Chapters of It

“But Aaaandy, that ain't a monkey!”
“Cue the laughter.”
“I coulda sworn you'd said it was, yesterday! Check again, Bess!”
“But Andy, I'm tellin' you, it ain't a monkey!”
“Well, check again.”
“Well, Bess, check again.”
“Oh.”
“What's gotten into you, anyway?”
“Not a monkey, I s'pose.”
“Aaaandy!”
“Cue the laughter.”
In the dark of the night, a pale light flickered and cheesy laughter burst out of the television. One woman was howling hysterically above the cacophony. Some scattered clapping took over as the out-of-sight cue cards were switched, and a faint, raspy breathing rattled through the living room. Cicadas chirped outside, their weak little songs drifting in through the open window.
A chill brushed over the huddled figure, sunken deep into the couch and wrapped in a blanket. It carried the stench of burnt-out cigarettes and beer, and maybe even a little dog piss. The figure didn't notice. She hadn't noticed anything for a very long time.
Laughter brayed from the television again. The shadows trembled.
In the hid a girl, whose large, unsettling eyes watched. Silent, silent, she crouched by the stairs and watched the woman on the couch. Her fragile hands tumbled together restlessly on her lap, wrinkling the white crinoline of her skirt. A small trickle of blood traced her lip. She'd been biting it again. Tangles of hair hid most of her face, and she kept silent. Still.
Like a statue.
If she didn't move, everything would be okay. If she didn't move, she wouldn't hurt anything else.
Her breath came in quick little gasps as she crouched, not daring to move her head. When she did, she was sent into a spiral and she didn't like it. Her heart raced in her chest, as it had for the last few hours, and one hand fluttered up to rest over the unpleasant pounding. A dry tongue slowly brushed over her lips, but she couldn't moisten them, so she spread some of the blood over them instead, staining herself scarlet. Then her lips stuck together a bit, but there was no point in opening them. If she spoke, she'd upset the woman. So she let them stick, and kept watching the television, as a quivering little shadow behind the couch, seen only because the lights reflected in her eyes. Flashing, red, blue, green, yellow. Laughter.
“Do you ever get tired of the same old knives in your kitchen? Do you cut your fingers because it's just too difficult to chop simple vegetables?”
Her eyes drooped shut. She was always so tired...
“Well, have I got good news for you! For just three easy payments of $19.95, you can have the” buzzing in her ears, in and out, off and on, like static when the television breaks and they sit there watching the gravelly screen. “That's a value of $39, but you can have it now for just $19.95! Call now, toll free, for your very own Kitchen Chop-Top!”