The therapist looked at me over the top of his spectacles in the typical way you would assume they do. “So, what finally made you come to seek my help?”
“Something happened to me the other day that made me think my paranoia had reached a whole new level. The level I would need help to escape.”
“I see, make yourself comfortable and then tell me all about it.” He sat there, armed with his notepad and pencil ready to listen to my story.
I coughed nervously, unsure how to begin. “I am a writer, and I was working on the sequel of one by most popular books. There was this fly, buzzing about, landing on me, landing on my keyboard, landing on my screen, and just generally being annoying. I know, you are going to tell me that is what flies do in the summer. It just strayed in and was looking for a way out. Even a part of me knew that. Sadly, it was not the part that was in control. Instead, I decided that it was a drone that had been sent by my rivals in order to spy on my work.”
“You definitely need help.”
Written for Sunday photo fiction