i go to the cabinet and open it and look inside and inside i see that there are still nine hundred and six meals-ready-to-eat on the bottom shelf. i stocked up on them before the world was over. other people come in with food sometimes but it it is not real food it was made after the world ended. i look on the top shelf and take down the box. i put it down on the table with the still and hear it clink as i set it down. looking inside i see that one of the bottles of cough syrup still has a label on it so i peel it off and save it to burn it later. i told that idiot a thousand times to remove everything but the bottle and the essence of what is inside. i take the things out one at a time and then i turn around. there is an old record player from the world that i turn on. as the arm sets down i set to work. i am in my own world and can barely even hear THEM as god bless america begins to play. i forget what happened next because when you work as long as i have been doing then things become automatic. when i am awake, i smell something like paint stripper and hold a large bag filled with white rocks that look grey because i cant take off my sunglasses ever. i smile because the things that are outside are all dead and evil and gone but i have brought them into existence in the forms of these rocks that some people call meth but that i call souls in their purest form. THEY are silent for now. i go outside to give them to the people who take souls for the lord.
as i go down the stairs to the third floor i see someone i have never seen before. he is looking confused and looks like the people that they used to call hillbillies when there were hills. he turns to me and asks which floor is eight oh eight on because he can't find it. i tell him that he is looking for a dead apartment an apartment where the window has been open and the people inside have been devoured in a flood of the outside. he looks at me and gets close to the wall and moves away. he seems confused and i tell him again but louder this time. he is frightened because he knows that this is the truth and i know that he knows. his family or apartment or anything in eight oh eight is dead and has been dead for many years. i take pity on him and tell him that he can stay in a room on the eighth floor that is still protected if it will remind him of his home. he says thank you and runs up the stairs. i can only feel sad at his loss.
i go to room three oh seven and knock twice. the door is not made out of wood like the others but it is made of steel and has a peephole. i can only assume that the poor person inside has a disease of some kind or is shy. it is a shame when people dont try to be neighborly. there is no answer so i knock again this time louder and feel my hand ache. a door at the bottom slides open and i put the bag inside the room. i wait a minute and pick up an enevelope that slides out from under the door and open it and take out the green paper that used to be called money. i don't use it for much, so i give it to the landlord sometimes when he askes me for it because i am kind and feel sorry for him with his fatness and plodding manner and stench. i can give it to him because he is good despite his problems but sometimes people who are not people but are actually THEY who have shaped THEMSELVES into the figures of men will plead for my money or will offer to do vile things and i push at them and yell at them to leave and tell them that this is a holy place and they have no power over me here. once one of THEM tried to seduce me in the stairwell and i pushed at THEM and THEY fell down the stairs and were still and i knew that i had done a good thing and won a victory for the lord over evil.
No comments:
Post a Comment