Philip K. Dick in Orange County

Tristan unlocked and opened the door. Standing in the doorway was an imperfect man in a suit. “Good morning, Mr. Thompson, I’m Mr. Frank, I’m here to…” Before the man could finish his sentence, Tristan swung the bat into Mr. Frank’s skull, breaking the bat into pieces. The man crumpled to the floor and Tristan made his way outside.

The sun warmed him, as it never had before. He breathed in the air and smiled as the oxygen washed through his lungs. He could smell the manure in the grass and the gas fumes in the air while his ears listened to the chirping of a bird. A flood of happiness washed through him as he saw the orange and yellow colors of leaves on nearby trees. He couldn’t remember seeing anything so vibrant in his life. He began to run down the suburban street.

As Tristan ran, he saw a perfect looking woman watering her roses in front of a yard. Her small children tottered about around her. She gasped and ushered her children in as she saw the disheveled Tristan running by with his bloody neck and characteristic characteristics. He smiled. He could feel the muscles in his legs pumping as he continued to run down the street with nowhere to go. But he didn’t care, as long as it wasn’t here.