This piece of flash fiction is written for Friday Fictioneers.
“John,” I said helplessly, “what’s wrong?”
“My chicken,” john mumbled.
“He takes over my mind whenever he gets an opportunity. He remains hidden because he’s afraid of these.” He indicates a bottle of pills on the table. “But they won’t last forever. It’s almost ten and they are wearing off. He’s close behind me right now. Pretty soon he will be digging his teeth and claws in my neck. Then I’ll give in and take another tablet and he will retreat to the background. He comes five minutes earlier every day. He wants to be the one to kill me you see.”