This shall also be my introduction, as I don't do that formal introduction thing.
Anyways, this is a freewrite I did over a few days, still adding onto it. I loosely based the main character/nararrator on myself. Im an NT of some variety, just not sure which one.
So it was about 6am. I was just on my way to work. I stopped at the usual place, Larry's Kwik-Mart. The first thing I noticed about the place was the usual brightly-lit neon bulbs were out, and replaced with these yellow, low-intensity bulbs. "Whatever", I said to myself. Probably just doing some upgrades to the lights. I went in, got my cappuchino from the machine, and meandered around in my barely awake daze to get some supplies. As I walked up to the register, I noticed something. Not something I could put my finger on, but I could get the vague sense something was not entirely...right. Out of nowhere, I got this weird urge. I blurted out, "You aren't Larry, man". The clerk raised his eyebrow inquisitively. I continued on, "You're a bug, in a Larry disguise." He chuckled a bit, and said, "Why of course I am not, what are you on about lad?".
Larry was from New Jersey. I knew people from there were weird, but not likely to speak in a dialect reminiscent of 19th centrury Scottish proletariats.
So I continued on with my casual checkout CIA Sherlock Holmes interrogation. I said, "If you are in fact Larry, and not just a bug in a Larry disguise, you shouldn't mind if I switch on this flashlight." I picked up a flashlight that was sitting on the counter, and I rolled it across my knuckles. I could see right through him, and he knew it. He said, "Of course not--" he stammered a bit. "Why would I?!"..
I teased the switch of the flashlight, rubbing my thumb across it. I twitched my thumb a bit as if I were about to turn it on, and I looked him directly in the eyes. I noticed a slight wince in his left eyelid, and his forehead began to reflect with a shining gleam of forming sweat. I never even had to turn it on to get my answer. I put the flashlight down, and let out a laugh. Half, "pfft", half "hah". And I walked out. As I was walking through the doorway, I stopped, turned around part way, looked him directly in the eyes, and said, "I almost forgot..". I turned and walked back towards the counter. I could tell his bug instincts were totally overloaded, as his eyes erractically bounced around looking for something. Probably something a bug would look for, naturally. I casually collected my items off the counter and left.
The next day, on my way home after work, I stopped in the convenience store for a energy drink and a pack of menthols. The lights were back to normal, but I noticed The clerk. Wearing old people glasses. You know the kind. Super-dark tint, with square wrap-around lenses. I said aloud, "Well, I wonder what THOSE are for. Pretty dark. Overkill, you might even say". The Clerk looked at me, and tried to form a sentence. "I uh..have this light sensitivity thing, and-". I cut him off, pretending like I didn't hear him. I gestured towards the rack of candy items, and said, "These extra-dark chocolate bars. So bitter. Does anybody ever actually buy them?". With a semi-relieved look on his face, he said, "OHh yeah...Those. Yeah, there is this old Swedish lady that loves those things, so I keep them in stock, just for her". I said, "Yeah, thats a nice thing to do. Considering bugs are heartfelt, thoughtful creatures, and do that sort of thing. Right?!". I could see the whites of his eyes through the glasses. They jotted to the left. Then the right. Then back to the left. I had cornered him again, and he knew it. His primitive brain could comprehend his situation, but not calculate a way out of it. But for some reason unknown to either of us, he had to maintain his cover as a bug in a human suit. How long had this been going on? Has Larry always been a bug, and I just not noticed? Was I caught in the middle of some government conspiracy? Alas, maybe I watch too much TV. This is probably just some flu going around that is doing this to people. These things do happen, afterall.
Finally! My alarm woke me up. Saturday morning at last! Hell yeah! The birds chirped merrily, and I could hear the happy animals rustling in the bushes. Wait, no. That was just some seagulls in the trashcan out front. As I went out front to get the newspaper, an old-fashioned bus full of what looked like Hari Krishna monks creeped past. I got a terrible vibe from that bus. Just writing about it makes my hair stand on end. Even in places where I don't even have hair. I needed some Newports to alleviate the chill, and I realized I was out. I knew what this meant. I put on a jacket over my pajama clothes, onned some boots, and hopped in my car. As I pulled into the gas station, I didn't notice Larry's truck. "What now?", I wondered. "I guess he has started coming to work via his network of underground tunnels. No need to waste his hard-earned bug money on gas." But I was wrong, to my surprise. He wasn't even there. A scant looking female clerk was there. She was a bit lanky, and had dark circles under her eyes. Her nametag read Megan. I said, "Good morning, Sarah! I need a pack of New Ports." She looked a bit confused. "My name is Megan", she said, looking at me as if I was on crack. "That isn't what your nametag says". She looked down at it, and said, "Umm, yes, it is." I forced a bit of laughter. "My mistake, I guess. Tell Larry I said hello". If this girl was a bug too, she had at least mastered the art of human symbols and the English language. I guess if they are willing to learn the language, that is fine. As long as they don't start eating people and taking all the jobs, then I won't care. I grabbed my smokes, and took off out the door.
