the hell do you actually want?"

"My pills, if that isn't painfully obvious. Do I really need to act crazy before I can get some care?"

"You're not crazy Mr. Smit. I know it; you know it and Dr. Jason has finally caught on to you."

"Just bring me my fucking pills."

She glowered at him for a long moment, and then she stalked off, leaving him to his writing. He read "I am ecstatic, the Imperialists have won, but they're losing again which is better. Suspect apprehended for indoctrinating pigeons." He took up his pen and wrote a new sentence "My nurse is an altruistic communist."

Betty, of course that wasn't her real name he just called her that, returned with some pills which he swallowed down with a gulp of water.

She had said something about Jason which only sank through now "What do you mean that Jason's finally caught on?"

"You're being discharged tomorrow."

He nodded, it had been easy to be crazy when his doctors were disjointed professionals but then Jason had come along who treated those in his care as individuals and not cases meaning that he adapted treatment to the patient and not the patient to the treatment. When he kept changing in protest of Jason's efforts it had set off alarms for Jason. He and Jason had then spent two years playing games; each time Jason would try a new approach, he would then counter it by reacting the opposite of expectations, until Jason had tried to force him into contradictory behaviours as in: this week he would be anti-social and next week he would be hyper-social. It was fun but his ingenuity in outsmarting the doctor betrayed a rational mind, too in touch with reality to produce such consistently inconsistent results. He almost admired Jason. It had been a matter of time though; it had also been a long time since he'd actually needed the help.

"You're being discharged Mr. Smit." Betty repeated almost with relish.

"I heard you. Now leave me. I have things to write."

A paw on his shoulder forced him to meet her eyes, she was smiling, a small sorrowful pull of her maw which mimicked the symbol of joy but she was devoid of pleasure "It's too late now to fake a breakdown."

"Go woman! Leave me alone."

She turned to go but she didn't, she stood there with her back to him. Finally she asked of him "What's your real name?"

"Johan Smit" he replied not looking up from his scribbling.

"Your real name." she stated this simply, without pretence or ambiguity.

He knew of her need, she was younger than him but he knew that she had been lonely for a long time; a strange version of Stockholm syndrome had befallen her in the years she'd spent working with the mentally ill. Her exposure to the abnormal had left her unable to identify with the norm. She had fallen in love with crazy and he had become the only viable link for love in her life; crazy but not insane. They both knew it was an impossible romance; but she hoped and his caring contempt for her never allowed him to allow her any delusions. He considered all of this but decided to provide her with this one act of kindness.

"It's Sander Pohl, now go."

"What will you do when you leave here?"

"I think that it's time I finally face my demons."

"From the war?"

"I am past the war. Go away Betty, for fuck sakes."

"What will you do then Sander?"

He sighed; if he were leaving then he could afford to extend this kindness "I impregnated a female before going off to fight the communists; twins."

"If I had children I would consider them a blessing."

"What you don't know Justine" he used her real name now "is that their mother is a wolf."

She bent and kissed him on the cheek "I don't know how that's possible but it's good that you want to make up for lost time Sander."

"There's nothing I can do to atone."

"There is always something you can do."

"My daughter died of sickle cell."

"And the other one?"

"He's alive I think."

"Is that why you're really here, to punish yourself?"

He stopped talking then and eventually she left him there. The large white goat pushed the notepad across the table; no need to write encrypted craziness anymore.