joethetimelord
It was locked.
Slow day today, so this'll have to do.
The trailer was, as I expected, empty save for a small object in the corner hidden behind a cardboard box. I walked up to it. Picked it up. It was beautiful. I wasted two goddamned years before I realized how beautiful it really was.
Inspector Gadget, if I recall, was my hero. Little did I know what an idiot he really was; he never seemed to use his stuff correctly. It's as though they didn't install a better brain for the guy.
I know now that that's not the case. The guys make you smarter. They have to.
She poured it on the mattress. She poured it on the sink. She poured it on the tile floor he made her buy because he was broke again. She splashed it on the walls. She splashed it everywhere. She was done; she lit a cigarette.
Severe head trauma. That's what it said on the report. I shook my head, squinted, turned the paper upside down. Nothing worked. It still said "Severe head trauma." It wasn't possible.
My boy's a genius.
I am gone. I am no more. Once I served my country as well as the next. I had a simple task, widely used. Now I sit and watch the others. Now I wait for someone to make a call. But they pick up their boxes and talk to them. No more dialing. No more hellos.