It is Sunday coming in at a cool 72ﾟ, like a wave in an Ocean Spray commercial. The prehistoric power lines, their sizzling hum sauteeing ghosts as they coalesce like helium balloons bumping against the night sky.
A windows XP solitaire ending to an all too brief weekend. I am masculinity sanitised in pleated pants immortal.
I automatically click on the kitchen light as I kneel at the God of Ennui. The permanent stain at the bottom of the coffee pot. This kitchen panopticon grants the energy I need to follow through with this daily cabal.
The monitor powers to life. My ritualistic suicide, my life has been buffering since the day I was born.
When the human hands came out of my computer holographic and connected to arms the colour of fibre optic highway. Their movement like electric gelatin, veins of silly string.
My nightly offering at the keyboard had not went unnoticed.
The high definition LED appendages held out before me a child 3 times the size of a newborn human baby. A larger yet exact representation of a new born of the Japanese variety save for a cranium the size of a pressure cooker.
The giant baby's hands touched my temples with a shocking jolt. It gave a soft giggle, its upper teeth showing in it's joyous smile. It had shiny white teeth. Small unblinking eyes like boba glistened down at me.
I felt it pass into my face with its own, a nose bumping up against my brain fluids.
As he began to take steady bites out of my soul, I thought about helium balloons bouncing against the night sky.
