Drabble: Crazy

“And what do you see?” he asks me.

I see, I don’t tell him what I see, things outside this world—a demon’s snarling face.

“An inkblot,” I say, sneering.

He frowns underneath his mustache.

“Do you see nothing?” he asks.

“I told you what I see; black and white, symmetry, ink splattered on a folded page. There’s nothing there.”

“Nothing,” he says, his eyes, just a little in the corner, smiling at me. “I suppose most see nothing, but they feel the need to say something.”

“And what do they say?” I ask without thinking.

“That the page’s blank.”