Spaceship Washer

You were never one to clean your shower regularly. The towels piled up and the washers too, yet you only washed weekly; sometimes not at all.

There was a washer you kept forgetting to pick up. Perhaps it was because the washer was so small and insignificant to you, as you kept piling towels, underwear, and clothes on top of your hardened washer.

One night, you heard a noise coming from the bathroom. “What the hell! Is this a dream, or is the house alive and talking to me?

You stand up straight and turn on the light; the buzzing continues. 

Where are you buzzing? Are you a bee or a monster from the tip?

A noise comes from the bathroom. You hesitate before entering. Thoughts of strange monsters, lizards, and giant spiders terrorise your thoughts.

You walk through the bathroom door, turn on the light, and you are baffled by what you see; your crusty washer is alive and floats before your eyes. No longer just a washer, it hovers like a spaceship; It’s buzzing, and it wants to leave your house immediately.

Baffled, you run outside. As you run, the washer follows, and terror takes hold of your heart. Once out in the still night, you turn and see the washer flying away. There is no stopping your washer, as it takes off at light speed.

Standing alone and semi-naked, you stare into space, then think, “My washer lived, and now it’s gone. Is it because of neglect?

Contemplating the situation, you go inside, pour a drink, and ponder life’s recent events. You whisper to yourself, “I’ll never neglect my washers now nor ever again.

From that day forth, your clothes are always washed and clean, and nothing remains on the floor, for you never know where neglect may lead you again.

Dream Theatre

Steam from the engine of your heart erupts into the atmosphere forcefully.
Dreaming of the touch so filthy and frozen that only Caligula would understand.
Beaming with bottle bright blue and green hues, you think of the touch.
Themes of dark and dew-drenched hell and hurt turn you on so much.
The Dream theatre is so hot and humid.

Fridge of your Mind

In the fridge of your mind, your house has different levels of fear.

The freezer houses those things you lock up inside, while the cold section houses those visions and memories you wish you could forget. 

Now the freezer is being defrosted, and your worst fears must be faced. 

You start to disintegrate as water drips through the fridge and pools outside the door.

You had to turn the fridge off one day and face those fears. 

Grandma’s Jug

Grandma has this old jug she uses to water her plants made of tin, with white and a bit of blue and red paint here and there. We think someone made it for her when she was younger, yet no one is sure. 

Her grandson cannot understand how this crappy old jug seems to be back in fashion again. He’s never understood this fixation with idle objects. 

He’s mischievous and often looks for insects, animals, and anything that crawls. Once his mum found a spider’s nest in his room. It almost frightened her to death, so now she won’t let him have insects in the house. 

One day he took Grandma’s jug for a walk to the termite mound, which is a dirt fortress for insects. He thinks of the world of the king and the queen, the workers, and the soldiers inside.

Interested in how things work, he pours water into the mound to see what happens. Water starts to leak out of the various holes, yet there isn’t much damage. He examines the termites on the ground. Some have wings, and some do not. He thinks, “Perhaps Grandma’s jug is useful.

Not wanting to hurt any of the insects, he leaves for home; in a few days, he will check on the termite mound to see the results. 

When he returns, not only have the insects repaired the mound, but it has increased in size. 

He scribbles down a note, “Experiment number 251. Termites like water. “

Toaster Tale

 You always liked to play games. Sometimes sweet, sometimes spicy.

One day, we stood in the kitchen talking about your kink for tasty toes. You often joked that you would love to set your feet on fire. I thought you were being a bit creative.

One evening, as we sit casually in the lounge room, you bring me the toaster. There’s a weird look on your face. I ask you ever so casually, “What are you doing?

I’m determined to understand the fire of feet…

What the…? You better not turn it on! No! Wait! Don’t you dare put my toes in there! I shall kill you!”

I won’t turn it on, I promise.

…You’re so weird… My poor feet. They cry in terror at the thought…”

I would roast my toes for you, baby.

No, you won’t.

Suddenly, his toes are in the toaster.

Please don’t turn it on!