It’s the first day of my captivity: May 30, 2014. Today is a Friday, I think. My last day of school. Hours ago, I entered my “home” carrying orange juice, a hash brown, and a breakfast sandwich that I acquired from a building en route. They were gifts that I brought in hopes of quelling the beast that lurked inside this “home”. It was hot and stunk of body odor and grease — the building, not the “home”. Old men stared at me, and in response, I put on bright sunglasses to intimidate them. The people in line kept repeating a name: McDonald.
“Who is Mr. McDonald?”, I wanted to ask them.
I went through the possibilities: a local farmer or possibly their god, from how reverently they said His name. On my way “home”, I sat on a bench and contemplated my fate while sipping the orange juice. It was delicious, but lacked the tiny beads of “pulp” as stated on the bottle. It also stated that it was Maid in a Minute. I found that very hard to believe, but drank on. I wasn’t sure what would happen to me when I arrived. Torture? Enslavement? Being forced to listen to the Glee version of the late I Will Always Love You on repeat? The possibilities were as terrifying as they were endless. Eventually, the device the people in my “home” had strapped me with began to vibrate. (NOTE: They called it an Apple. I always thought it didn’t taste much like anything, especially fruit. Soon I decided that it would be in my best interest to not stick foreign objects in my mouth).
“This is it”, I thought, “It’s going to explode, and I will burst into a million bloody pieces. It will be a difficult cleanup job for the city.”
I felt relieved. It didn’t blow up. However, it was persistent and began to vibrate again. I pressed on the little green circle with my forefinger, experimentally. A tiny, angry voice sounded from it. I lifted it to my ear fearfully.
“Where the f*** are you?!”, the device yelled at me. I was confused, since the Apple and I had never made a date.
“You’re supposed to be home by now.”
Finally, I realized it was the beast that lurked in the “home” speaking to me. The way it contacted me amazed me. I wondered for the thousandth time who exactly it was working with or how it got its power. Surely, God had never meant for the human race to speak to each other using apples. In fact, the last time humans had done something questionable with apples there were rather, um, grave consequences. Existence altering, in fact.
“I– I’m on my way. I’m on the bus.” I couldn’t help lying to the beast. I did it too often to catch myself.
“I… got you something” I said, but the beast hung up on me.
I made my way “home”. (NOTE: I want to take the time now to tell you that I am writing this from the bathing quarters where the beasts sit on ceramic pots and … “relieve” themselves. I claimed a stomach flu to gain the extra time to write this entry).
When I finally entered the dwelling of the beast, it was watching questionable daytime television. It started asking me questions, feigning interest in my daily life, probably because it had yet to decide what to do with me.
“How was your last day? Did you say bye to all your friends?”
I wanted to ask it “Why? Because I’ll never see them again? What do you have planned for me?”
Instead, not wanting to anger it, I answered, “Good. It was fine. Yes.”
Its lips curved up while it bared its teeth at me. I prevented myself my cowering backwards.
“You look tired”, it said to me, “Sleep”.
Its kind suggestion was anything but. I feared what it would do to me in my slumber, but I did as I was told. I laid down on the cushiony leather monstrosity in front of me and let the darkness envelope me.