Machinery, Take Thy Dream

I sit on the couch cross-legged, stirring a cup of ramen noodles while aimlessly staring off into space. The TV rambles but I don’t care about what’s on. My eyes are open but I am dreaming of the near future which I shall spend with my significant other. If this becomes a success, then I might have a chance to become famous. I then think that the Dream Catcher will become popular and almost everyone in the world will own one and everyone will think of Connor and Isabelle Larkin as a founding father of the future.

I shake my head and think to myself, “Stop trying to fool your self. You know that’ll never happen.”

I scold my self inwardly. I am still a murderer, and only I know it wasn’t intentional. I hadn’t known that the voltage was too high and I certainly wasn’t aware that in my vain hope of glory and honor, I would rob two children of their diligent father and many other families of their members.

I lift the plastic fork to my lips and am startled when a harsh knocking comes at my door. I
jump up, and hurry to the door, not wanting to keep Isabelle waiting for too long in the cold rain which pours down from the sky in buckets.

I place my hand on the lock and look myself up and down to make sure that I am presentable. I slick back my hair and open the door. The lightning flashes revealing that no one standing on my porch which makes me instantly feel uneasy. I step out of the house and I look up and down the wrap around porch for the being who had been rapping on my door.

“Hello?” I call out, but the wind and the thunder eat away at my voice making it inaudible. I hoped that Isabelle wasn’t out here at this time of day in this poor weather. That could be hazardous to her health and I needed a subject who was strong and healthy.

Shrugging I go back inside. The power flickers out and I hear footsteps walk away from the breaker box located in the stairwell leading to my laboratory. I instantly freeze, listening to the steps which are slow and cautious, swinging into the living room on my right, so I head left towards the kitchen.

The steps that follow me are sound uneven; I could even say they sounded feverish, as they approached me. I search desperately for a weapon with which I can defend myself with. I still hadn’t bought any real kitchen ware except for plastic. I reach my hand into the sink which is full of dirty dish water and feel a sharp object bite into my hand.

The steps are louder, and I can tell that the creeper has spotted me, standing in a statue-like form before the sink. The steps increase in speed, walking faster and faster, and I search faster and faster with my hands frantically looking for something! Anything!

A voice speaks inaudibly when my hands fall on a frying pan which I swing wildly, hitting my target dead in the face. The creeper falls to the floor, crashing into the hutch which had been in the house when I moved in. I stand there, breathlessly, clutching the frying pan with my bleeding hand which is dripping steadily no the floor.

I can barely keep myself from shaking as I step over the body and head to the basement where the breaker box is located. I turn the power back on and I head back to the kitchen. All I see at first is my blood all over the kitchen floor but after a moment of clarity I see who the creeper was.

It was Mr. Simmons, trying to murder for the second time, hence the axe which is still clutched betwixt his gnarly fingers. I squat down over him, my hand just now starting to throb with pain as I smile and say, “You can’t beat me at my own game, candidate number 12.”