FicWad: fresh-picked original and fan fiction

The night’s golden. Brand new. Clean slate.

It never looked so magnificent. Picture yourself on a boat on the river with tanger----Whoa, sorry, didn’t mean to get off track there. It’s nothing like that. There’s no river, no boat, no beauty, no magnificence. Just suburban life. Hedges cut to “look perfect” and “look normal”. People are cut that way too. Only, it’d be weird if they were actually cut so, scratch that, wouldya?

One thing I do indeed know is that I am too tired for words and this Beatles album is making more sense than my math homework. Realizing something like that is probably not too good. So, it’s either best to change the CD or go to bed. Do. Different. Changing the CD…something that really makes no sense. My mom thinks she knows what I don’t know about technology but truly…eh, she’s right.

She likes buying the newest, shiniest, cleanest looking gadgets in the neighborhood. The CD player glares back your reflection every time you inch toward it. It has hungry eyes, a voracious mouth. It stretches its foul smelling door to you, all new car-like/new shoe-like. And it eats up your CD before you have the chance to say Jack Rabbit. I growl at it, which only causes it to snap at me, bursting on one of my brother’s albums that must’ve been snatched by the vicious creature. Which, in fact, replaced my dear, dear, sweet real record player. High quality cackling with a hint of mold. That’s a mouth I can deal with.

Can’t bond with this rap crap. Nuhuh. Way too loud. I’m screeching at the thing to frickin’ STOP! already, but this bleepin’ player mustn’t be voice automated. Surprise, surprise. My mother and father haven’t come home, so that’s a plus. I know have full permission to kick the metallic gloss machine (that costs more than me). I run towards it and halt. Waitasecond. I should be prepared.

Running now, I hold a shoe in each and a helmet on my head. A few inches away from me, the colossal waits. And it is pissed. Breathing fire down my neck. I throw a converse belonging to my brother at it. Then, another. It does nothing but change the song to a louder tone. So I grab the closest object, which happens to be a chair. It skids on the white carpet (which reminds me of the grossness of Miracle Whip) and heads towards the metallic…creature that wants to tear my guts out.

This is not a time for fear. It’s a time to be brave, embrace life, all it has to give you and when you charge; you frickin’ charge.

A loud noise, sparks fly. Blackness spreads on the floor, ashes to ashes. I bounce back, landing on the floor with an exasperating sound. Why? Why does God feel the need to punish me? I adjust the helmet on my head and glare at the machine. Look whose laughing now, big boy.

Sadly, Mrs. Roin from next door spotted me on the floor. She’s always been a bit a peeper. She saw the sparks and heard the loud booming sound. She called my parents on me. Can you believe it? Of course, they didn’t answer because they had just barely arrived home. They opened the door and saw me, lying there on the Miracle Whip contaminated with black gunk.

Eeek, this won’t go down well.

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