Monsterous Sabotage

Monstrous Sabotage

“I am creative”. I told myself over and over as I held a sparklingly clear wine glass of bubbling ginger ale in my left hand. Peering through the glass cast a sepia hue on the already dimly lit room. I was creative. I could write a funny, yet nostalgic comic book for my Dad’s birthday tomorrow. The dryness of my tired eyes itched. My eyes darted down to see the digital time sitting in the bottom right hand corner of the computer screen. “11:06pm” It read. My cursor blinked. For work, I always came alive on the night shift in vampire-like twelve hour shifts, but my days off demanded my attention during the blinding daylight hours. My whole body ached with exhaustion after working three excruciating nights at the hospital and staying up for the entire day following, but at least work was done for the week, the kitchen was clean and the thirty bags of groceries were put away. Mom had just fallen asleep after a mediocre day of pain and swelling. She had a surgery, a total hysterectomy yesterday. Her pain and sleep meds had just kicked in. Now, I needed to do homework. Obligatory homework. Due tomorrow, it was necessary to finish some tonight in order to take care of my father’s birthday tomorrow. He wanted Brunswick stew, and a campfire, and all the attention that he swears he never asks for. A steady stream of bubbles was trailing from the bottom of the ginger ale. I did not want him to be upset. It was terrifying when my father became angry. “I am an artist. I can be creative.” I chanted to myself in an attempt to incite some motivation at this time of night. I wanted to create a hand drawn comic he would enjoy. “I need to get up early tomorrow too.” I reminded myself rubbing my forehead. My brother and his wife were coming over for Dad’s birthday. An uneasy feeling came over me. I have no idea what they planned for him, or got for him, or if they got anything at all. So far, it was all on my shoulders. 

”We have at least a small bushel of apples downstairs, maybe I can make an apple pie too”. I thought. Desperately, I was trying to force myself into excitement. It was the middle of September, and just barely beginning to feel like fall. I wanted full fall leaves, football, and homemade masala chai . . . and a week off. I needed a week off from taking care of everyone around me. Perhaps a simple week of peace would inject some life and emotion back into my body. However, while my brain was teaming with good ideas and possible projects to start, my chest at the moment was hollow. More empty than a ten year old fallen log with its insides eaten away long ago by termites. A small animal could probably crawl straight through it. A curious man could probably knock on it and hear an echo. I sat back in my desk chair staring at the wall. No vampire needed to bite my neck and suck my blood. I would package my own blood up for him in plastic iv bags and donate it to him. “Would you like liter bags, or half liter bags sir?” I am certain I would ask him. I drain myself. That is just naturally what I do. Then like a to-go-box, I would hand it over, bag-by-bag, wave to him with a smile, and tell him to “enjoy!”.  

If it were possible to stop time, I would use the ability for nothing other than extra hours to sleep. Pressing my thumb down against the circular pause button of time’s remote, I would close my eyes and sleep 14 hours more. Then finally refreshed, I would press my thumb back down on the play button to allow time to continue at its usual pace. Time is somewhat of a thief. A thief of sleep and a thief of moments.

“But if time is not a thief, then I am simply bad at time management. If “the road to hell is paved with good intentions” as people say . . . then I am my own devil. I am bad at personal boundaries. I am horrid at time management. I cannot prioritize. Myself? I do not need vampires, or werewolves, or death eaters. It is good that the brother’s Grimm fairy tales are just a myth, because I could not manage another assailant when I am presently a victim. I do not need a predator. I am at this moment a prey. I do not need monsters, because for me, myself, I am my own.” Steadily the self-destructive thoughts were creeping through my gradually drifting mind. Instead of counting sheep tonight, I was counting demons.  

Slowly, a bubbling glass of liquid slipped from my unknowing fingers. Onto the patterned carpeted floor of my bedroom, it fell with a silent thud. On the floor, it stayed. Its fall did not wake me as my sleeping head remained motionless and slumped over on the surface of my wooden desk. Hours later my eyes carefully fluttered open to see soft light seeping through the slatted blinds of my room. “Perfect.” I mumbled. “The sunrise.” With two fists, I rubbed my eyes and looked up at my glaring computer, still brightly illuminated from last. The computer was periodically generating a sort of dinging sound. "Ding . . . Ding . . . . Ding . . . Ding . . . " I squinted at the recurring message popping up on the lit screen. “Oh”, I murmured. Lifting off of the keyboard, I realized my hand had been accidentally lying on the letter “a” in my word document for the entire night. With the letter “a” stretching across more than 100 pages unbroken, the infinite lines of a’s stared back at me as if they were screaming in fear. I deleted the screaming document and thought about everything I need to accomplish today. Thinking about my to do list made me want to scream. “ 1: ”, my graphite pencil scuttled across a ripped scrap of paper. “ Dad’s birthday. 2: Brunswick stew, 3: Take care of mother, 4: Apple Pie, 5: Walk the dog, 6: Family coming over 7: Homework . . . ” Of course, homework was written in bold and underlined. I took a deep breath. “It will be fine. At least I am up before the sunrise.” Pausing, I glanced to the bottom right hand corner of the screen to see what time it was. “Mmm, 6:37 . . . perfe . . . ” Then my body froze and my eyes stopped blinking. All of the breath went out of the hollow log called my chest and I could not breathe. “6 . . . :37 . . . .pm.” 

Due to the lack of activity, the computer screen in front of me went dark. This left me staring back at the monster that plagued my existence. As I glared back with poisonous hate in my gut for the figure before me, a tear fell down the monster’s cheek.