It moved in grotesque angles entering and exiting the thing that was now reaching for me.
“Find them buried in the backyard. Immortality awaits us.”
A year of therapy didn’t change that. I was consumed with the question. What did he see?
“Um… Okay… Why is it chained up?”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Of course you don’t. You wanted a miracle and you got it.”
I could see a figure standing near the window. He was facing me. I stared back for a moment, and not knowing what else to do, I eventually waved. There was no response. No movement. Nothing.
When I was a teen, I was really into sports. Growing up in Wisconsin, the Green Bay Packers were like a second religion to me with Brett Favre as my lord and savior.
“I think I’m going to call the cops. I’m really starting to freak out.”
As I entered the kitchen, I stopped in my tracks. Something was amiss.
I was sitting in my bed at 2:00 AM, morose and contemplating my station in life, when, big surprise, the shouting started.