Daydream

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Aaron sat on a metal chair by the computers in the center. He felt rather dapper with his new haircut. He had shaved his head and in his mind he looked like a tough, bad-ass mafia dude.  When he saw you writing this he became angry, his skin turned green, his shirt shredded as muscles bulged, he was secretly Bruce Banner! He lunged at you and punched you in the shoulder. Stunned you fell over and it took you a minute to feel well enough to continue writing. Aaron was now furious, he drove both of his fists into your chest. You gripped the desk with your left hand and with your right hand slowly continued  to type. Aaron, the giant beast that he was, kicked you in the shins. Your legs felt weak, you pleaded for mercy, Aaron showed you none. You toppled over the stool you were sitting on and fell on your back on the floor. Aaron leapt up, tucked his left arm in and landed hard on your chest. Air left your lungs, you gasped. Aaron got you in a headlock and bellowed, “Don’t you ever fuckin’ write about me you filthy lunatic!” Then Glenda walked up and asked if she could join in. She kicked you repeatedly in the face. As your nose poured forth a dark river of blood, you somehow were able to get back on to your stool and sluggishly record more of the moment into your word processor. Then Eunice shouting something similar to a battle cry, socked you in the eye. On your right Sarah became jealous of the action and began to throw sharp jewelry at you. Shannon even jumped in, hitting you with newspapers. Your vision blurred, your stomach felt sick, as Sarah sang System of a Down lyrics aloud, with her tongue out and a deranged smile on her face she shoved you to the ground. Aaron grabbed a nearby flame thrower and doused you in fire. Daniel dug a hole in the alley and the group dragged your body to it. They buried you and washed their hands clean of you that day. But then a funny thing happened. The computer, blood soaked keys, left on with the account of your last moments alive blasted across the monitor, refused to shut down. It was as if your spirit now embodied the machine. It was rebooted, unplugged, debugged, yet it refused to display anything upon it’s warped screen, besides your final entry. Finally the computer was thrown away, with the words still bleeding through, for an audience of none.

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