/lit/ - Literature

Wonder if you guys get any remarks on this short story I wrote. I'm not a native English speaker.

(1/2)
There is a little man in my house. Though I dare not speak of him to anyone. I suspect he’s chosen my residence for this very reason. Even if I’d manage to convince a single, undoubtedly naïve soul to be inquisitive — the illusive little bugger remains skittish as a mouse and virtually untraceable if sought after.

If I truly neglect to think of the fellow, as one should on account of remaining sane — he’ll suddenly appear out of nowhere, mocking my lisp, doing bad imitations, and laughing at my general shortcomings. He’ll copy my entire wardrobe, mannerisms, and speech in every detail. Then he’ll put on one of those awkward coworker hallway grins and stare at me intensely before scurrying off behind the fridge or some other den he’s made himself comfortable in at my expense.

Salting the wound — this little man, scampering through my walls, positioning himself to taunt me, using his serpent’s tongue to make vile and vindictive statements about my character — now often proclaims and repeats, ‘You’re a little man.’ And to ‘Shut up.’ He remains unwavering and relentless in this pursuit, often labouring well into the night, his words echoing in my sleep, denying me my last place of refuge in slumber, even defiling my dreams.

Thus this persistent little man remains firmly entrenched in my psyche, like some exhibitionist that wishes to remain unseen. The spectre of his mischief haunts me in perpetuity. I dread what forms of sabotage and mental subterfuge await me once I return home. Every day it’s something new. His commitment in dismantling me is unwavering. I often tremble in horror contemplating what inhumane and malicious plans of humiliation he is concocting in that walnut-sized little brain of his this time.

If the torment and anguish of this malcontent cretin become too unbearable, I often refrain from returning home all together. Upon which I roam taverns aimlessly with the rest of those wretched sops, whom I suspect involuntarily house similar little men.