“DON’T TRY TO GET INSIDE OUR HEADS!” the silent one suddenly yelled out, proving I already had. One down, two to go.
I used my calming voice that I learned from when I uses to run groups with troubled teens and I said to him, reassuringly: NO, no, not my intention, Bud. Bringing it up because of the 2010 remake of the film Mother’s Day, starring Rebecca De Morney. Classic home invasion flick that got remade, quite graphically.” I said it all so quickly, and threw a subconscious “bud” in there to give him a false sense of security, that he just nodded.
I guess she was right. The hand that rocks the cradle IS the hand that rules the world.
“Why is it called Mother’s Day?” The fat one asked, all the confidence gone from his voice. I was winning, and they didn’t even know how much. Indian burns don’t bother me, when it is for the greater good, and my hands had already been untied behind my back for a good five minutes by this point. But I didn’t let them know it. I was going to pull a Mother’s Day on them, and pit these animals against each other.
” Well, Mother’s Day plays off family bonds, and just how intense a bind can be between a Mother and her kids, and just how far you would be willing to go to keep your Momma happy.” That wasn’t true, but I just kept talking. It was more about a fucked up family, and how that bond can dissolve in the most intense of situations. But this is when plan X was going into play for me: do or die time. But I was already setting up the checkmate.
Sometimes, you gotta risk death to ensure you can keep living.
“Hey, you guys wanna get f*cked up, because I do??!!!” I said it quickly and without thinking, assuming if it was natural, they would respond more naturally. “Hell yeah!” blurted the wiry one, still pacing. ” Go into the top drawer of the desk in the far corner. You’ll find a bag with white powder. Cut a line in front of me, and you guys can have the rest.” I sat back and let it happen. I never snorted my line because I didn’t have to.
Watched these guys snort line after line of bath salts, which I only had because I was given the bag as a joke by one of my editors to “review”. It sat in that drawer for months. And in about twenty minutes, I watched these guys snort the whole bag. Hoovering it up like strippers.
“Hey, is it supposed to taste like this?” One of them said, as his nose began to drip a faucet of crimson. I could see their eyes beginning to gray over. Ah, time for the grand finale. Sort of like research for a “How To Turn Your Enemies Into Zombies” article I will probably write down the road as the result of all this.
They make great pets.
” Hey, remember how you guys said reading movies suck? Well, here is one final Spanish film, and it is about as bleak and as mind blowing as you guys and your sad lives.” I said it and started to laugh. They looked confused and uneasy. Sweaty and crawling in their skin. ” What was that stuff, man?” Said the big guy, who then began to itch himself, inadvertently putting down the gun on the cushion next to me.
I quickly redirected them, again. “I have no idea why this movie is called Kidnapped, actually, because it is about a home invasion, through and through, but sometimes in the translation of things, subtle changes are made, and nuances lost.” I reached out slowly and pulled the gun under my hip while they were both distracted. This was over and I already won. “Oh man, and the picture on the Kidnapped poster alone is enough to scare most people away. Hardcore stuff!” I barked, knowing I was about to bite.
Foreign cinema does not know the boundaries that American film commonly does.
” But it is in Spanish, so you do have to read it (thanks for the heads up on that slip up, Unreality readers.), and I do know how you boys hate to read. Plus, it is probably one of the bleakest films I have ever seen in my life. ” It was in the middle of saying this that I had the gun already to the temple of fat boy.” You see, in these situations, no matter WHAT you do, it seems that almost everybody always ends up dead.”
The wiry one ran out of the house as soon as I pulled the gun, and I let him. The last one with a modicum of sanity. Go enjoy your life, dog.
But the other two sat there, in a haze. I could see the salts had begun to really mess them up, and I knew it would be too easy to just pull the trigger (I had probable cause, they showed intent to take my life) but instead, I made the fat one stand up, and told him to walk over to the door to the basement. My basement was unfinished and had no light, and I knew this is where it would all end. A stink I knew all too well wafted up from the basement, and I whispered: Nighty night.
I leaned over and kicked him down the stairs, and then I looked the other one, still sitting in the seat, frozen. I began speaking again ” It is almost hard for me to recommend Kidnapped, because the movie leaves so many people feeling hopeless. Empty, and without meaning. Like their whole lives have been trivial. And no matter how far you come, there is no point. You can never win. You know what I mean? A meaningless life, void of love or anything that resembles a healthy lifestyle, with a tragedy always waiting around every corner. Imagine living like that? I am frankly shocked more people who live like that kill themselves, to be honest with you…”
I could see his eyes, beginning to look in different directions, as tears ran down his cheeks. I could see the drugs ravaging him. My slow attack taking him apart from the inside. I walked him over to the stairs, and leaned into his ear
I did manage to keep some souvenirs from that night, though, like all good Dexters.
” Would you like to hear my honorable mentions…” and I pushed him down the stairs, where he tumbled into the darkness, to be with his friend. I closed the basement door behind me, and could hear them, down in there. Weeping. Well, it started as weeping, but got really twisted, really quick. As they tore into each other like wild animals, sat at the top of the stairs and yelled down my honorable mentions.
” I didn’t bring up The Strangers because it is just an Americanized version of Ils, in case you were wondering. The movie HOSTAGE was great, but mainly for Ben Foster’s chilling performance. I really liked the idea of The Collector, and the ending was cool, but feels more like a serial killer movie than a home invasion movie. I enjoyed Panic Room, but I am a Fincher groupie, and even I can admit it is his (second) weakest work. High Tension begins as a home invasion movie, but it takes too many U-turns for me to have brought it up today. Anyway, good luck down there. Sorry about the smell. Like I tried to warn you guys earlier. Be careful where you tread. You may be walking right into the mouth of a demon” And with those words, I slammed the door shut and haven’t opened it in weeks.
I never took their masks off, or even went down stairs to see which one died first. All I know is, the noises coming from down there stopped two days ago. Think I’ll just leave them down there for awhile.
With the others.
I tried to warn them. I wasn’t trapped in here with them, they were trapped in here with me.