forthedog | (no subject)

He opens his eyes to meet a second set of huge, eerily sentient eyes staring into his, and for a moment he just lies there, trying to figure out... The world, mostly.

Close by, on the floor, he can hear Mack and Flo laughing with what sounds like delight, and the chittering language of Sprinkles, creepy fucking Sprinkles, and really he should have fucking tossed that thing in the trash the day after they'd caved and bought it, made up some kind of lie, gotten them something else to distract them...

But the chittering is coming from the floor. And the thing is on his chest.

And now that he listens, it doesn't sound like just Mack and Flo and Sprinkles down there.

Um.

He tries to sit up, shoving the thing off his chest as he does so, and that's when all five of them hurl themselves at him, cackling insanely. He hears Mack and Flo yell in surprise - "Sprinkles, no, that's Daddy!" - and then he's in a whirlwind of brightly colored fur and biting. He manages to get upright, stumbles, tears one of them off his back and slams it to the floor. It has time to get out a single indignant squawk before he crushes its head with his bare heel.

So now his foot is cut. Wonderful.

Operating on some instinct he doesn't take the time to question, the girls shrieking in the background, he stumbles into the kitchen, fumbling for the kitchen knives, managing to throw two more against the fridge. A third ends up in the sink, and he doesn't think; he stabs it into the garbage disposal with the butcher knife, the girls screaming, "Daddy, don't kill Sprinkles!" and their voices drowned out by the squeal of the disposal when he hits the switch and the angry screech of Sprinkles as it dies.

Or starts to.

Because then the power goes out.

I take one nap, he thinks, listening to Sprinkles as it groans pitifully from the garbage disposal, counterpoint to the girls' sobbing. I take just. One. Nap.

Threaded | Flat

The whole city's going to shit, but honestly, after everything that's happened, a bunch of mischievous robots overrunning the place doesn't seem like that big of a deal. Still, the shop gets closed up early, after the registers go on the fritz, the power keeps going out, and one of the little fuckers somehow turns on an entire display of rabbit dildos, still inside their boxes.

I get about halfway home on the bus before the wonky traffic lights and clogged streets makes it so I have to set out on foot. My phone won't fuckin' pick up a signal, which is just a cherry on top of a really fuckin' messed up morning.

Outside the apartment, I can already hear the shrieks, and I take the steps two at a time, busting through our front door and into...

"What the fuck..." I breathe, stepping out of the way just in time to miss the furry little bastard torpedoing straight for my face. It sails past me, diving over the railing and onto the concrete below with a mournful shout.