somnambulistfuc
04-18-2005, 03:15 PM
This is a story I wrote a few years ago. It was published by Horrorquarterly online (now defunct I guess) under the name CENSORED, mainly because that's what the editor did to it. Not for the weak stomach and try to read between the lines...you'll find a point to it.
I walk in the front door. I sit down in my living room on the sofa and say, “hello” to my wife. It was a good day at work. I got a promotion. My job is great. I look forward to going back tomorrow. My children love me. They stop doing their homework. They sit on my lap and tell me how much they love me. I laugh on the inside. I think it’s because I love them too. They leave to finish their homework. My lovely wife sits down next to me on the sofa. I hope she doesn’t start to talk. So she does. And I listen attentively. Or at least I think I do. We’re going to visit her mother this weekend. Real nice lady. I don’t know why I have to be told. We visit her every two weeks anyway. Like clockwork. Everything like clockwork. I like my living room. Victorian I think. Kind of plain though. Most of the neighbors have the same thing going on in their living rooms. We have a lot of friends in my neighborhood. Or at least that’s what my wife says. I don’t actually know if we have friends. I don’t care. They bore me anyway. But I don’t tell them. Instead I engage in stimulating conversation with them. I would like to go hunting with them sometime. My living room is nice though. I didn’t like college much. Too much to learn. Not enough reason to learn it. But I did Anyway. I’m still learning. I tune back into my wife again. She wants to go back to school. I think going back to school is overrated. I don’t tell her this. I think she is overrated. I tell her that I will support her in any future endeavor of her choosing. She moves closer to me on the couch. I think she wants sex from me tonight. I think I want sex from me tonight instead. I think I’m better than someone who just lies there like a dead fish. I think I’ll give her a deep kiss now to shut her up. I’ll follow it up with, “I love you.” She loves me too. Great. She gets up and walks back into the kitchen to finish dinner. She’s a good cook. Better than my mother. Probably better than Emeril.
I turn on the television. Reruns? Nope. CNN. No, that won’t do either. What time is it? Maybe the Simpsons are on? fu*k! Well then I’ll watch the news, but not CNN. There is a woman talking. Attractive enough. She says something about an old lady. Wait. Okay the old lady is senile. She walks out of the hospital, no one knows she leaves. And into the path of a car. Her family is pretty angry. I can see why. But she was old. It happens. I hate sports. What else is on? Maybe Seinfeld? But I hate yuppies too. Hits to close to home. Are there any yuppies left? Dinner is ready. I turn off the television and walk into the dining room. I sit down next to my daughter. My son sits on the other side with my wife. But she hasn’t sat down yet. I like my daughter better. My wife brings in a pot. There are peas and carrots. She brings in another pot. Mashed potatoes. Where is the gravy? Oh, right there, thanks kid. She brings in the last tray. Honey ham? Why no meatloaf? I’m sure it’ll be good anyway. My son asks me how my day was. My daughter tells him to mind his business. Good girl. They bicker for a few minutes. I laugh…on the inside. My son, he’s a whiner. It was cute when he was a baby. He’s nine. The whining has lost its cuteness. My daughter doesn’t whine. Doesn’t ask me for much. My wife brings in bread. Smells Great. My daughter only speaks when spoken to. She is beautiful. She is only fourteen though. My son looks like my wife. I just noticed this. He has a pointy nose. I don’t have a pointy nose. My daughter looks like me. She doesn’t have a pointy nose. “Please pass the bread,” I say. My wife sits down. She scolds me for eating before grace. My son says grace. He is barely audible. My daughter calls him an idiot.
We begin to eat. My wife talks about what she did at work. I cut a piece of ham, shaking my head in agreement with whatever she says. It tastes salty, then sweet. It’s exquisite. I cut another piece. The honey glaze is accumulating at the bottom of my plate. My wife talks about her day at work. I think my wife is still talking. I take a piece of bread and scoop up some of the honey glaze. My son says he doesn’t want to finish his food. My wife tells him he has to or else. I back her up. I finish my meal. He continues to whine about not wanting to eat his food. I get up and go back to the television. I look over at them. They are still eating. My wife says something to me. I say, “what?” then look back at the television. I am bored. Something is not right. My daughter sits next to me. She doesn’t utter a single word. Good girl. My son sits next to her on the couch. I look over at the kitchen. My wife starts the dishes. I should help her. I get up off the sofa. I walk over to the kitchen. Instead of helping her I ask her if there are any leftovers. I don’t know why. Just small talk. I am a highly sedated wall. There are a lot of dishes. I don’t want to do them. I tell her I’m going to use the computer for about an hour. Then I’ll go to bed with her. But only to sleep. I leave her and her dishes; they make for better companionship than I ever could. I say goodnight to the kids and walk upstairs to the study.
