I wrote this a few days ago, when I was drunk. I have no recollection of writing it, and I can’t remember why I was drunk. But the story makes me laugh.
Offered as is, with only the spelling corrected.
Today, it was the vacuum cleaner. It told me, in no uncertain terms, how it was my best friend and how everyone else had betrayed me.
It told me these things in great detail, which I had to block behind the bloodwall as I took my favorite hammer and smashed the vacuum cleaner to bits.
Nothing it told me was true, I told myself, and repeated to myself. But I wrote on my scratchpad: buy a new vacuum cleaner.
Then I scratched out the word “new” and wrote “trustworthy.”
Time for sleep. Dreamless this time, I hope. None of those athletic women, blue and purple haired, jumping through hoops and striding over lines….
I woke a couple of minutes before my alarm went off. “No dreams,” I scratched in my diary. Then wondered if I just didn’t remember them. Wasn’t supposed to remember them.
I squeezed my eyes shut. If there was no evidence, there could not have been any implantation. I repeated it, over and over, until I was almost late for work.
“She deserved it,” I thought I heard the toaster say when I put the vacuum cleaner into the recycle bin.
It must have been the wind, I thought. Isolated so long from natural stimulae, no wonder they were all in this together.
The next morning, I didn’t hear the alarm at first, but awoke when it was trilling in my ear…fifteen minutes late.
“That bitch,” said the toaster.