The smoke and dust finally settled down.
Stunned, George surveyed the damage; the broken windows, the burnt-out kitchen, the collapsed ceiling, the upended furniture, the shattered remains of just about every object and knick-knack he owned. He pulled out a chair from the rubble and flopped down onto it in disbelief.
Why did I have to get the very first housekeeping robot before they worked out the bugs, he thought.
The gas light glow struggles in the prohibitive darkness. Night time is a cave that holds desire in. Dawn seems worlds away.
The only ones outside their nest shuffling about are thirsty philistines searching for a place where everyone keeps their hat on indoors in case they have to make a run for it.
At a heavy oak door I paused. I tried to brush aside the fog behind my eyes. Was it two hard knocks and then three rapid ones? Or was it three, then two? The horizon, once within reach, shifted back to eternity.
Anaconda.
Pile Driver.
Joystick.
Love Shack Ram-Rod.
Subway Footlong.
Bazooka Joe.
Porn-Worthy.
Monster of the Deep.
Breakfast Burrito.
Stroke of Good Luck.
Joe the Plumber.
Action Jackson.
Midnight Express.
Rosey Riveter.
Pocket Picker.
Magic Johnson.
The Spermina--"Hold it right there, buddy!"
"Yes, you! You're coming with us. And cover yourself. OK, Rick, we got the mall-flasher! Fuckin' pervert!"
The marmoset whistled around his den, straightening, tidying, lining the rocks up, tamping down the dirt floor. Everything looked good for a change.
He had received a response to his singles ad at long last, and he invited her to an evening at his home. She was due any minute.
He lit the candles on the dining room table, the shadows casting expectations onto the place setting for two. The doorbell rang.
Inside danced anticipation, as he opened the door. His heart fell. Sure, she was a looker, but she was a porcupine, and he has a waterbed.
They were strangers, two ships passing in the night. Locked together, they danced a whirlwind affaire du coeur. They floated along in the heady billows of discovery, a butterfly flight of fresh liaisons, a lovestruck frolic that began over tea and bloomed throughout the night. They made crazy impassioned love rewarded by lack of any inhibitions and restraints.
And in the morning, they said their goodbyes and parted.
They would meet again in the buffet line, and start all over again, with no memories of what happened the night before.
Every day births a new romance in the nursing home.
His sweaty palms made the wire cutters hard to hold. He held a pen flashlight in his teeth, but the darkness still lurked in the crevices, obscuring the tangled mess of electrical wires. He tried to keep his hands steady.
He wasn't really sure that he had the right wire, but time was running out. He had to make a choice. Now.
He took a breath and held it. Then, a quick deft squeeze. Snip.
Silence.
A sigh of relief, he melted back down the pavement. No more neighbor's 3am car alarm.
"No, really, it's all right; I'm still up."
"Really? Omigod!"
"Well, he wasn't right for you anyway."
"I couldn't say anything then. You looked too happy."
"He's a real jerk for saying that. If he can't see the real you, you don't need to be with him. You're better off without him."
"Yeah, I know. It's hard. I know what you're going through. Just give it time."
"Don't worry, you'll find someone else."
"OK. Try to sleep tonight. You'll feel better tomorrow."
"I love you too, Granma."
Slam!
Dad stomped out of the downstairs bathroom.
"Timothy! Marcus!" he barked. We were in deep trouble.
We saw Dad appear one step higher at a time, until we could see that he was more than a little wet, water darkening his jeans, sweat running down his flushed face. He was holding a dripping toilet plunger. We looked at each other--he knew.
"New house rules!" he commanded, stabbing the plunger at us.
"From now on, dead goldfish can go down the toilet, but dead hamsters can't!"
Ben wandered back from the kitchen with his lunch.
He felt lucky, even though he was home from school today, serving out a suspension he got for talking back. He'd been a little burned about it still, but today, things felt different. Fortunate, even.
He slouched on the sofa, and pressed the power on the remote. The TV flicked on. Strangely, even though it was noon, news anchors were on. They cut away to a live scene from outside his school. An anchor talked over the roaming shot. There was a shooting inside. Multiple fatalities. Names he recognized.
The office break room was empty, normally so at this time of night. A lone fluorescent bulb numbly hummed, providing walls to the silence.
Danger hung in the air. Fetid, fecund danger. A humid vanguard for an untraceable evil, a suffocating horror that brewed unseen and unnoticed. Time was its catalyst, until the enduring revulsion had enough strength to unleash its malevolence and begin its reign of terror. And the time seeped nearer.
The refrigerator kicked on again.
Every week it gets cleaned out. But they always miss the door. And that bottle of salad dressing. Evil salad dressing.