By J.P. Hughes
My name is Randy Nash. I don’t know much about the place I’m currently in. My creator, John, got me stuck here, and has yet to figure a way for me to get out. Everything is very bright where he has me at the moment, so bright in fact, that I can’t see a thing. Well, that’s not quite true, in fact I can see John sitting there, staring at me, which he does a lot.
I like to stare back at him, and sometimes I make faces at him to aggravate him. He knows it upsets me when he just stares at me, especially when he doesn’t comb his hair, or get dressed, always wearing that baggy T-shirt and sweat pants. He’s not a bad looking guy, he thinks of himself as plain. He’s about 5’ 10”, about 190 lbs. Definitely out of shape and in much need of exercise, which his doctor keeps telling him at each appointment. He comes into the room and plops down in his chair right after waking in the mornings. Sometimes I swear he doesn’t brush his teeth either, yes I have a good sense of smell, and he definitely needs some mouthwash, what with him chain smoking while he stares at me.
He likes to mumble to himself as well. He says I remind him of his brother. Well, I should, he made me look like that. He created me just to put me through all sorts of trials, just like his brother has done to him in the past. At least he didn’t make me an alcoholic, like his real brother. See, John doesn’t drink, and he doesn’t like other people who do in excess either. He wont even go out to a party if he knows there will be drinking there. Alcoholism runs in his family, so he avoids it completely if given a choice.
He just sits at home, taking care of his disabled mother. She is a stroke survivor, along with various other medical conditions. He doesn’t go out at all. If he’s not at work, he’s at home either watching a movie, or sitting here staring at me. He’s probably seen most every film ever made. He has about 3000 movies on DVD or VHS. I think he started writing to prevent his imagination from exploding. His mother actually got him into the idea of writing. She told him he needed a creative outlet to his anxiety since he stopped taking his medication. He worked for 911 Emergency for seven years, and was on nerve pills when he left there. The stories that are floating around in his head are quite terrifying. He’s been off of them for a little over a year now. I guess that’s one of the reasons he gets those strange looks in his eyes.
He works a full time job, a less stressful one, in the floral industry. The only stress he gets now is during the Holiday’s when he has to supervise 500 temporary workers taking flower orders worldwide. He debated about even taking this class at this time, with Easter, Administrative Assistant Week, and Mothers Day being the same time frame as this session, but he figured if he could do this during his busiest time of the year, he can make time to take other courses and actually finish his novel.
He has 4 dogs, all mixed breeds that he has rescued from either the pound, or off the street. He considers them his children, his daughters. They each get their own plate of food at Thanksgiving, and presents at Christmas. He actually talks to them and treats them as if they were humans. This I know for a fact, since they are always drawing his attention from me, which sometimes I am very grateful. It gives me a reprieve from the havoc he is creating in my life.
There isn’t much to look at here on this blank screen, and he has yet to move. He’s still just sitting there staring at me, while I ramble on nervously. See, I’m a nervous person. I can’t help it. John keeps getting me into some sort of trouble. I mostly just get scraped up from some accident, or so he say’s they were accidents. I’m not sure I believe him anymore. He has a lot of frustrations to release, and what better way to do it harmlessly, or so he thinks, on me. He doesn’t realize that I have developed feelings, and those accident’s actually hurt. Not only are my feelings hurt, but my body and soul is as well. I mean, I can’t count how many times I have tripped over air, and have fallen down stairs. Air isn’t that thick. I think John tried to make my head thick so I couldn’t see the truth of the matter.
Oh, now I’ve done it. He has an even stranger look on his face. I think he realizes that I have been telling all of you all about him. He’s a private person. To look at him, you would never know any of these things I have told you, and yet you could see it in his everyday actions. The way he treats others, even his brother. Oh sure, there have been knock-down-drag-out-fights, but they have always gotten over them later on. Even though John is like an elephant, he never forgets anything, especially when he’s been hurt, either emotionally or physically.
This look he’s giving me is really starting to unnerve me. I’ve seen it before. He sent me to this old house he told me about. I never really believed his stores about the place. I mean, those things just don’t happen in the real world, and yet when I arrived there, I heard this hissing noise when I got on the porch. It was coming from behind me, near my car. I slowly turned around, I mean it was dusk, there wasn’t much light, and the place just gave me the creeps. I kept thinking of those stories John told me, and yet my rational mind was rejecting them, my subconscious kept bringing them back to the front of my mind. Anyway, this hissing is coming from near my car. I crept slowly towards the sound, and almost laughed in relief when I saw the flat tire. It looked as if someone had slashed it good. I must have run over something large and sharp in the driveway.
I turned, and walked back towards the house. That was the last of my memories till I awoke screaming in the cellar. I……can’t…..I mean…..I can’t relive that at present. I’m already scared enough from the looks John is giving me. All I will say, is that thing living there almost had me for dessert.
Ok, now I’ve really gone and done it. Not only scared by John with these strange looks, but I’ve now scared myself. I think I will try and look for a place to hide. John’s starting to blink, and the last time he did that, he had my sister Rita fall asleep in this bed that had a shapeshifter mimicking her pillow. It wasn’t a pretty sight. But that’s another story……
My name is Randy Nash. I don’t know much about the place I’m currently in. My creator, John, got me stuck here, and has yet to figure a way for me to get out. Everything is very bright where he has me at the moment, so bright in fact, that I can’t see a thing. Well, that’s not quite true, in fact I can see John sitting there, staring at me, which he does a lot.
I like to stare back at him, and sometimes I make faces at him to aggravate him. He knows it upsets me when he just stares at me, especially when he doesn’t comb his hair, or get dressed, always wearing that baggy T-shirt and sweat pants. He’s not a bad looking guy, he thinks of himself as plain. He’s about 5’ 10”, about 190 lbs. Definitely out of shape and in much need of exercise, which his doctor keeps telling him at each appointment. He comes into the room and plops down in his chair right after waking in the mornings. Sometimes I swear he doesn’t brush his teeth either, yes I have a good sense of smell, and he definitely needs some mouthwash, what with him chain smoking while he stares at me.
He likes to mumble to himself as well. He says I remind him of his brother. Well, I should, he made me look like that. He created me just to put me through all sorts of trials, just like his brother has done to him in the past. At least he didn’t make me an alcoholic, like his real brother. See, John doesn’t drink, and he doesn’t like other people who do in excess either. He wont even go out to a party if he knows there will be drinking there. Alcoholism runs in his family, so he avoids it completely if given a choice.
He just sits at home, taking care of his disabled mother. She is a stroke survivor, along with various other medical conditions. He doesn’t go out at all. If he’s not at work, he’s at home either watching a movie, or sitting here staring at me. He’s probably seen most every film ever made. He has about 3000 movies on DVD or VHS. I think he started writing to prevent his imagination from exploding. His mother actually got him into the idea of writing. She told him he needed a creative outlet to his anxiety since he stopped taking his medication. He worked for 911 Emergency for seven years, and was on nerve pills when he left there. The stories that are floating around in his head are quite terrifying. He’s been off of them for a little over a year now. I guess that’s one of the reasons he gets those strange looks in his eyes.
He works a full time job, a less stressful one, in the floral industry. The only stress he gets now is during the Holiday’s when he has to supervise 500 temporary workers taking flower orders worldwide. He debated about even taking this class at this time, with Easter, Administrative Assistant Week, and Mothers Day being the same time frame as this session, but he figured if he could do this during his busiest time of the year, he can make time to take other courses and actually finish his novel.
He has 4 dogs, all mixed breeds that he has rescued from either the pound, or off the street. He considers them his children, his daughters. They each get their own plate of food at Thanksgiving, and presents at Christmas. He actually talks to them and treats them as if they were humans. This I know for a fact, since they are always drawing his attention from me, which sometimes I am very grateful. It gives me a reprieve from the havoc he is creating in my life.
There isn’t much to look at here on this blank screen, and he has yet to move. He’s still just sitting there staring at me, while I ramble on nervously. See, I’m a nervous person. I can’t help it. John keeps getting me into some sort of trouble. I mostly just get scraped up from some accident, or so he say’s they were accidents. I’m not sure I believe him anymore. He has a lot of frustrations to release, and what better way to do it harmlessly, or so he thinks, on me. He doesn’t realize that I have developed feelings, and those accident’s actually hurt. Not only are my feelings hurt, but my body and soul is as well. I mean, I can’t count how many times I have tripped over air, and have fallen down stairs. Air isn’t that thick. I think John tried to make my head thick so I couldn’t see the truth of the matter.
Oh, now I’ve done it. He has an even stranger look on his face. I think he realizes that I have been telling all of you all about him. He’s a private person. To look at him, you would never know any of these things I have told you, and yet you could see it in his everyday actions. The way he treats others, even his brother. Oh sure, there have been knock-down-drag-out-fights, but they have always gotten over them later on. Even though John is like an elephant, he never forgets anything, especially when he’s been hurt, either emotionally or physically.
This look he’s giving me is really starting to unnerve me. I’ve seen it before. He sent me to this old house he told me about. I never really believed his stores about the place. I mean, those things just don’t happen in the real world, and yet when I arrived there, I heard this hissing noise when I got on the porch. It was coming from behind me, near my car. I slowly turned around, I mean it was dusk, there wasn’t much light, and the place just gave me the creeps. I kept thinking of those stories John told me, and yet my rational mind was rejecting them, my subconscious kept bringing them back to the front of my mind. Anyway, this hissing is coming from near my car. I crept slowly towards the sound, and almost laughed in relief when I saw the flat tire. It looked as if someone had slashed it good. I must have run over something large and sharp in the driveway.
I turned, and walked back towards the house. That was the last of my memories till I awoke screaming in the cellar. I……can’t…..I mean…..I can’t relive that at present. I’m already scared enough from the looks John is giving me. All I will say, is that thing living there almost had me for dessert.
Ok, now I’ve really gone and done it. Not only scared by John with these strange looks, but I’ve now scared myself. I think I will try and look for a place to hide. John’s starting to blink, and the last time he did that, he had my sister Rita fall asleep in this bed that had a shapeshifter mimicking her pillow. It wasn’t a pretty sight. But that’s another story……
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