Evenings where the TV calls your name and the couch dispenses socks from underneath
Thursday, generally. The homework sits unfinished, coated in spider webs, and your cat has long since rotted away and only a skeleton remains. Passers-by assume you are prepping for Halloween (a mere 10 months away) and push the idea of calling the loony bin through their head before getting distracted by the neighbor's garden flamingos. It happens on Wednesdays, too, but certainly not as frequently as Thursdays.
In between your room and the television is a wall, the bathroom, and another wall. Hence, you are two doors down the hall that connects the branched rooms of your house and the family room (what family?), which possesses the television on a now slightly mossy pedestal. How the moss intruded into your apartment is not known, but that's okay with you. It's something you'd rather not be thinking about when you have a bag full of stolen jewelry to think about instead.
Imaginary, of course. Gems of unfathomable magnitude and shape, the clarity unparalleled by any rock in existence. One, onyx in colour, clear as the Caribbean Sea, is shaped like King Kong and was found attached to a chunk of granite shaped more like the Sears Tower, rather than the Empire State Building. A nifty piece, many a compliment, I'm sure, I should be a gem collector, you think to yourself. I could have an eye piece for looking and the 4 C's of gem quality: Cut, Clarity, Colour, and Carrot. What the hell do carrots have to do with gems anyway?
Sadly enough, just as you imagine your collection of exotic rubies and sapphires, that's when the TV pipes up.
|Rex... oh, Rex.|
The TV's turned on again, great you speak to yourself within your own head. Or perhaps out loud. My cinematic time machine doesn't tell me which. Regardless, the TV is talking again, and for the third time in recent memory it's aroused by the idea of you pressing its on/off button. It loves people pushing its buttons and turning it on, then back off, and back on again. It gets more intense every time.
You hate to admit it, but pushing the power button is immensely satisfying to you. The TV knows it, too. You hate the TV, but love the power button. It's never worth it, because the TV becomes more obnoxious than you can physically handle once you do, but you never really stop.
|Oh..... REX! Oh my GOD. OOOHHHH|
You want it to shut up. A rather simple desire. Your hand searches the ground, blind. The first thing you find is a sock, wool. It itches your hand but you stuff it down the television's throat, and soon its erotic moans turn into slightly less but still quite erotic gags. Perhaps the TV likes being choked during intercourse.
Turning around, you notice the rest of the socks on the ground. Where had they come from you think to yourself. It's an important question; you don't want socks lying around your home when your mates come over, even though you don't really have too many mates. Jenkins, but that's about it anymore, and he's in a coma. Shame.
A sock slides out from underneath the couch, and catches your eye. You stare at it. Inquisitive. Another slides out. Getting on your hands and knees, you get your head close to the floor and inspect the area below your couch. Nothing but the carpet it rests upon.
You count the socks, there are twenty-three lying around. The pile looks fairly large. You collect them and put them into a shoes box. They're not exactly the best fit, but they fit nonetheless, and you run with it. As you turn around you see a collection of seven more socks, sitting there, waiting to be picked up.
Are you going to be able to wear all of these socks? It doesn't seem like it. There are quite a few building up now. You decide to try them out for size.
This isn't your normal foot.
You go and look in the mirror, and what do you see? A T-Rex. F****** hell, you think to yourself, this is why my parents named me Rex. An obnoxious name, I always hated it, you think. But now you have new found respect.
Your limp arms aren't very useful anymore.
Your legs are bulging.
Yay, you think.