Rotten Bastards

It's a blog. It's a way of life. It's many things in between.

Thursday, 22 February 2007

This isn't. This is.

How to start this.
How about you're asleep. Or trying to sleep. You're in bed. And you think I didn't lock the front door. You remember there was a man on the train. And you're pretty sure he overheard you talking to your friend about your new computer. And now you're sure he followed you home. And he's standing there outside your unlocked door. And he's breaking in. And he's stealing the computer that your mum worked so hard to save for. And he's killing your family. But not you. You'll be alive to know it's all your fault.
You're out of bed now. Not because you're brave. But because you've got to. You can almost see him through the glass door. You reach for the lock. And it's locked. You try it again. It's locked. Again. Locked. Again. Locked.
Back in bed and you think was it really locked? Did I really check? Should I check again? I'll check again.
And there's no sleep for you tonight.
The sun will come up and you'll doze a little because no one broke in and no one breaks into a house in the sunlight.
You'll get ready for school and you'll think did I wash my hands after I gave the cat it's food? And you'll think that if you didn't and you touch something that someone will then put in their mouth you've killed them. They'll die and it's your fault.
So you wash your hands. You wash. Your hands. You wash. And wash. And wash.
And when you walk out the door you think did I wash them well enough? And you will be late but you go back in and you wash them again. And again. And again.
And you'll never be sure that you've really washed them enough. So you just don't touch anything.
And you get to school and you think did I leave the electric blanket on? And you're sure you did and the house is burning down right now. And the teachers tell you to calm down but they don't understand that you're burning your families house down. So you leave and you walk the half an hour home to find. No smoke. There's no smoke. The blanket is off. You even unplugged it from the wall before you left.
So you grab an orange from the fridge and head back to school. You check you locked the door as you leave and repeat the word locked locked locked locked as you walk so you remember and don't have to walk back to check again.
I locked the door. I locked the door. I locked the door. And you try to remember the feeling of the door pulling shut. I locked the door. I locked the door. I locked the door. I didn't close the fridge. I'm sure I didn't close the fridge.
The fridge door is open. And it's working overtime to keep things cold. And the engine is heating up. And it catches fire. And you're burning the house down again.
And you hate yourself. But you turn around. And you walk back home and unlock the door that you locked. And there's no smoke and the fridge door is closed. You push on it. It's closed. It was closed. It was always closed.


Sariel Thrawn said...

Love you.

Furtanken said...

Me too.

tammy said...

I don't really know you, but I think I love you too. this is very well written. enjoyed.