5. Fit for a King

Ding!

Nooo…go away.

DING!

Fucking typewriter.  I open my eyes expecting to see the ceiling over the bed, but I’m sitting upright at the Royal typewriter.  My one hand is on the keys and the paper loaded on the spool says “Page One”.

Why the hell am I always one page one?!  Why the hell is this flippin’ typewriter even here?! Where the hell AM I?!

Ok breathe.  I look at the skin on the back of my hand to see some blotchy marks and blisters.  The Rain!!  I tenderly feel for my face and it feels as though it has a cream or salve on it over the few blisters that are there.  I can tell my skin is burned because it feels like sunburn…a very bad one.  I move my hand up to my hair to feel a few singed ends and a couple of bald spots where there are blisters.  Bald Spots!!  That hair better grow back!!

The only other part of me that seems burned is my chest and the tops of my feet.  The only parts that weren’t covered by my clothing have had some effect by that acid rain from behind the door, but my clothes seem to have protected me for the most part.  Guess I’m lucky the bottoms of my feet are so callused or they may be burned to blisters, too.

“Jack is hungry,” I type.

I look towards the kitchen as I think about a nice juicy tri-tip steak and a baked potato.

Ding!

My head whips back to see, written on the spooled typewriter page is one word.

“EAT”

Don’t mind if I do, Royal, don’t mind if I do.  I pad over to the kitchen area and it’s then that I smell it.  When I open the oven, there is a very beautiful piece of meat just waiting for my bite.  It’s the very tri-tip that I imagined and it looks straight off of a grill since in has the dark charcoal grill lines crisscrossing it’s outside.  The potato is cut open slightly and all that is missing is some sour cream and chives.  I open the refrigerator to find just that and a bottle of beer to boot!

As I sit down to my meal, I can’t help but smile.  This is a meal fit for a king! The meat is so tender as I cut into it, the juices come out onto the plate, dousing the rest of the steak.  The inside is pink and oh so beautiful.  This is truly a steak made in heaven!

If I can imagine the perfect meal, and have it appear…what else can I bring to the plate? I close my mind and imagine a pretty, little Asian woman massaging my feet.  Open my eyes.  Nope.  I close my eyes and imagine a brown dog with happy eyes trying to lick at my fingers and dancing around like he wants to play.  Open my eyes. Nope.  Damn it.  I always wanted a dog.

Ok.  Lesser things.  I close my eyes and imagine a New York cheese cake, thick and heavy with a crumbled graham cracker crust and smothered in the most perfect strawberry pie filling.  I open my eyes and on the table is a plate covered with a silver lid.  The lid has a giant, red bow on it and a little tag that says, “You are Welcome”.  Damn.  I lift the lid to see one piece of New York cheesecake.  It’s amazing looking with the strawberry filling dripping down the sides.  I haven’t finished my steak yet, but I clean my fork on my napkin and slide it into the cheesecake.  My mouth is already watering.  Once it hits my lips…oh my God.  This. Is. Amazing.  This is almost orgasmic!  This, oh my God.

I finish the cheesecake, the steak, and most of the potato and am very content just sitting with my full belly when I hear the Typewriter.

Ding.

No seriously, I can’t get up. Give me a minute.  I sink down into the dining chair a little deeper and try not to pass out.  Good thing I’m not wearing a belt…just another pair of striped pajama bottoms with an elastic band.  If I can envision perfect food and get it, this, wherever I am, might not be too bad! But, if I’m going to keep eating like I just did, I’m going to have to start working out.

After sitting awhile I decide it’s time to see what my old friend, the typewriter, has to say.

“It’s coming.”

Hmmm.  I type back, “What is coming?”

No response.

“Who is this? Where am I?” I type.

No response.

Then I hear it.  Ho-leee shit.