As i sit here savoring the black caffienated goodness, i am approached by a wilderbeast in heels and an office-casual floral pattern dress. She makes eye contact. She sizes my up. As the hair stands up on the back of my neck, is this it? Will she finally pounce on me and savage in ways that i cant imagine? No not today. She slowly wobbles past me to the snack machine and in a lustfull gaze leans forward to touch the glass with her manicured sausage like fingers. ...
Sanctuary. The porcelin god has never failed me. I always find my way back to its smooth ivory glow. Ahhh, The smell of uric acid and industrial cleaner. I am almost at piece, until the wrath of taco bell finds me. It is meciless. Swift. Violent. This house is clean.
It came to me in the throws of A foodgasim involving a 14 inch cheeseburger pizza, a six pack, a full pound of chocolate cake, and side of new potato salad, when I looked out the window, to see the fat police heading for my door with a battering ram the size of a Pretzel truck, and realized..."they'll throw away the key!"
My apartment has what the English would call "a slight problem"....all night, I'm treated to the sounds of unseen somethings wandering up and down the corridor outside my door, although I'm the only one living here. Faces peer over my shoulder as I try to shave, pale, translucent, and ghastly.
Three evenings ago, there was a little girl on the stairs, her face wet with tears, her dress torn, and dirty. When I asked her what was wrong, she turned empty yet piercing eyes on me, and said, "No one can help me!", then screamed as she vanished.
Dishes clatter in the cupboards, yet nothing is out of place when I check. Voices mutter my name in my ear as I try to sleep. And above all, the rooms reek with a charnel-house stench perceived by my soul.
As a sweater knitted by a spastic crone, my mind unravels....