I Can't Say What I Want To

            This straight jacket is tight. I think they did that on purpose, but it definitely wasn’t necessary.  I wasn’t going to hurt them, I just get animated when I talk.  Can’t they get that? Fuck!  ‘The good doctor will see you shortly.’ They said. ‘I don’t give a fuck if it’s the bad doctor, I’m fine.’ I told ‘em. Did they listen? No, they don’t listen to shit. Especially when it’s coming from me.  So fuck ‘em, I don’t have to talk to ‘em.  They’re all thinkin’ they’re gonna save me, or some shit like that.  What’s to save?  Who are they to be the saviors, should the need arise?

            “They need you, Barney.” Said the sloth from the ceiling.

            “Ah, you’re wearing your hat today, Sol! I know I ask you this every time, but do you really want people likening you to the Cat in the Hat? Get a bowler hat, or something. That ridiculous hat’s only going to get in your way.” I figured I may as well talk to Sol, he won’t hurt me.  He’s not looking to change the world; he just lives in it.

            “I like this one, thank you very much.  I think it suits me better than that… what kind of fashion style is that jacket you’re wearing? Are you Prozak Man, now?  Anyway, you can’t just fight this place.  The pads are here for a reason.”  If a sloth could smirk, this one was.  It was hard to tell between that compact little face of his, and that hat.  Sol scratched himself nonchalantly as he waited for Barney to take his surroundings into consideration.

            “Who taught you sarcasm? I thought you were on a strict no-sarcasm diet.  That shit’s bad for sloths, you know.  That’s the kind of stuff that’ll make the trees pee in your face, and you know you can’t get out of the way. You’re a sloth.  What do they need me for, anyway? Who am I to them? I ain’t special.”  The lone light on the ceiling was starting to fuck with Barney’s eyes, he had to squint to keep them open.  Sol seemed to waver for a split second.   Maybe the new meds had some odd-ass side effect they didn’t tell him about?

            Sol shook his head. “No, they just gave you saline that time.  You were dehydrated like a raisin when you came in here, remember?  And you’ll know what they need in due time. No need to rush, you’re st-“ Sol’s hat fell off, and he fell silent.  A knock on the cell door followed that with uncanny succession.

            “Hey! Who are you talking to in there?” Someone yelled at him.

            “I ain’t said shit.” The hat whispered at Barney’s feet.

Stop Me If You've Heard This Before

            Stop me if you’ve heard this before.

            There’s someone after me. I don’t know who it is, or why they want me so badly, but they have been chasing me for days. They got my family last week, my friends before that, and I’m not the first person they’ve done this to. I stopped here because my car ran out of gas, and I was hoping I could spend a few hours here to rest. Do you have an extra room, or even a closet, that I could sleep in? I can’t remember the last time I got some good sleep. They’ve been trying to track me down for a while, now. I thought they were gone, I thought I had lost them, but no. No, they know me. They know who I am, they know where I lived up until Monday (I can’t live there anymore), and they have been on my trail since then. I’m not even sure where I am right now, where is this?

            Wait, don’t tell me. It’s probably better that I don’t know. If I don’t know, it’s less likely that they’ll know I’m here. If I know where I am, I can be influenced in which direction I take, and they can pick up on that. God, how long have they been watching me?! Alex tried to warn me, why didn’t I listen? I should have. Things would be different. The world lost a good person in Alex, and they will feel that loss soon enough, I just need some ground! Why didn’t I listen to you, Alex? They’ll pay, I promise they’ll pay. But I’ve fucked up so bad.

            The shit of it is, you don’t even know who they are, either. Probably don’t care, either, I’m sorry for babbling like this, I must sound crazy. I’m not crazy, I’m just in deep shit right now. Really deep, deep shit. I just need your help, please. Just one night. Even a few hours would be great, I’m so tired of running.

            You haven’t heard that? No crazy guy spewing something like that came around here recently? Ok, thank you for your time, and I apologize for the inconvenience.

            He’s not here, boys, let’s move out!

Backlit Silhouette

            Randy awoke with a stir and sat up, perfectly alert, in his bed. Had he heard something on the guest bedroom down the hallway? He sat very still, and continued to listen. It wouldn’t be the first time he had thought he heard something in this house. It was a very old house, and he had just moved into it a few weeks ago. He still wasn’t used to all of the noises it made; the random creaks and squeaks when there was no one around, the pitter-patter of raccoons in the attic, and whatever other sounds a house seems to make as it stands on its plot of land, protecting those inside from those outside. Still, that noise didn’t sound like a house noise.

            He listened more intently, wishing there was someone else in the house to ask for a second opinion, but he lived alone. Some people questioned why he bought a 2 story house for himself, but Randy had the money, and he liked having family and friends over. He provided the gathering place as long as everyone else helped get party goodies. A squeak emanated from the floor below him, as the house seemed to apologize for getting him up at this time of night. He’d get used to this place yet. The homey feel of the house had dragged him into it, and he wasn’t about to let it go. Randy shrugged, and laid back down with a sigh. He thought about checking the clock to see what time it was, thought better of it, and rolled over to get some more sleep.

            As he was pulling his blanket back over himself, he heard the TV turn on in the guest bedroom down the hallway. It wasn’t turned on to a channel he received, and only sent sounds of static floating down the hallway, in that bone tingling way that only static noise can really achieve. “What the fuck?” Randy said to no one in particular, as he got out of bed and meandered into the hallway. He didn’t turn the hallway light on; the door to the guest bedroom was wide open, and the TV in it emitted enough light for him to see fairly well. An ominous feeling crept up his spine as he quietly came up to the guest bedroom. Who could possibly do that? Randy thought to himself, I locked the doors before I went to bed, I know I did. He summoned up his courage, and threw himself into the room, ready to take on whatever had caused his TV to spew static into his house, getting him out of bed. He looked around the room, and found nothing. There was the TV, on a static channel, and a futon, exactly as he had left it. Nothing was out of place. He looked at the window to see if it might be open, and was shocked to see a backlit silhouette of a person in the window. Randy could only make out make out a pair of golden eyes that seemed to glow with their own light. The silhouette stood still, glaring at him, and he felt as if it was staring through his soul. How is this possible? He has to be floating! His eyes, what are his eyes? Randy tried to comprehend that last thought as the window between him and the silhouette violently shattered, and he was dragged outside, through the air. The last thing he knew was the gold in those eyes.

Purple Favors

            “That’s it!” she screamed, running up and pressing her nose into the glass window to get a closer look.

            “What? Which one?” he asked, slowly following her to the storefront.  He put a hand on her shoulder. It usually freaks people out if you just stand behind them without touching them, especially if you know them.

            “The only one that’s purple.” She whispered. Admiration and wonder sparkled in her eyes. “I can’t think of a more perfect dress for the occasion, can you?”

            “I think it would work, yeah. It’s your call, though.” He considered the dress more closely, imagining it in place. “So is this the one?”

            “Yes! Absolutely. I can’t think of a better fit. If there’s a better one, I don’t think it work.” She spun around, looking for his reaction.

            And the deal done. They bought the dress, and both walked out of the store feeling fulfilled, yet giddy with anticipation for the events for that evening.

            When the sun finally set, the two began the ritual. With torches in hand, they walked out to their gluttonous neighbor’s back yard, where they had surreptitiously staked an effigy in a purple dress to the satellite dish that had conquered most of the little yard. With knowing smiles and wordless glances, they set fire to the dress.