Contributor: Brandon Swarrow
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Bruce is bald, divorced, pays child support yet raises both boys, and is a relentless misanthrope. If he weren’t spewing heated complaints about his miserable job, his whore wife, or just life in general, he would most likely stop breathing all together.
On his 33rd birthday, Bruce drinks so much by himself that, in the middle of the night, he accidentally stumbles into his sons’ bedroom after using the bathroom. The bottom bunk creaks and squeaks as he bounces on his belly onto the old mattress. His face catches a postage stamp portion of the corner of the pillow. He crashes down so hard that if his son were lying there that night; he probably would’ve crushed him. Luckily, he was staying over at a friend’s house.
Before fully asleep, Bruce’s body is sucked upward. He awakes. His spine is pressed so firmly to the brittle slats on the underside of the top bunk that two of the four snap in half, forcing his body to near fold to accommodate the displacement.
Through his son’s small window, the moonlight refracts to form a brilliant circle of light on the carpet. The illuminated sphere contorts tighter, similarly to someone angling a magnifying glass in the sun to achieve heat. The white beam of light slowly moves up the side of the child’s sports themed comforter. The circle creeps up toward the sweating and straining Bruce, illuminating a baseball bat, a basketball, and now a lean tan ladder. The round beam hits his face like a sucker punch. He squints, but the intensity is blinding. Just then Bruce hears what he believes is his eleven year-old son’s voice. “Come with me,” the voice of infinite echoes speaks slowly. “Come on”
Bruce’s vision is funneled to a different place. This is not his boys’ bedroom, this place is bustling. There are people walking briskly, determined and motivated everywhere. He sees himself now and a group of busy men and women begin swarming him. He is being attacked and mauled by these red-eyed humans. They are all talking and asking him questions at the same time to the point where he can’t really make out what they are saying. Finally he focuses on another man who seems even more aggressive than the rest; it appears as if he offers him drugs. Then another man offers him some more drugs. A middle-aged woman is shouting out offers for sex. Finally, after being groped, and forced back into a wall, Bruce screams, “What? What do you people want?”
An older gentleman simply says, “Sleep,” and he is erased from the red-eyed rabble, but most respond back with (almost in unison in fact) “What do you want?”
Bruce thrashes his arms to deflect the gropers and then bellows out, “What? What do all of you people want?” The crowd continues to squeeze and pet, groaning the same phrase over and over, “What do you want? What do you want? What do you want?”
Bruce shouts, “Enough with the grabbing already, what do I look like a stuffed teddy bear?!!” And just then, Bruce turns into a huge puffy, plush tan bear complete with droopy sad, yet lovable eyes.
The mob parts, smiling, happy and excited. Some even begin to laugh, while others weep from some unknown yet overwhelming joy.
The middle aged woman who previously offered sex laughs out loud, “That is a good one, but watch this…” Just then the woman says, “Hello Kitty,” and POOF a large half adult half kitten stands before the befuddled Brucey Bear.
The overly aggressive man from before whispers the phrase, “Wow, imagine that, you’re in a world where you can happily do or be whatever you want,” and he turns and walks away.
Bruce’s face, then body smacks the pillow and the rest of his son’s squeaky old bunk bed. - - -
Author:
Brandon Swarrow
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