December 23, 2004

Wooly Bullies

I am a hidden man. I am a hunted man. I lie on my bed wrapped in an afghan. I am scared to go outside. There are men in cars who will run me over. There are women who will attack me with little dogs. Awful children, with sharp teeth. I hear them pile driving their feet on my back steps. Their rubbers balls bounce against my back door. They are trying to bring my building down. I sit still. Their footsteps fade away. I can breathe. They remind me of the bullies, the beatings, my bleating voice begging them to stop. The bullies will destroy you.

A voice breaks out and fills the room. It wants my money. My machine blinks. Each pulsing light trying to pound through and fill the room with more bully demands. It is an evil heartbeat I cannot stop. Aggressive voices asking me for things. Telling me to act now. Telling me to improve myself. Voices disguising themselves. They are not my family. I wear my shiny Reynolds shield, my afghan tight over the top of its foil design. The voices go unanswered. The evil red heart beats on against the machine. I am afraid it will break. The bullies will again pummel down upon me. Their fingers tearing at the holes in my dirty afghan. They will find my body, but they will not find my captors.

Posted by Monkeyspit at December 23, 2004 10:24 AM | TrackBack
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