Monday, November 18, 2013

the devil in the kitchen

Both their cars were gone, but the door was unlocked, which was not unusual.

"Welcome home," the stranger greeted her as she entered the kitchen.

"Who let you in?"

"The door was open."

"What do you want?"

"Just checking in. Have to make my rounds, you know."

She scowled, but had no reply. She knew he was closer these days.

"You're starting to warm up to me."

"Not because I want to. You're not welcome here."

"Have it your way. Nice seeing you again," he said with a slight smirk, and he was gone. She thought she detected a hint of smoke where he had been, and a faint acrid odor.

She shook her head to clear it. Can't let it get to me, she thought. I won't go that far.

She went to her room, set down her keys, and came back to find something to eat.

the American ...nightmare

Why can I not use strike through in the title? How frustrating. Here's what I wanted the title to be: the American dream nightmare.
Was that hard? no. but I couldn't do it in the subject line. sigh.

Why has the American dream always come at the cost of someone else's American dream? Why do so many little dreams get squashed by big dreams? Why do we run around trampling one another in the name of profit and the stock market? Why do the big corporations have to compete over so many different things. Why can they not leave some market niches to others? Why does Walmart even have a bakery? And while the big guys duke it out, a thousand little guys are scrambling around trying to avoid getting stepped on, just trying to scrape by.

Who even invented the idea of an American dream? American daydream, maybe.