Beats Entropy

(See PART 1 for the beginning of story.  Continued in PART 3)

In Danny’s dream he had wrapped his brain in a dry-cleaning bag, and was attempting to drown it in the bathtub. The Shampoo bottle pulled at his hands, pleading with him to show mercy. The Conditioner egged him on in its maniacal silky voice.

“All the way down, Danny. Who’s the liar now?”

His brain clawed defiantly at the plastic, shrieking racial epithets that only vaguely applied. Danny slammed his brain repeatedly off the side of the tub to quiet it.

Thud.Thud.Thud.

His brains hateful snarling grew more coherent.

“I’ll burn your fucking house down, you Hasidic shit farming Wop!”

Danny blinked his eyes hard, trying to bring his furious brain into focus. The pounding grew louder and surrounded him. Danny leveraged a hard blink into opening his eyes;  light slammed his brain back home hard enough he vomited. At length. Another kick rattled his door.

“Hey, Thumbulima! I know you want to look pretty in your promdress…but could you save the morning purge until after you open the fucking door. It’s cold like a bastard out here and I’m trying to keep a low profile.”

Danny froze. The voice had escaped the phone and was pounding on his door. He needed a weapon: by and large a man of peace, there were none at hand. Improvising, Danny filled a pillow case with a half dozen beer bottles and his framed highschool diploma. He gave his impromptu bludgeon sack a smash against the wall, to up the lethality, and then began whirling it menacingly above his head.

“You get out of here. I…I am a trained police officer” said Danny.

It was a weak lie, but the high velocity shards of glass flying from his pillow case made it difficult to concentrate. Before Danny could amend his claim to something more plausible the bottom of the case gave out entirely, sending a barrage of shrapnel into his kitchen nook, and him sprawling into the entryway of his tiny bachelor apartment. Nauseous and bleeding Danny lay where he fell. The door, now only inches from his head, thumped again.

“Hey fuckwit, if you’re done fighting the Faberge army could you open the fucking door. I can hear you crying…I know you’re still alive.”

Exhausted and sick Danny gave into his tormentor; he’d used up the little fight he possessed. Pushing himself up to his knees Danny unlocked and opened the door; a moderate sized hedgehog glared up at him.

“If you were going to take the time to bow, Peaches, you could’ve at least wiped the puke off your face too” said the Hedgehog, closing the door behind him.

***

Continued in PART 3