We are boring, my dad and I. People don't say it to our faces, but I know it's true. We can't converse. We're not interested in much. We don't let anyone know how we feel—not even ourselves, which could be why Mom left us eons ago, back when I was maybe ten years old and the spittin' image of Dad, so she said.
But now there's something interesting happening, a bit frightening even, right here on my old Toshiba laptop. I'm trying to type a run-of-the-mill email to Dad's doctor because he's been in bed for a couple of days and starting to stink, like old folks tend to do. I finished the salutation, you know, "Hi Dr. Baker," when the computer heated up like an iron. Then I lost control. Someone or something took over and wrote terrible things about me—some sort of confession.
Now, on one hand, this is exciting. Nothing like this ever happens to boring old me. On the other hand, the thing is in my lap and getting so hot, I'm afraid it's going to burn right through my jeans. And what is Dr. Baker going to think if whatever has taken over presses Send? It’s typing that I never loved my dad, can't stand the sight of him, never want to see him again, have wanted him gone for a long time. Word after word of pure b.s.
I have to put a stop to this. What can I do? Ah, okay, I'll slam the machine shut. Ouch! It hurts to touch. Oh, oh, I have to get it off of me. Throw it off. Oh no! It landed on Dad's bed, and it's glowing red like a giant coal. How can that be? And there's fire now, and smoke, smoke all around me. I'll jump out the window. No other way. Dad’s so still. No time to worry about him. I'm choking. Can't breathe. Gotta get out.
Whew! I've landed in those thorny rose bushes Dad loves so much. Okay, so I'm a little scratched up. Gadzooks! The house! It's exploding. I'm running, running to the sidewalk, running with bricks and boards flying by my head. Can you believe it? My ears are ringing something awful. Neighbors are milling about, asking if I'm okay, wanting to know what happened. I can't tell the truth. I'll say Dad fell asleep while smoking in bed. That’s perfect. Only I know whether or not he smoked. There are advantages in keeping to yourself.
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