Shut up and Sing It With Me
The Spider
Stretching my arms toward the ceiling, my joints cracked and popped in response. A pain shot through my neck, which my hand cradled soon after. Falling asleep on the recliner wasn’t the best idea, but suffering cramped muscles was worth it – I’d be out of my mind to miss an announcement. Speaking of which, I glanced at the television to be greeted by that usual white screen.
I pushed myself off the recliner and headed out to the kitchen. Immediately, the scent of bleach filled my nasal passages – the scent that Yankee Candle should create. Monotonously, I yanked open the fridge door and gazed in at the pristine shelves. My fridge stocked almost nothing but a half jar of applesauce. I shrugged and pulled it out. Eating was unimportant when you lived such a satisfying life with Better Living in control. There was just no time to do so.
I poured the applesauce into a bowl and found a spoon in the utensil drawer. Spooning the runny sauce into my mouth, I cringed at the bitter taste. My eyes found the label upon the jar – no sugar added. Yuck! Quickly, I dumped the bowl into the sink and threw the jar into the trash. I swallowed my little bit of breakfast almost painfully. Breakfast was a no-go.
The clock showed 9:37. What to do? The floors were bleached, the furniture steamed, and low surfaces dusted and polished. That left the high surfaces to be dusted. However, when I combed through the cleaning supply cabinet, my duster turned up missing. I pondered on where it could have been. Did I misplace it? Maybe my mom took it? She was always borrowing things when she came to check up on me. Psht, check up on me… how juvenile that sounded.
Ever since I’ve been taking those pills, my mother has been worried about me. She constantly reminded me that I was losing weight and those ‘nasty’ pills were doing nothing but leading me straight to my grave. I walked over to the mirror and gazed at the woman before me. Maybe I did have bags under my eyes and my cheeks were a little less rounded, but I was happy. BL/ind made me happy. Who was she to think such a beautiful company was trying to harm me?
She was one of them… the silent rebellions: strongly disagreeing, but doing nothing about it. My mother was safe as long as she remained quiet. Better Living ordered the lucid ones – the ones who obeyed and took their pills daily – to exterminate the rebellions that posed a threat to BL/ind. These individuals were called the Killjoys.
That was beside the point. I had to find my duster – had to keep my house in flawless condition. However, when I attempted to call my mother, the robotic answering system greeted me on the other end. Sighing, I tossed the phone upon the couch’s artic white, microfiber exterior. This left me with only one choice: go out and purchase a new duster. I mumbled curses to myself as I found my keys and a ten that was hibernating in the shelter of my purse. Heading out the door, I was greeted by the same arid environment. Swiftly, I trotted to my vehicle and was soon racing down the road – dust billowing behind me.
As I entered into the small town of Cottonwood, I took notice to the almost vacant atmosphere. Only a few individuals scattered here and there, walking to and from the remaining shops. Cottonwood used to have a strip of stores, but as soon as Better Living vending machines were placed in and around this area, people found no need for certain convenient stores. Though, that was completely fine – it was a good thing.
My car pulled up to a curb out front of a store called “Hank’s Surplus”. I shut off the ignition and ventured into the store. A bell jingled when I pushed the door open. This cued a hefty man with a heavily sunburnt face to greet me and offer me his assistance. A fake smile plastered across my face as I shook my head.
“Alright, well if there’s anything you need, just give me a holler,” he gave off a hearty laugh and an unnecessary wink.
Unfortunate for him, I would most likely not give him a ‘holler’. I shook my head to myself as I browsed my way back to the cleaning supply section. I picked out the most expensive duster, most likely to be the most efficient one as well, and headed up to the register. The same man that greeted me was stationed at the only register open. My eyes scanned the store – I realized I was the only one in here.
“Find everything alright?” he questioned.
No, that’s why it took me a total of two minutes.
“Yeah,” I just barely mumbled.
The machine beeped as he scanned the barcode across the illuminate, red pattern.
“That’ll be six fifty-seven.”
I gave him the ten and he handed me $3.43 in return. He bagged my item, and handed it to me as I scurried past the register and out the door before he could start any small talk of some sort. When I got into my car, a rush of hot air that had been cooking inside my car for a total of five minutes hit my cheeks. Ignoring the heat in the interior of the car, I set the bag in the passenger seat, shut my door, and jammed the keys in the ignition. However, with my luck, as a began to pull out, my body jerked as the sound of a horn, fiberglass smashing, and the feel of the car jumping a few inches to the right all mixed into a rapid blur.
In reaction, I hopped out of the car to realize that I had been hit. My mouth fell open in shock as I examined the damage; it wasn’t too bad, but it was still damage. I then eyed up the other car: it had a tattered white body with random markings upon it and a huge, black spider of some kind painted on the hood. What the hell kind of car was this?
“Shit,” a male voice sounded from the other side of the car.
I turned my attention to him. His face was hidden beneath sunglass and a dark frizzy, mane.
“Shit is right,” I pointed my finger at him as if he was looking at me – instead he was surveying the damage inflicted on his car… just a mere dent if you ask me.
“Fuck, he’s gonna kill me,” I heard him mutter to himself as he pushed back his hair with his gloved hand.
