Under the Rug

By
Every day was the same. Hank got up, showered, dressed, and went work. The same old routine day after day and Hank was tired of it. He was tired of being called “average,” tired of being predictable. Every day, every week was identical to the last. Two weeks passes and it’d happen again. He craved change. Leaving his house one morning Hank decided to skip work. It was the first time in fifteen years of working there that he had ever dared to call in “sick.” Patting his dog Tyke on the head, he heads to his car.

Even the way Hank drove was dull. He was the type of guy who often had his turn signal on miles before he even turned. After driving around for at least half an hour Hank couldn’t figure out where to go, or what to do which is why he turned his turn signal on, and three miles later turned around. So on his first day off Hank lay in bed feigning sick scared that his boss would look through his window and see him perfectly health.

It usually takes Hank exactly twelve minutes to fall asleep. However today, he couldn’t seem to drift into that familiar sleep. So after an hour of attempting this, Hank got out of bed and went outside to smoke a cigarette. Finishing, he walks back inside and throws himself into his favorite recliner. He flips through the channels but finds nothing worth putting on. So he just lays there his eyes fixed on the carpet. He slowly begins to close his eyes, completely oblivious to the movement that has started beneath his feet. As he begins to drift off the movement startles him awake. An average person would have assumed it was their imagination, which is why Hank sprang out of his recliner and immediately assumed the worst. He frantically ran around the house in search of a weapon. The closet thing he finds is the dining room chair; the one thing his mother left for him in her will. Ignoring the sentimental value it holds he grabs it and begins to beat the alleged spot. Growing tired he drops the chair and moves to the now still lump in the carpet. He lifts the carpet up; and Hank begins to scream. He can’t speak too numb to even form a word. Is his feeble attempt to be anything but average Hank had murdered Tyke, his only companion.





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This article has 6 comments. Post your own now!

asublack said...
Oct. 27, 2008 at 4:16 am
ur welcome
 
tommmm said...
Oct. 15, 2008 at 9:30 pm
wow this is so good!
 
asublack said...
Oct. 12, 2008 at 9:37 pm
oh wow this is amazing stuff, i think u should be proud of urself
 
twilightony said...
Oct. 12, 2008 at 2:42 am
Uh, ok I guess? Why is it number one?
 
trinna said...
Oct. 10, 2008 at 11:50 pm
good job blaire!!
 
blairebear said...
Oct. 14, 2008 at 6:07 pm
Thank you :)
 
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