"You see, I believe in God, otherwise there would've been no
one to mock" said the man who was about to kill him, and the
patient sat tight and listened.
"Now I know what you think, dear boy" said the man again,
"But you're probably wrong, besides it's not you speaking
it's the drugs"
"Speaking what? I haven't said a word yet!"
"And to prove that you had to say eight! Now what does that
teach us?"
"That modern man needs words and understandings in order to
properly communicate, both of us know that back from when we
were kids, what are you trying to prove?"
"What the hell do you know about my childhood!?" screamed
the man who was about to kill him.
"What possibly could I know?! Now do me a favor and untie
me!"
"Even if I cut all the ropes around your limbs and get you
out of the nut house you called home for the past year,
you'd still be far from untied"
"What do you mean by that?"
"You're a slave, boy, a slave to society and to your own
hypocritical self"
"Let's worry about that after you cut the ropes!"
"Indeed? And then what? I'll be left here without any
entertainment for the rest of the evening! Very unwise of
me, considering the fact I'm out of cigarettes"
"I'll give you some!"
"Oh, I wondered when you'd regain your sense of humanity,
thank you lad!" and with that the man who was about to kill
him took the packet from his hostage's pocket, took out two
cigarettes, gave one to the hostage and took one himself. He
was maybe about to kill him, but it's always important to be
humane about it.
"Now where was I? Oh, yes, God..."
"No, you were talking about me"
"Now you see if you had any pride you would have kept your
mouth shut and allowed yourself to think I am talking about
you"
"Calling yourself God!? That's not pride, it's folly!"
"Well then call yourself Satan of the Angel of Death for all
I care, just please try to keep your manners not interrupt
me!"
"Manners?! You're pointing a gun at me!!!"
"Now why am I doing that, boy?"
"Because you wish to shoot me!"
"Ok...but let's overlook the obvious and think deeper,
regardless to what you've read in those pathetic lawyer
magazines of yours. Why am I trying to kill you? Moreover,
why would I want to kill you?"
"You want to negotiate about money?"
"Don't you ever insult me like that!!! I'm not one of your
little clients looking to get compensated for being an
idiot!"
"What does that have to do with it?!"
"You know precisely! You hate your job and the fact that you
have become a lying cheating back-stabbing opportunist in
order to maintain it!"
"You don't know that!"
"Don't change the subject! Why am I trying to kill you?!"
"My god, you're insane..."
"Bingo!"
"What?!"
"You are correct. I'm as every bit insane as you are. You
hate your job, you hate the way your wife treats you, you
hate the fact you've been gone for over 9 hours after work
and no one noticed yet, and more than all you hate the fact
that all I say is true"
"You're psychotic...release me!"
"Oh but you know what you hate the most?! You hate the fact
that no matter how much you agree with me regardless to your
silly act, you know that tomorrow you will not change a
thing in your life, you'll remain miserable for other's sake
and die a nobody"
"I'm about to die today because of you, you maniac!"
"Wrong. I've already called the cops. They'll be here within
the next 3 minutes or so. You know how us psychotics love
harassing the polices..."
"You're dangerous to yourself more that to me! Untie me,
I'll talk to my doctors about you, get you some help..."
"Untie you from what, boy? Your hands aren't tied, and
neither are your legs..."
Suddenly they heard the police trying to break open the
door.
"The only thing in your hand is a gun and a packet of
cigarettes. Maybe you can use your lawyer skills to fool
them into thinking the gun's just a very cool lighter.
You're only hearing things, you miserable child, you're
suicidal as well, and considering the life you've allowed
yourself to live? I don't blame you and I don't blame
me..."

When the police walked in, they found Mr. Miller sitting on
a chair, holding a packet of cigarettes in his hand and a
gun in the other, pointing at himself.
"Help me!" he cried, "Tell him to put down the gun! Tell him
to stop torturing me!"
When Doctor Simpson arrived, he explained the matter to the
police.
Mr. Miller was never allowed another vacation from the
mental institute. He eventually won the battle for his life,
and was found dead in the bathroom after hanging himself
with towels.
The picture of man with the gun burning cigarette holes in
his soul never left his mind until the very last moment when
his mind left him.