“Thomas? Darling are you in there? I have your breakfast if you want it. Bacon and eggs with black coffee, like you fancy!” a very small cleaning lady said as she stepped into the dark and dank flat. There was only the light between the window blinds slightly illuminating the sofa couch and kitchen counter. “Tom? Tom you in here? I’m going to just leave--,”
“What do you want, woman?!” An extraordinarily tall and plump man stomped into the entrance of the room, startling the elderly lady. He was covered in stains of red and black, a very obvious crease around his stomach that has definitely assembled over the time spent inside
his flat.
“Thomas, I am going to leave your breakfast here,” she spoke ever so softly, placing the plate and mug on a broken table with her frail hands. This woman was a senior, her hands shaking even more than anyone over sixty should.
“Sure, sure, whatever. Just get out!” he slammed the door shut behind her, it coming off of its hinges slightly.
After the tapping of flats left his corridor, Thomas, rather violently, sat himself down in front of his television. “Blasted thing!” he exclaimed, jamming his big front finger into the minuscule buttons on the remote. “Why won’t this shitty thing work?!”
He bit his fat lip, pressing the channel flip button so furiously the rubber end broke off, revealing just a metal clicker. Still exasperated, he thrusted every toggle on the remote, but still, a fuzzy, white noise screen remained. Defeated, he stared at the telly and threw the remote across the room. But, upon impact of the controller hitting ground, the tv flipped on. With a sigh of relief, he slouched back into his sofa couch, making the creases in his shirt ever more defined.
“Greetings, Thomas. Aren’t you gonna eat your eggs?” the tv shook as Tom stood, stepping back and tripping over himself. A woman, large like him in width, rather than height, had appeared on the screen. She smiled, a small keyhole peeping through to the end of her mouth. “They look mighty fine,” along with her missing front teeth, the rest were crooked like unorganised books.
“I told you to stop comin’ round these parts,” he breathed, finally regaining his ability to stand. He looked over at the remote, which was still broken into pieces on the floor.
“Aww, Tommy, I thought you liked me? What, don’t ya’ miss your old work mate?” the television screen shifted as she moved with her long hoop earrings.
“Charlie, I said stay away from me. You’re suppose’ be dead.”
Thomas' heart quickened as he went over to the plate of food, throwing it to the kitchen sink rather sloppily.
“Who said anythin’ bout’ being dead?” she picked something out of her teeth, which were normally concealed within a very small, puckered mouth.
“It was all over the news Charlie! You are dead!” his Southern accent musked as he ambled around his apartment.
“They were acting honey. Just like how we used to do remember? They faked it all,” she smiled at him. “All news is fake these days,” she muttered, trailing off at the end.
“You’ve already been here twice this month what else do you want from me?” Thomas stared directly at the television screen into Charlie’s doll-like eyes.
“I need you to put on another show for me, darling! Since I’ve gotten old and fat,” she lifted her arms, which were covered in maggots as flies buzzed around them. “I can’t act no more. But you can. Please Tommy? For your old partner?” She batted her spider-like eyelashes.
Thomas, who was now pacing around his flat, had a vision. “No, no, no! You will not fool me. Charlie, I worked with you, and I know how good your skills are. No actin’ in real life!” he fumbled in his medicine cabinet, thrashing to get an orange bottle that seemed to have some spilled bright liquid over the grip. Perhaps it was some toothpaste or shampoo from the above shelf. Grinning with a sense of victory, he threw back two pills and picked up a nearby object. “Sayonara, Charlie!” and with that, he threw the heavy object at the television screen, causing it to shatter almost instantaneously. Beaming with his dark and stained teeth, he shoved the cap back onto the moist bottle and pitched it back into the cupboard.
“I should shower,” he murmured, his thick accent making the words almost unrecognisable to the English tongue. As Thomas shook his head in the bathroom sink, he looked up at his large face. His vision was slightly impaired, right eye drooping to about half way as opposed to his left, that stayed wide open. “Damn, I need a shave,” he vocalised, inspecting the rough stubble on his chin and upper lip. Starting for the razor, he glanced away from the mirror to also retrieve his shaving cream from the shower. Upon turning back, Thomas abruptly dropped his razor and shaving on his foot, yelping at the pain.
“Didn’t think I was going to go that quickly now, did ya’?” Charlie had her hand on her puffy cheeks, sighing at the sight of Thomas' widened face.
“Why,” he heaved with such a sense of aggressiveness he seemed evil. “Do, you, keep, comin’, back?”
“I want one thing, sugar,” she pulled something out of her shirt that seemed to be a tube of lipstick. “A show,” she smiled, opening the lid to the cosmetic.
“Will you leave after this one?” he breathed, peering hopefully into Charlie’s bright blue eyes, which seemed to have some sort of white film over them.
“I’ve always kept promises, haven’t I?” puckering her lips, she poured the runny scarlet liquid over her pouty mouth, it dripping down to her saggy chin. And with her disgusting grin and that ruby red substance dripping down her powdery white face, she vanished from Thomas' mirror. With a sigh of relief, Thomas moved to his couch. Not to sit down, oh no. He needed to grab a few litres of fake blood and picked up a small, jagged knife.
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