chicken pot pies

You check your refrigerator, looking for chicken pot pies.  You feel your way around in the dark, your refrigerator light bulb is broken.  You broke it because you weren’t sure if the light turned off, really, when you closed the door and you’d be damned if space and time would lie to you.  You have destroyed the chance for your machine’s cold-hearted laughter deep within, either totally illuminated or not.  You busted all the lights in your house and blacked out the windows, too.  Why?  Because space and time would lie to you.

Why would space and time lie to you?  Is reality only an illusion?  Why do you live in a black box?  I get you, I feel you, I see the theme here.  No lies.

Fine.  You’ve found a chicken pot pie up in the freezer, still running cold.  You open your busted microwave that you rigged up to work even though you have smashed the viewing window open, because you’d be damned if anything will keep your food from you.

You are a monster.  You are a fearsome sight in the light of the world outside.  Where are you?  In your imagination.  Hi.

You tear off the house you are in, the vague concept of home and take off running into the night, wild and free.

Goodbye, wild monster.  Find your prey or your haunted dreams.