I walk in the front door. I sit down in my living room on the sofa and say, “hello” to my wife. It was a good day at work. I got a promotion. My job is great. I look forward to going back tomorrow. My children love me. They stop doing their homework. They sit on my lap and tell me how much they love me. I laugh on the inside. I think it’s because I love them too. They leave to finish their homework. My lovely wife sits down next to me on the sofa. I hope she doesn’t start to talk. So she does. And I listen attentively. Or at least I think I do. We’re going to visit her mother this weekend. Real nice lady. I don’t know why I have to be told. We visit her every two weeks anyway. Like clockwork. Everything like clockwork. I like my living room. Victorian I think. Kind of plain though. Most of the neighbors have the same thing going on in their living rooms. We have a lot of friends in my neighborhood. Or at least that’s what my wife says. I don’t actually know if we have friends. I don’t care. They bore me anyway. But I don’t tell them. Instead I engage in stimulating conversation with them. I would like to go hunting with them sometime. My living room is nice though. I didn’t like college much. Too much to learn. Not enough reason to learn it. But I did Anyway. I’m still learning. I tune back into my wife again. She wants to go back to school. I think going back to school is overrated. I don’t tell her this. I think she is overrated. I tell her that I will support her in any future endeavor of her choosing. She moves closer to me on the couch. I think she wants sex from me tonight. I think I want sex from me tonight instead. I think I’m better than someone who just lies there like a dead fish. I think I’ll give her a deep kiss now to shut her up. I’ll follow it up with, “I love you.” She loves me too. Great. She gets up and walks back into the kitchen to finish dinner. She’s a good cook. Better than my mother. Probably better than Emeril.
I turn on the television. Reruns? Nope. CNN. No, that won’t do either. What time is it? Maybe the Simpsons are on? fu*k! Well then I’ll watch the news, but not CNN. There is a woman talking. Attractive enough. She says something about an old lady. Wait. Okay the old lady is senile. She walks out of the hospital, no one knows she leaves. And into the path of a car. Her family is pretty angry. I can see why. But she was old. It happens. I hate sports. What else is on? Maybe Seinfeld? But I hate yuppies too. Hits to close to home. Are there any yuppies left? Dinner is ready. I turn off the television and walk into the dining room. I sit down next to my daughter. My son sits on the other side with my wife. But she hasn’t sat down yet. I like my daughter better. My wife brings in a pot. There are peas and carrots. She brings in another pot. Mashed potatoes. Where is the gravy? Oh, right there, thanks kid. She brings in the last tray. Honey ham? Why no meatloaf? I’m sure it’ll be good anyway. My son asks me how my day was. My daughter tells him to mind his business. Good girl. They bicker for a few minutes. I laugh…on the inside. My son, he’s a whiner. It was cute when he was a baby. He’s nine. The whining has lost its cuteness. My daughter doesn’t whine. Doesn’t ask me for much. My wife brings in bread. Smells Great. My daughter only speaks when spoken to. She is beautiful. She is only fourteen though. My son looks like my wife. I just noticed this. He has a pointy nose. I don’t have a pointy nose. My daughter looks like me. She doesn’t have a pointy nose. “Please pass the bread,” I say. My wife sits down. She scolds me for eating before grace. My son says grace. He is barely audible. My daughter calls him an idiot.
We begin to eat. My wife talks about what she did at work. I cut a piece of ham, shaking my head in agreement with whatever she says. It tastes salty, then sweet. It’s exquisite. I cut another piece. The honey glaze is accumulating at the bottom of my plate. My wife talks about her day at work. I think my wife is still talking. I take a piece of bread and scoop up some of the honey glaze. My son says he doesn’t want to finish his food. My wife tells him he has to or else. I back her up. I finish my meal. He continues to whine about not wanting to eat his food. I get up and go back to the television. I look over at them. They are still eating. My wife says something to me. I say, “what?” then look back at the television. I am bored. Something is not right. My daughter sits next to me. She doesn’t utter a single word. Good girl. My son sits next to her on the couch. I look over at the kitchen. My wife starts the dishes. I should help her. I get up off the sofa. I walk over to the kitchen. Instead of helping her I ask her if there are any leftovers. I don’t know why. Just small talk. I am a highly sedated wall. There are a lot of dishes. I don’t want to do them. I tell her I’m going to use the computer for about an hour. Then I’ll go to bed with her. But only to sleep. I leave her and her dishes; they make for better companionship than I ever could. I say goodnight to the kids and walk upstairs to the study.