I watched him as he hesitated before hopping back into his car. Before I knew it, dust choked me as he sped away from the scene – leaving me pissed and disoriented.
I pushed myself off the recliner and headed out to the kitchen. Immediately, the scent of bleach filled my nasal passages – the scent that Yankee Candle should create. Monotonously, I yanked open the fridge door and gazed in at the pristine shelves. My fridge stocked almost nothing but a half jar of applesauce. I shrugged and pulled it out. Eating was unimportant when you lived such a satisfying life with Better Living in control. There was just no time to do so.
I poured the applesauce into a bowl and found a spoon in the utensil drawer. Spooning the runny sauce into my mouth, I cringed at the bitter taste. My eyes found the label upon the jar – no sugar added. Yuck! Quickly, I dumped the bowl into the sink and threw the jar into the trash. I swallowed my little bit of breakfast almost painfully. Breakfast was a no-go.
The clock showed 9:37. What to do? The floors were bleached, the furniture steamed, and low surfaces dusted and polished. That left the high surfaces to be dusted. However, when I combed through the cleaning supply cabinet, my duster turned up missing. I pondered on where it could have been. Did I misplace it? Maybe my mom took it? She was always borrowing things when she came to check up on me. Psht, check up on me… how juvenile that sounded.
Ever since I’ve been taking those pills, my mother has been worried about me. She constantly reminded me that I was losing weight and those ‘nasty’ pills were doing nothing but leading me straight to my grave. I walked over to the mirror and gazed at the woman before me. Maybe I did have bags under my eyes and my cheeks were a little less rounded, but I was happy. BL/ind made me happy. Who was she to think such a beautiful company was trying to harm me?
She was one of them… the silent rebellions: strongly disagreeing, but doing nothing about it. My mother was safe as long as she remained quiet. Better Living ordered the lucid ones – the ones who obeyed and took their pills daily – to exterminate the rebellions that posed a threat to BL/ind. These individuals were called the Killjoys.
That was beside the point. I had to find my duster – had to keep my house in flawless condition. However, when I attempted to call my mother, the robotic answering system greeted me on the other end. Sighing, I tossed the phone upon the couch’s artic white, microfiber exterior. This left me with only one choice: go out and purchase a new duster. I mumbled curses to myself as I found my keys and a ten that was hibernating in the shelter of my purse. Heading out the door, I was greeted by the same arid environment. Swiftly, I trotted to my vehicle and was soon racing down the road – dust billowing behind me.
As I entered into the small town of Cottonwood, I took notice to the almost vacant atmosphere. Only a few individuals scattered here and there, walking to and from the remaining shops. Cottonwood used to have a strip of stores, but as soon as Better Living vending machines were placed in and around this area, people found no need for certain convenient stores. Though, that was completely fine – it was a good thing.
My car pulled up to a curb out front of a store called “Hank’s Surplus”. I shut off the ignition and ventured into the store. A bell jingled when I pushed the door open. This cued a hefty man with a heavily sunburnt face to greet me and offer me his assistance. A fake smile plastered across my face as I shook my head.
“Alright, well if there’s anything you need, just give me a holler,” he gave off a hearty laugh and an unnecessary wink.
Unfortunate for him, I would most likely not give him a ‘holler’. I shook my head to myself as I browsed my way back to the cleaning supply section. I picked out the most expensive duster, most likely to be the most efficient one as well, and headed up to the register. The same man that greeted me was stationed at the only register open. My eyes scanned the store – I realized I was the only one in here.
“Find everything alright?” he questioned.
No, that’s why it took me a total of two minutes.
“Yeah,” I just barely mumbled.
The machine beeped as he scanned the barcode across the illuminate, red pattern.
“That’ll be six fifty-seven.”
I gave him the ten and he handed me $3.43 in return. He bagged my item, and handed it to me as I scurried past the register and out the door before he could start any small talk of some sort. When I got into my car, a rush of hot air that had been cooking inside my car for a total of five minutes hit my cheeks. Ignoring the heat in the interior of the car, I set the bag in the passenger seat, shut my door, and jammed the keys in the ignition. However, with my luck, as a began to pull out, my body jerked as the sound of a horn, fiberglass smashing, and the feel of the car jumping a few inches to the right all mixed into a rapid blur.
In reaction, I hopped out of the car to realize that I had been hit. My mouth fell open in shock as I examined the damage; it wasn’t too bad, but it was still damage. I then eyed up the other car: it had a tattered white body with random markings upon it and a huge, black spider of some kind painted on the hood. What the hell kind of car was this?
“Shit,” a male voice sounded from the other side of the car.
I turned my attention to him. His face was hidden beneath sunglass and a dark frizzy, mane.
“Shit is right,” I pointed my finger at him as if he was looking at me – instead he was surveying the damage inflicted on his car… just a mere dent if you ask me.
“Fuck, he’s gonna kill me,” I heard him mutter to himself as he pushed back his hair with his gloved hand.
I watched him as he hesitated before hopping back into his car. Before I knew it, dust choked me as he sped away from the scene – leaving me pissed and disoriented.
♠ ♠ ♠
Lots of typos.