I woke up on the bathroom floor. It looked to be a bit later. I don't know how long I had been there. The closed blinds made it hard to tell what time of day it was. I heard some kind of animalistic grunting growl, like something out of a horror movie. "Oh shit", was the first thing that went through my mind. I quickly jumped to my feet and ran out(but not before quickly glancing at my teeth in the mirror..those whitening strips seem to be working), snuck into my bedroom, and grabbed a sawn-off double barrel shotgun from behind my nightstand. I silently walked to where the sounds were coming from. I got that same tingling feeling of doom again as I reached for the door knob. "No", I thought. "They already know Im coming". I leaned back, took a deep breath, and raised my leg. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I worked up the nerve. I kicked the door as hard as I could. It didn't budge. I think I just tore a tendon. "Plan B", I said to myself.
I had vaguely remembered something from chemistry class. I got a can of Raid insectiside and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from under the sink. I dumped the peroxide out into a bowl, and tossed some antique silverware into the bowl with it. You see, the silver acts as a catalsyt to the peroxide, superheating the peroxide to scalding hot temperatures. Don't ask me how it works. It just does.
I tossed the can of Raid into the bowl, and left it outside the bedroom door where the noises were coming from. I knocked on the door, and said "Hey, I don't mean to disturb you, but I eh, found something sugary sitting around unattended".
I took one last look at the bowl, crossed my heart, grabbed the shotgun, and bolted towards the window. I was kind of hoping that the can of bug spray would explode the exact moment I was diving out the window and the bug was opening the door, but alas it didn't happen this way.
I landed face first in a flowerbed, which was mostly full of dead stems and empty beer cans. The glass had cut up my face and back pretty bad. My shotgun was laying in the dirt, and I guess my pajamas had hung up on the window sill, and they had ripped, as I was getting a nice cool draft across my...ahem. I saw Mrs.Burman, an elderly retired woman. She had a violated look on her face and her jaw was dropped even lower than her sagging...neck wrinkles. She picked up her yorkshire terrier that she had presumably been walking, placed her hand over it's eyes, and hastily waddled off in the other direction. "No time to fuss over a bit of spilled meat", I said. There was still some exterminating to be done. I brushed myself off and picked up my shotgun.
I went around the back of the house, and waited for my que. The sickening bug sounds continued. But then I heard the sound I was waiting for. The MacGuyver bomb I planted went off. I busted the window out with the stock of the shotgun, and clambered in. To my dismay, I saw my room mate Chloe(she is a bit..how should we say..obese), being pounded away on by an excessively hairy Armenian with a tattoo on his asscheek of what looked to be Rodney Dangerfield on a Moped. Fucking Armenians.. Between the shock of the bomb blowing the door apart, and me storming through the window half-naked and bloody toting a shotgun, the ankward silence was a bit to be expected. I cleared my throat, and tried to think of something to say. Nothing really came to mind, so I cleared my throat again, and walked out. I set the shotgun back down in it's place, and went into the bathroom to relieve myself and exhume the shards of glass from my skin as I wondered how I would explain this to the landlord.
To clear my mind, I decided to get some fresh air. After smoking a menthol out on the porch, I hopped onto the computer. I checked my email inbox. Nothing interesting. I wrote a blog about the day's happenings(which isn't over yet, I might add). That wasn't foreshadowing, by the way. Im not sure what the fans had liked about my bloggins, but whatever it was, they hoarded it like pirahnas in the sewers beneath a menstruation clinic. Who knows. Maybe they are obsessive stalkers. Maybe they are Russian Mafiosos that want to sell my organs on the black market. One thing is for certain; whoever reads a blog like mine on a regular basis probably has no life whatsoever. What the hell was the point of this paragraph? Obviously just to expose some sort of half-minded rambling which is irrelevant to the storyline and to slip in a perverted joke about pirahnas and soiled tampons. In retrospect, I shouldn't have fired my editor.
Later that afternoon as I lay on my bed, I heard a knock at the door. "What a fast response time the police have here. I haven't even done anything wrong yet". I slipped on my semen-encrusted bunny slippers(it was the cocker spaniel that did it, not me), and walked to the front door. They made a crunchy sloshing sound as I walked. Sort of like wearing a pair of shoes made out of a bag filled with doritos and mayonnaise. This feeling and sound alone was creepy enough. I pulled off the slippers and angrily hurled them at the wall. One of them stuck, as it slowly slid down the wall, leaving a snail track in it's wake. "Note to self..Incinerate these slippers and have the dog diposed of".
As I opened the front door, something vicious lunged at me. I didn't even have time to react. A stack of towels and cleaning supplies fell on top of me. That must have been the wrong door again. I got up and went to the front door. As I opened it, I noticed there was nobody there. But a small box sit on my doorstep, and a black van was hastily pulling out of my driveway. I started to shake and feel dizzy. I couldn't stay on my feet. I dropped down to my knees, and screamed towards the sky. "WHY DO YOU TORMENT ME LIKE THIS?! WHO ARE YOU?!". Whoever this mysterious person was, they knew what things I had been ordering online, and they had been using the same sneaky but simplistic way of showing me. As I tried to get up, a strange feeling overcame me. I got dizzy, and everything went blurry, as if I were under water.
