“Do you actually expect me to go outside and risk getting both mugged and stabbed? Even if I planned my exit perfectly, so that I left just as the hoodlums were mugging and stabbing someone else, or during their lunch-break(which would require intel I do not have), then you would also be, by the principal of mathematical induction, expecting me to get inside a vehicle- which is laughable in of itself. Planes, buses, trains, or taxis are off limits, for if I must die then it will be under my own control. Now, let us imagine the unlikely event that I am driving with full control. Not only do I have the task of paying attention to myself but also to the thousands of imbeciles driving on the same road as me. You can spot them from a mile away. With their slacked-jaws wide open, their skulls cocked down, rather than looking vigilantly at the road as I do, they will be staring enchantedly at their phones, scrolling and scrolling and scrolling ad infinitum. But let’s stretch our imagination and assume I made it through what is inevitable death and now I’m there, unscathed, and there she is, the girl of my dreams. I'm inspired by the spirit of serendipity and go up to her, and then, this girl that I’ve already imagined a thousands of lives with, tells me, without any hesitation, that she’s not interested- before I can even say a word. Yes, a death just as gruesome as the ones before, but somehow unimaginably worse. In fact, being eviscerated by a speeding pickup truck sounds pleasant in comparison. It’s like a parasite that eats you inside-out, there’s no sudden impact, no bleeding, instead it’s the disillusionment of your entire reason for being. As you’re standing there questioning who you are, you overhear a conversation with her friends, in which she tells them this funny story, they’re all laughing hysterically, about this “creep” that thought he had a chance. If her initial rejection were like a knife jammed into my stomach, then this is her coming back and making sure to give it a good twist, several times over.”
“Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt but there’s no way around it. You will have to pick up the microwave one way or another.”
It has now been two weeks since I last spoke to that nasty woman. Despite her best efforts to kill me, I have managed quite well. It’s not that I wouldn’t like things to go back to the were; the microwave’s absence has proven to be a huge hindrance and it makes me sick to think how reliant I was on that machine. Although part of me is thankful as it has allowed me to exercise a side of myself that has been neglected for years, namely, my untapped creativity. Now, I’m able to slaughter two birds with a single stone as I bring my frozen dinner into my nightly bath. I drop the frozen block and it quickly thaws in the warm water. The peas float to the surface and I cup them with my hands into my mouth. The mashed potatoes dissolve into the water but fortunately the bathwater turns into a delicious thick gravy that I pour all over my Salisbury steak. With what’s leftover, I leave it out on my windowsill and by high-noon it will have been warmed up by the sun.
I was adapting well to my new life until I heard a daily knocking at my door. Everyday some lunatic would come knocking furiously and then disappear. Who could it be?
I opened the door and found a mountain of rotting groceries, like a landfill with a black mist of flies above it. The smell was beginning to leak into my apartment and so I planned to stop this madman during the act.
The next day as soon as they began to knock I swiftly opened the door and was punched in the face.
I fell to the ground and this person, a strikingly tall young man, apologized profusely. See, I wasn’t hit too hard, although he did get me right in the eye, but in that moment I saw a perfect opportunity to finally get my microwave.
“What the hell!” I yelled as I laid on the ground.
He was standing there with a fresh bag of groceries in hand.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry sir. I didn’t mean to-”
“Look kid, I don’t know what kind of messed up person you are but if you don’t want me to call the cops, I’d listen very carefully. I have a microwave that needs to be picked up, it’s waiting across the street, and you have two options. Either you go over there and bring it back, promptly, or you’ll be spending the night in jail. Understand?”
The young man ran to his car, nearly hitting his head against the top of the staircase.
To pass the time I prepared a dinner-bath. The bath water went from warm and relaxing to cold and clammy. Something clearly wasn’t right. I put on clothes for the first time in months, dusted off my keys, and drove to the store. I mocked by the hoodlums- a gang of teenagers on scooters- but I avoided eye contact as predators can smell fear.
Eventually I got there and saw the boy leaning over the counter talking with the lady I spoke to several weeks ago. She was undeniably beautiful. I walked over smoothly and told her who I was, she gave me the eye, and I asked why she didn’t come back to my place when her shift was done. I told the young man to make himself useful and toss the microwave into the back of the car, gently, and then leaned over to whisper something into the lady's ear.
That night she arrived in a silk robe. I led her to the bathroom where I had prepared a dinner-bath, but now with the brand new microwave balancing atop the bath on a metal railing. She dipped into the gravy lush and I followed in. I gave her the honors of peeling off the microwaves plastic film, revealing its iridescent plastic metallic surface and then poured some thawed out peas into her mouth. I handed her two frozen dinners that she placed provocatively inside the microwave and then rested over my bare chest.
The following day a police report was filed:
Male, 52 years old, and Female, 73, found in bathtub with a microwave submerged underneath a pool of murky water. Both victims were deemed dead on the scene. Teenage boy, 16, is currently held in custody for suspicion of first degree murder.
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