View Full Version : Passion of the Servant.

Mr. Hyde
December 3rd, 2005, 03:47 PM
Iím opening birthday presents, and I keep getting useless stuff. Videogames. Movies. CDs. All I really want is a new pair of yellow, rubber gloves, dish washing detergent, garbage bags, and some cleaning materials. The people I serve, the Vickersons, are very nice, but these people are really misguided. Iíve been serving them two years, and they still havenít caught that I hate that stuff. I just end up selling them for money for books or cleaning supplies.

What I hate the most is when they give me a week off. I end up in my house, a functional building with one bedroom, one bath, and one kitchen, cleaning the whole place over and over and reading in the evening. Free time is a waste. Sometimes theyíll ask what Iím thinking, and I have to try to sound like they do and say, ďOh, about how itís going to rain tomorrow and thatís depressing,Ē when really Iím thinking, ďTomorrow after the rain, Iíll go get shingles and re-shingle the roof and then clean the leaves out of the gutter.Ē

Then something happens. I notice they arenít anywhere around. ďThey mustíve gone to the kitchen to get me the birthday cake I made,Ē Iím thinking. I trusted them with a birthday cake the first year, and it wasnít anywhere as pleasing, at least not to me. But I like eating my own cooking; food tastes better when you make it yourself. So I walk from the living room across the nice Persian carpet in my socks to the kitchen. They donít have my cake. All they have is a twisted expression on their faces. Painful. Terror stricken. And thereís blood everywhere. Itís such a mess. I know I should call the police, but leaving blood all over everything is just so untidy. So unclean. I walk to the cabinet and reach under the sink for some Ammonium and paper towels.

The floor is linoleum and the counter tops are this polished wood grain stuff thatís easy to wipe clean, so I spray and wipe. Spray and wipe. Spray and wipe. Itís what they wouldíve wanted. And soon, all thatís left is two bodies. So I start with Mrs. Lucinda Vickerson. I drag her to the basement and put her into the freezer. Next comes Mr. Dan Vickerson. He flops into the freezer on top of her. Shutting and leaving it, I walk back upstairs and gather all the wrapping paper and throw it away. Take out the garbage. They deserve a clean house.

Looking around, thereís nothing left to do. So I go back to the freezer and take the chilled bodies and undress them. Starting with Mr. Vickerson, I sew up the holes in his suit from the knife he was stabbed with. Then I iron and starch. I do the same with Mrs. Vickerson. After a few minutes, I redress them and lay them back in the freezer. They didn't deserve to be buried dirty and untidy. I go into the kitchen, run a sink of hot soapy water and clean the knife really well. Itís one of those knives you see advertised that can cut cans, just in case you have an emergency and have to cut cans. Then I put it back in the knife board with the others.

I stack and arrange the movies and CDs. Place them in the corner out of the way. When I take the cake from the refrigerator, I feel my first glimpse of sadness. Thereís only one person to eat the cake. Only one plate. Only one knife. Only one fork. I sing a little, unhappily, but it needs to be sung, ďHappy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday dear Chalmer. Happy birthday to me.Ē

I loved it when I first wrote it, and I still do, even after changing a little of it.

December 3rd, 2005, 04:12 PM
:wtf: :insane: :dunno: :kiss: