Chapter 6: Thoughts...no time for 'em

Even my vast arsenal of cartwheels and forward rolls cannot save my glass vase which is the most expensive thing in the room. I do manage to save everything else, though. Perhaps I should become an acrobatic instructor. Teaching old ladies how to crack their joints surely pays better than my current job. And the best thing is, you don’t get jailed if one of the oldies goes too far and breaks their neck.

The door opens – and that’s putting it nicely. Beyond the dust and screaming termites hurtling through the air I can see something like a female Jack the Ripper, carrying a big knife. She even goes so far as to lick it.

“It’s not bloody Halloween yet,” I say crossly. “Please. That door costs fifty dollars, do you know how much that is these days?

“And I don’t think you’re supposed to eat food coloring like that,” I continue. “It’s bad for your health. Don’t swing that thing around either. Rubber knives can still hurt, and God knows I don’t want red spots on my furniture.” Or what furniture I have left, anyway.

A train rumbles by and I start to wheel around. Plates, bowls, TV remote (the TV got stolen and I hope they can’t use it), toy trains. “Will you not just stand there?” I ask the weird person. “Can’t you see I need help?”

Here I am, being threatened with a dagger bigger than my head, wheeling around talking to my would-be murderer like I would to some random stranger. This is my defence mechanism. Apparently. Either that or I need the number to the nearest mental hospital.