"TWO WEIRDOS AND A BRIEFCASE" - Frank Greasestain
I searched through the pile of clean clothes for black socks. There were none.
I searched through the pile of dirty clothes for black socks. There was one black sock and there was one dark blue one. Nobody would be able to tell and whoever’s looking at my ankles underneath a desk is an asshole anyway.
Another work day, another meeting that I had no idea what the point of was. There was no time for a shower and no time for a shave. I didn’t look homeless, I just didn’t look presentable to royalty. Robert F. Johnson and Sons Accounting wasn’t a castle and wasn’t run by royalty. It would be okay.
I pulled up to the office building and looked up. It was a quiet and sunny spring day in San Antonio. I sighed when I pushed the pull door. First mistake of many, I was sure.
The office building was quiet. Nobody was bustling from room to room. Nobody was waiting at the elevator. I dug in my pockets for the sheet of paper I scrawled the office number on. Suite 510. Fifth floor.
I pushed the up arrow.
As soon as I walked in two weirdos walked in behind me.
“Get on the floor,” a cold, mechanical female voice instructed me. I looked at her. She was an albino with jet black hair and old person sunglasses on. She was wearing a skin tight track suit made of aluminum foil. The man she was with was bald, albino, also wearing old person sunglasses with the same get up. His body was beginning to burst out of his aluminum foil.
“What’s this all about?” I asked.
“Shut up,” the man said. “Don’t ask questions. We ask the questions and we don’t have any.”
“Yes, yes,” the woman nodded her head. She pulled a briefcase out from behind her back.
“On your knees,” she instructed. I obeyed. She placed the briefcase on my head and began rubbing it. I looked at my reflection on the stainless steel elevator doors. Country muzak was playing.
She continued to rub the briefcase on my head. It started to feel like a drill headed for the center of my brain.
“What’s going on?” I asked. I suddenly could only see in black and white and things were getting fuzzy.
“You will wake up in your bed and everything will be normal like nothing ever happened,” the man said.
They both laughed in syncopated ha ha has in unison.
“Yes,” the lady said, “When you wake up, everything will be normal like nothing ever happened but we will control your mind.”
“Huh?” was the last thing I remembered saying before the static took over and everything faded to black.
When I woke up, holy shit, everything was normal.
BIO: Frank Greasestain was born. Someday will die. For now, he lives. Blog: greasestain.tumblr.com