K8 the GR8

“Hey - has anyone seen my sense of humour?”

The words bounce around inside on the cold stone walls and sink with a ‘ploop’ into a still pool below.  I hear no reply.

“Hey!  Is anyone there?  I need my sense of humour!  *silence*  What about guilt?  Come on, I know you’re here somewhere, I’ve never known you not to lurk in some dark corner somewhere.  Hello?  Pride?  Motivation?  Is anybody here?  Answer me!!!”  This last part is shouted but without much enthusiasm.

A malevolent snickering is heard from way down below me.

“Who’s that?”  I peer down into the darkness.  “Have you seen my sense of humour?”

“Yeah.”  More snickering follows.

“Who are you?  What have you done with all my stuff?”

Something small and grabby twists my stomach and makes it cramp.  I start to feel sick and wonder if I shouldn’t just go about my business and try to ignore it.

“Yeah you’d like that wouldn’t you?” the voice sneers.  “You keep doing that and I’ll keep minding all your lovely posessions in my bottle here and keep ‘em warm.  Somebody will open it someday when you least expect it and we’ll have a right laugh at you, won’t we?!?”

“Hey!!” I shout.  “That’s hardly fair!  I gave you a chance last night and you blew it.  I booked an appointment for the Big Cry and it never showed up.  I was ready, it’s not fair!”

“Heh.  You can’t force it out, cop on t’yerself!  You know what you have to do, but you’re too chicken-shit to do it.  It’s yer own fault!”

Evil cackling starts up and I feel something knaw on my solar plexus.

“Stop!!!  You’re making me feel sick and I don’t like it… I feel sick all the time now, open the damn bottle, get it over with already!”

“You have to talk to her.”

“Not a chance, matey.”

“She wants to talk to you.”

I feel bile rise in my throat and I twitch. 

“Not today.”

I light a cigarette and miss the guilt, but only a little bit.  I blow smoke-rings and wonder if being a sociopath really is such a bad thing.