mad unavailibility

. … .

This is Donnie Darko, and he isn't exactly all there. He knows that he can see things others can't, and he knows that what he sees is all there (because insanity is just a manic, schizophrenic term in itself because insanity is just as sane as all the others because IT'S JUST A DIFFERENT KIND OF SANE.)

Frank knew and Grandma Death knew, and even Donnie himself knew what was going to happen—wait.

What?

. … .

She said, "You're weird."

(…oh.)

She said, "But it's a compliment."

(…ditto.)

She said, "I'm going home."

(…ditto. squared.)

He was going home. He was leaving, and going home and sitting in his room and trying not to think about Frank, because he knew and remembered quite vividly. Vividly vividly vividly—he knew that Frank was watching, calculating his every move, and he even though he really didn't believe in God (god is only for those who believe because insanity is just a manic schizophrenic term and I KNOW I'M RIGHT.)

He was going to go home and take his pills at nine o'clock, with an empty stomach and a full glass of water and nothing else, and he really wasn't sure if he was taking Prozac or some other kind of drug, but it wasn't exactly helping, no it really wasn't helping because he still saw things—and he knew and remembered quite vividly (because they're real frank is real and i am real and i am not going to die any time soon.)

He was—not—going—to—take—his—pills. Because if he did, he would look in the mirror, and if he looked in the mirror he would see Frank again and although the bunny suit was really funny (it was only a suit only a suit only a suit, right? RIGHT?) and not scary at all, Frank was still scary because he knew and remembered quite vividly, just like Donnie only better because he was the one who caused this whole thing with the engine and time traveling and—everything, simply everything.

(all your fault all your fault all your fault and—help me.)

. … .

It was nine o'clock and Donnie was in a grey t-shirt and blue-grey-and-green plaid flannel pants. He was in the bathroom next to his room, and looking at his reflection in the mirror, waiting for Frank. Actually waiting? Yes. He had to. He had to get back at Frank for—for—whatever it was he was doing. For ruining his life even more than it was already.

"Fuck this," he sighed, eyes closing. He popped the bitter tasting pills in his mouth and swallowed, chasing this down with the promised glass of water—normally, he didn't drink water (it was too tasteless) but he needed something right this second to get that taste out of his mouth. He opened his eyes, turned on the faucet, and gulped down as much as he could from the glass.

"Hello, Donnie Darko." Frank's hideously familiar voice made Donnie's pale eyes snap towards the mirror. His left eyelid twitched just barely, unnoticeably, and he stepped back. His right hand fisted around the kitchen knife—taken directly from his mother's cutting board hours earlier.

Frank's answer was silence and nothingness, just a completely blank stare full of silence and nothingness. Because that was what Donnie Darko was good at, besides art and sometimes (very very very rarely) school.

The silence intensified (all your fault all your fault and—help me.) impossibly and then it was shattered just like the mirror the mirror that now had a knife stuck in a crack, but not through the mirror, but not actually hitting Frank, that sonofabitch man in an idiotic bunny suit who was finally getting what's coming to him. For ruining his life even more than it was already.

Frank vanished, to be replaced by his own reflection, and the knife still stayed. Donnie looked at the knife and then walked away, trying to ignore the strangely electric feeling building in his stomach because he isn't all there anymore, because he's even less real than anything else in the world (because insanity is just a manic, schizophrenic term in itself because insanity is just as sane as all the others because IT'S JUST A DIFFERENT KIND OF SANE.)

. … .

(silence and nothingness)