And there I was, fixing a sandwich, when I heard this knock at the door. Wait. I know whats going to happen. I set down the butter knife, and went over to the door to see who it was. Don't open it. There will be a terrible accident. I reached for the door knob. As I step out, there was a man in brown shorts and a brown dress shirt walking back to his van. He waved his arm as if beckoning for me to assist him in getting something out of the van. Don't do it. He means to deceive you. From there, it's like everything went to slow motion. I started to move in his direction. My bunny slippers were still very new back then. But then it happened. My legs got crossed, and I tripped over a small package on the door step. It was too late by then. I had foolishly stumbled into his trap. I remember colliding with the concrete, and then blankness. I had a rude awakening. People standing around me. Someone trying to explain to me that a part of my skull had to be removed to deal with swelling. I don't know. I got a headache trying to concentrate on it. I got that dizzy feeling once again, and everything sunk into the void.
I had been rocking back and forth in the corner by the door for a few minutes, fully engrossed in my flashback. As far as I know, that delivery driver went back to prison after the EMT's and police showed up to assist me. Was he on parole? I could be paranoid, but all these events seem to be coming together in a strange way that I can't quite put my finger on. Bugsuit Larry, the Dangerfield tattoo, the bearded man in an orange jumpsuit dashing across my lawn..I lifted my coffee mug to him and nodded my head, as one would do to gesture a friendly salutation to a passerby. But he took this a little too seriously. He stopped as he nervously looked over his shoulder, and then pushed past me as he charged into my house. He snapped a piece of wood off of my coat rack, and held the sharp stick to my throat. He said, "Help me get out of these fucking cuffs and I'll let you live". I complied, and said, "OK! Don't kill me! Let's go to the garage, I have everything we need there to get them off."
As I walked to the garage door with a wooden stake pushing at the back of my kidney, I began to devise a plan. Something very Dr.Suess like if Dr.Suess didn't have to abide to modern moral standards. As the convict walked into the garage behind me, I said, "Alright, I've done this before, now I need a hacksaw and for you to put the cuff in the bench vise so I can cut them off." He seemed a bit weary, but he agreed. I tightened down the vise on the mouth of the cuff, and picked the hacksaw up off the table. It was time. I whistled and patted my hand against my leg. The cocker spaniel came flying through the open door. I then yelled, "ha HA!", as I ran from the garage as fast as I could, slammed the door shut, and propped a nearby chair under the knob to keep him from getting out. I could hear something from within the garage. Screams. Terrible screams from the orange-clad psycho. Heavy panting from the dog as I could only imagine what sick thing it was doing to the poor man. I couldn't bear to listen. So I turned on the tV.
A blaring Billy Mays Infomercial shattered the atmosphere of the room. There wasn't a mirror nearby, but Im pretty sure my cheeks and hair were blown back like somebody riding a roller coaster from his rampant yelling. I muted the TV, but his voice still echoed inside my head like a cymbal that had just been whacked by a sledge hammer. As it started to mellow out, the peace was once again raped as I heard the dog yelp once from inside the garage. Then silence..Until an axehead came smashing through the door. I guess the psycho had had enough, and he was very, very, pissed off. I wasn't sure what to do. I put my hands at my head and ran around in circles as I tried to think of a clever way to stop him. My attempt failed.
As the convict, axe in hand, clothes torn and bloody prepared to lunge for me, it was if God himself intervened. As he shift his weight forward, his foot made contact with the bunny slipper. His eyes got very large as he turned over backwards. He landed flat on his back with a thud, and his sudden attempt at a terrified scream was cut short as the head of the axe split open his cranium and sunk into his cortex. Blood started to slowly seep out on the carpet. During the madness, the bunny slipper shot out at a high velocity, propelling itself through a closed window and out into the street. It won't be long before that thing causes a fatal 30 car pileup on this quiet suburban cul de sac.
A mass casuality incident in front of my house was the least of my worries. I needed a way to mop up this mess, and fast. It won't be long before that blood and cocker spaniel juice seeps into the carpet for permanent display as a fossil in a museum. How was I going to deal with this? Do I call somebody? The police? The local maid service? Maybe I should just roll him up into the carpet and let the garbage man take him away?..No..That won't work. Before I could think of a solution, I heard a car door close out front. I could hear the voice of my flatmate Chloe talking on her cellphone. I had to think fast. As she walked up the doorsteps, I ran as fast as I could to beat her to the door. I opened the door before she could walk in, and said, "Stop! You can't come in here!". "This is my house, why not?!", she retorted. For a girl talking on a cellphone, she was quite sharp witted. "Fumigation! They are fumigating the house, you must leave!". "If they are fumigating the house, why are you still in here?". "I have a high tolerance. Plus it is only really lethal to bugs."
To be continued.