3. [WP] A man receives a note under his door. But it is the closet, and when he ope...

[WP] A man receives a note under his door. But it is the closet, and when he opens it no one is there. The reason behind this mystery is a story that no one would believe.

OOOORNIG! WE’RE BACK THE TIME IS 8:30 AND WE HAVE A-

-click- Crraack Crraack

(Damn… 8:30 gets earlier every day.)

Charles P. Tickens has an unfortunate job and an unfortunate life, and unluckily (a word commonly associated with poor Mr. Tickens) he is scheduled to have a life changing event today, full of daring heroics and seemingly insuperable obstacles. Unluckily for our dear friend Charles he is very tired this morning. Profoundly tired… (Grumble… mumble….) Listen to him mumbling to himself as he tries to figure out whether or not he has to toast his jelly or spread his bread, Ha-ha! What a loser!

(Life is like a row of dominos, once the first one falls they all have to I guess…) Last night Charles P. Tickens got extremely drunk. How do I know? Well, valued reader, I’m the narrator. It’s my job to know these things. Anyways, Mr. Tickens got unspeakably drunk last night, he consumed many Miller Lites until he graduated on to the whiskey, and that’s when the real fun began. I have some direct quotes—excerpts from a beautifully painful monologue really—from the man himself, let’s see here… Ah, here is a brief sampling of the drunken curses Charles threw around the empty house as forcefully as threw those bottles. They are as follows (in no particular order): 1. “…THAT STUPID BITCH! HOW COULD YOU… GOD FUCKING DAMMIT! FUCK HER. HAHAHA SERIOUSLY FUCK HER HAHA…” 2. “…I still love her. I need her. I can’t… I can’t do anything without…”* 3. “…I could do it. HAHA I COULD FUCKING DO IT SARA!! I KNOW YOU CAN FUCKING HEAR ME! I could…”* *Accompanied with sobbing. You may be thinking that the plot is thickening—and you are right! Mrs. Tickens is now Ms. Lundi again and she is back on the market as of yesterday gentlemen! Get her while she is still hot, ow! She is generally a very nice lady, but after Tim… well, nothing had ever been the same between her and Charles. The paperwork has yet to be done, but it is a sure thing from what I have gathered. Mrs. Tick—Excuse me, Ms. Lundi—has not made herself available for further comment. So anyways, Charles is hung-over. I’m sure he is ruminating about the path life has taken him while having a very strong debate with himself about whether or not he should go to work today. His toast looks burnt and cold, his coffee is still on the counter by the sink, and he has forgotten to grab it. He sits utterly alone in his gray breakfast nook, staring blankly out of a large window looking out onto a barren yard complete with dead vines curling up decaying trees; an old tire swing long forgotten (after Tim Tickens [age 7] drowned in Rock River two summers ago); and a shed that the termites had feasted on this past spring. There are imprisoned garden tools in that shed, rusty and cold, casting a shadow on a bright red RC monster truck. Dramatically slashed across the sides of this plastic truck are the words METAL MENTAL in a bright yellow text. Right now, Charles is staring at that shed, thinking of those gardening tools. Probably because they are easier to think about right now, as the last domino has fallen in his life. “I should really rake the yard today.” Silence predominates the conversation with Mr. Tickens, it didn’t get to speak much last night. “Yea, I’m going to rake the yard today.” Silence answers. The rusty gardening tools shiver with anticipation in their shed, as if they know they will finally be free from their prison after years of incarceration. But honestly, it’s probably just windy outside. It usually is this time of year.
Charles is putting on his robe, he hasn’t even touched his toast. He slips on his brown work boots and throws a winter coat over his robe. It has been a cold winter but today the high is somewhere in the 50’s, which is odd for this time of year. Still, the wind is unforgiving right now, it cuts right to the core. He slips on some gloves and heads out the back door. I think now is the time for his surprise. The RC monster truck jumps to life in the shed, revving its small electric motor. Mr. Tickens is at the shed door now, and is just opening it when the small vehicle starts forward with great speed. Mr. Tickens falls, confused and mildly unsettled. The small vehicle has pulled around to (face?) him, and remains still. “What in the…?”

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