Epilogue

            Paperback Writer

            Ding!

            “ORDER IN THE BOWL,” he hears in his head, waking from a dead sleep with a gasp.  He lay in his covers with eyes as wide as saucers, his breathing fast and frantic, like a swimmer – who’d spent far too much time underwater – surfacing.  He takes a moment to gather himself, thinking about how the last 49 years have brought him to this place.  No, wait, they didn’t “bring” them to this place…they fucking pushed him here, slamming him up against a wall within his head, slapping him across his face as hard as they could, screaming, “WAKE UP!”

            Slap!

“WAKE UP!”

Slap! 

“WAKE UP!”

Slap!

“WAKE UP!”

His cat goes sailing with his iPhone as he flings his covers off with violence.  He jumps out of bed, but as he’s only just now finding his footing, stumbles into the wall like a goddamn drunk, staggering towards the window’s dusty morning sunlight.  He rips the curtains open with a SHHT.

I can see outside.

A garbage truck was at the curb, emptying a recycling bin full of cans and bottles.  He watches it lift the bin skyward with mechanical arms, then heave it into the back with a creesh.  The arms put the bin back, empty.  It looks like it stinks.

I can see OUTSIDE!

The truck moves on to the next house, repeating the process.

I CAN SEE FUCKING OUTSIDE…!!!

Running to his old iMac, he slams into the chair and adjusts its aging screen.

And then he writes:

            The orders of toast looked exactly like toenail clippings, as they curled up and hardened beneath the kitchen’s heat lamps…