Distorted minds March-April 2020 Prompt 4
|There is a monster inside me. It sees through my eyes and reaches for the world with its greedy hands. One day I know it will crawl from behind my eyes and wreck the world it finds. My only hope is to keep it sedated with the absolute inanity of my existence. Like Neo in The Matrix, I trek through life pretending to be my own little Mr. Anderson. There is nothing special about me, no. I have no independent opinion. I like bologna and cheese every day out of a paper bag.
To offer any resistance to what comes before me is to risk stirring the beast. I do not need it catching the scent of fresh flayed meat just outside its cage. I do not choose to awaken its unyielding hunger by slaking my own, red meat, served rare, on a bloody plate. No that is the wrong plate. I am a vegetarian. No trouble, easy mistake, I can wait. No, I don't need a beer on the house. I don't drink. I never drink.
I could drive myself through the city clutching the wheel and stirring with rage, but the risks are too great. I don't mind walking. A nice quiet walk does a man good. I focus on my feet on each step before me. The man with a knife doesn't know his danger. I rush to give him my money, my watch. Don't wake the sleeping beast. Don't fall to fear. Not enough?
Hold back the rage, too late.
The beast stirs. Bare bloody hands rip the man's throat open and tear out his windpipe. The knife falls impotently to the ground, not knowing its potential. The beast sees it and guts the mugger before he can fall dead. The monster plays with the steaming entrails. Stretching them out coiling and uncoiling them like macabre pasta marinara.
Somehow I find my phone. The monster snatches it away and takes images of its art. I snatch it back and turn on the soothing classical music that has worked in the past. The beast dozes I shove it back within stretching and contorting to get it back in place. For just a moment I consider cutting the beast out of me. The very thought of the violent act stirs the beast within. I soothe it, cooing like a kind mother.
I hurry home and scrub the filth of the beast's outing from myself and my clothing. Then I pack. The beast has stirred, it has fed. I must move on or risk it awakening permanently. The police would come. They would accuse and attack. I would not be able to protect them, the beast would come. I would be cuffed and bound and the beast would come. It might even choose to break free at last from me. I do not know where that would leave me, but the beast would feed until the streets ran red.
I am so tired. Perhaps rest is just what I need.
I awaken, chained in a room. It is an interrogation room. I don't know how I got here. I can see what has happened. The beast has freed itself from my body. Half a dozen men lie dead where they had tried to deny the beast its rampage. Bloody claw prints climb the walls and track their way out of the door. I rattle my chains. There is little I can do. If only I hadn't allowed my watch to falter.
Perhaps someday someone will come and read the clues as I have, but I doubt it will be before I starve. The beast lies in wait outside the room. I can feel it. It will be a long time before it falters in its watch. It wishes me dead. I am its only prison. Without me, god have mercy on the world, for the beast surely will not.