Artemis Fowl the second gazed around the study. He looked around at all of the computers. Why were there so many computers? That made it all the easier for people to spy on him. Call him paranoid, call him cautious, he didn't care. He didn't care about a lot of things anymore. Everyone... everyone was watching him. Waiting for him to fall in the dark abyss. He had thought that he was imagining it the first few days, but soon he couldn't ignore the looks, the conspiracy going around him. Soon, very soon, he couldn't take it anymore. He had tried to stay locked up in his room, to avoid them all, but- Alas!- that was not to be. They had somehow managed to bring him out of the safe haven of his room and asked if he was all right. Ha! As if they cared for him! As if they cared what he did or didn't do!
His eyes fell upon a picture of an elf- Holly Short, to be exact. It was hard to believe he could ever had trusted her. Now he knew better. She was planning for his demise. Everyone was. Artemis walked up to the picture. Quite quickly and suddenly- so quickly that even he was surprised- his knocked the picture down onto the floor. Glass was every on the floor. Shattered. Just like he was.
He cautiously picked the picture and the frame up and set them back down onto the desk. Hmm.. He would have to clean the glass up soon. If someone else did then who knows what they would do to him? Because they would surely use it as a weapon against him.
He bent down and began to pick up the glass, gaining several cuts in the process. When he was done he gazed at the still bleeding cuts on his fingers and hands. He didn't do anything about it. This was just a small punishment of what he had done to himself and others. The blood, he thought, represents suffering and redemption. Suffering for the crazed state that he knew that he was in; redemption for all of the things that he had done. Though I see more suffering, thought Artemis, because I will never be truly redeemed.
Yes, he did know that something was very wrong but... how could stand the whispers going around? Maybe he was insane, maybe he wasn't. Maybe it was all in his head. But if it was... then why did he alwaysfeel like there was someone watching him? Hecouldn't trust anyone! If he tried to get help then they would try to steal his latest invention... or worse.
He looked back up to the computers. To his utter relief, they were all turned off. He sighed contentedly and turned to leave, but then something caught his attention. That pencil... on that desk... he had to move it. Quick as a flash- or as fast as he ever could be- hemoved the pencil over to the left of the table. There... now that was better. Wait... there was a book. It wasn't placed right. He moved it as well. Then he noticed over objects and began to move them around as well until, finally, the placement of the objects were just as he had first seen them. For some reason, he liked it that way now.
He heard someone calling for him. He hesitated. What if it was a trap? A way to lure him out. Gods, he needed help. Taking a very deep breath, he walked out of the study, taking his paranoia with him.