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"It's like one of those inevitable cosmic ironies, you know? The ones that make you think God must exist because he's obviously fucking with you," I mumbled wearily. I sat slumped over on the lumpy futon that passed as a couch in my cheap student-budget apartment. "Oncologists get cancer, psych majors go insane."

"Are you still moaning about that hallucination bullshit? Man I told you to quit worrying about it." Marten's voice drifted in from the other room. A few seconds later he appeared in the entryway to the kitchen, tossing a beer towards me as he cracked the top on his own beverage. I didn't even try to catch it as the bottle sailed high above my head and crashed into the rear wall. I wasn't in the mood for his stupid frat boy wannabe bullshit.

"Hey! Fuckin waste, man!" he exclaimed, giving me his best scowl.

"That wasn't even real beer," I replied, irritated.

"Don't dis the Pabst, dude," he answered swiftly as he took a seat beside me on the lumpy couch and took a swig of his drink. "But whatever man. Seriously this whole insanity thing is bull, you know it is. You're not crazy."

"Yeah? What, are you some kind of fucking expert on crazy people?" I asked him, glaring his way for a brief moment before shifting my gaze to the dark TV set instead. It was one of the old glass-front ones, and I could just see the reflection of his white jacket move in the murky black as he answered my question.

"Fuck yeah I am dude. I know tons of crazy people!" he said enthusiastically. I snorted.

"Yeah I bet you fucking do," I muttered. Marten didn't seem to hear me, though. Or if he did, didn't care. He continued talking, undeterred by my derisive attitude.

"Crazy people are easy to spot, man," he said, flashing me a toothy grin that was probably meant to be comforting but reminded me more of a psychopath than anything. Marten had a habit of overdoing most facial expressions. "They all run around screaming and babbling to themselves and shit. You don't do that. You've never done that." Still grinning. I had a brief desire to punch his teeth out, but quelled it with a sigh. The guy would overpower me easily in a fight, and had a notorious lack of self-control to boot. I pinched the bridge of my nose in irritation and decided to humour his idiotic attempt to cheer me up.

"And what about the hallucinations?" I asked, trying not to look as exasperated as I felt.

"You haven't had any hallucinations," he replied, simple as hell. "I know you haven't."

"And what the fuck makes you think that?" I rolled my eyes, thinking how ridiculous that Marten, of all people, would be the one trying to convince me of my sanity.

"Because, dude, hallucinations are when you see things that aren't really there." Another grin. I shook my head slightly and finally looked over at him. The scorched, blackened skin of his face was stretched unnaturally over yellowed teeth, crinkling around the empty sockets that passed for eyes. Blood dribbled languidly from the charred hole in his chest as he took another swig of his beer. "Hey look, I gotta go. I'll see ya soon, man, okay? Don't freak out too hard while I'm out," he said jovially, giving me a wink of his sightless socket. The bottle he had been holding was left floating for a split second before clattering loudly on the hardwood as he disappeared.

I shuddered, slumping forward to put my head in my hands. Fuck the universe and its cosmic fucking ironies.

Description
"It's like one of those inevitable cosmic ironies, you know? The ones that make you think God must exist because he's obviously fucking with you," I mumbled wearily. I sat slumped over on the lumpy futon that passed as a couch in my cheap student-budget apartment. "Oncologists get cancer, psych majors go insane."

"Are you still moaning about that hallucination bullshit? Man I told you to quit worrying about it." Marten's voice drifted in from the other room. A few seconds later he appeared in the entryway to the kitchen, tossing a beer towards me as he cracked the top on his own beverage. I didn't even try to catch it as the bottle sailed high above my head and crashed into the rear wall. I wasn't in the mood for his stupid frat boy wannabe bullshit.

"Hey! Fuckin waste, man!" he exclaimed, giving me his best scowl.

"That wasn't even real beer," I replied, irritated.

"Don't dis the Pabst, dude," he answered swiftly as he took a seat beside me on the lumpy couch and took a swig of his drink. "But whatever man. Seriously this whole insanity thing is bull, you know it is. You're not crazy."

"Yeah? What, are you some kind of fucking expert on crazy people?" I asked him, glaring his way for a brief moment before shifting my gaze to the dark TV set instead. It was one of the old glass-front ones, and I could just see the reflection of his white jacket move in the murky black as he answered my question.

"Fuck yeah I am dude. I know tons of crazy people!" he said enthusiastically. I snorted.

"Yeah I bet you fucking do," I muttered. Marten didn't seem to hear me, though. Or if he did, didn't care. He continued talking, undeterred by my derisive attitude.

"Crazy people are easy to spot, man," he said, flashing me a toothy grin that was probably meant to be comforting but reminded me more of a psychopath than anything. Marten had a habit of overdoing most facial expressions. "They all run around screaming and babbling to themselves and shit. You don't do that. You've never done that." Still grinning. I had a brief desire to punch his teeth out, but quelled it with a sigh. The guy would overpower me easily in a fight, and had a notorious lack of self-control to boot. I pinched the bridge of my nose in irritation and decided to humour his idiotic attempt to cheer me up.

"And what about the hallucinations?" I asked, trying not to look as exasperated as I felt.

"You haven't had any hallucinations," he replied, simple as hell. "I know you haven't."

"And what the fuck makes you think that?" I rolled my eyes, thinking how ridiculous that Marten, of all people, would be the one trying to convince me of my sanity.

"Because, dude, hallucinations are when you see things that aren't really there." Another grin. I shook my head slightly and finally looked over at him. The scorched, blackened skin of his face was stretched unnaturally over yellowed teeth, crinkling around the empty sockets that passed for eyes. Blood dribbled languidly from the charred hole in his chest as he took another swig of his beer. "Hey look, I gotta go. I'll see ya soon, man, okay? Don't freak out too hard while I'm out," he said jovially, giving me a wink of his sightless socket. The bottle he had been holding was left floating for a split second before clattering loudly on the hardwood as he disappeared.

I shuddered, slumping forward to put my head in my hands. Fuck the universe and its cosmic fucking ironies.