“Gabriel! Gabriel!” I screamed.
“Who is Gabriel?” the police officer in front of me asked.
I was in the police station’s interrogation room. My neighbors called the cops on me, saying that I “went crazy” and that there was “an insane lunatic running down the street in a t-rex onesie, screaming ‘Gabriel!’”
The cops showed up, handcuffed me for “public disturbance,” and put me in the back of the cop car.
“Answer the question, Spencer!” the officer yelled at me.
“Gabriel! Gabriel! His name is Gabriel!” I yelled over and over again, screaming constantly. The officer thought I was going to tear my vocal cords from me screaming so much.
“WHO IN THE WONDERFUL WORLD OF CRAYOLA IS GABRIEL?!?!” the officer was losing his own mind just by listening to me.
I started laughing maniacally. The officer ran around the room, as I was laughing, screaming:
“GET ME OUT OF HERE! SATAN HAS FINALLY COME FOR ME! HEEEELP MEEE!”
But it was too late. The other officers had already run off, leaving the door to the interrogation room locked.
“GABRIEL! WHO IS GABRIEL, YOU ASK? GABRIEL IS THE KING OF MARKERS! HE CREATED AND COLORED EVERYTHING YOU SEE ON EARTH AND BEYOND!!!!!” I was screaming as I slowly strangled the police officer, while slamming his head against the door knob.
After a while, the FBI found me laughing maniacally, sitting in a pool of the officer’s blood, still in the interrogation room with “GABRIEL” written on the mirror in the officer’s blood. And that’s how I ended up here. In TAMI. The Asylum for the Mentally Ill.