As he entered his house, he still had that tingling urge to wreak havoc. He was an obedient person to the laws around him though so he kept those nefarious ideations within.
Mark put the container on the nearest table and broke out to open his and to utilize his swiss army knife. He sliced the tape into two. Feeling the box in his hands he grabbed one lolloipop. One was all that was needed for the next four hours he surmised. He opened his gorge to supplant the butterscotch sucker into his mouth.
“Ah, sweetie how I have missed thee.” he deduced aloud.
It would take another thirty minutes of Mark accomplishing very little in articular other than trying to come up with any sort of excuse as to why the deadline would not be met today. Unfortunately, all he could really do is procrastinate with a fervor for indulgence. He did not realize his subconscious thoughts though.
He stepped outside of his house. He moved the trajectory of his eyeballs to see his chained up pit-bull.
“This being will gladly take indentured servitude for a few brief moments of affection It should be my imperative to walk this dog so he rmains loyal to his master. But I’m high so eh.” It was jusifications for a chance smitten with his favored drug that kept him forever tied to his own dark sober thinking.
he looked again at his dog Bruce. He wanted to call him Ash, but reconsidereed when his then girlfriend pointed out how sinister an Evil Dead reference is once given to a pit-bull. He began to ponder how his dog would act with no leash. This thought conjured up images of how messed up his extended family really was. One branch of the family tree had a domineering, yet cowardly father raising two young girls with a paranoid schizophrenic for a mother. It was no wonder he isolated them so, but Mark knew it would only lead to creating more monsters. The dad had yet to ask anyone for help so they ignored how futile his plight was for they knew he would not change.
“Are these thoughts paranoia or is this reality?” Mark inquired.