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What Are They Doing Home So Early?

Decent Essays
Fuck, what are they doing home so early?”
My dog, Rosco, barked and propped his shaggy paws up onto the window sill, tail wagging with an energy which I could never fathom exerting for anything or anyone. The blue Honda pulled in, immediately followed by my father’s shiny Tesla. I hoped that he would get me a nice car for graduation because, at the time, things like that mattered to me. Quickly, I moved from the sofa and turned off the T.V. before slipping into the slatted coat closet. In hindsight, it was a stupid place to hide. But, I had stayed up all night to play Fallout, so I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.
What a shit day to skip school.
I heard the keys on my father’s massive keyring jingle as he searched for the proper one and
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Through the thin slits in the closet door, I could see my father drop the man’s arms and walk into the kitchen. Rosco continued to play with his new friend. His friend did not play back. The sound of drawers opening caught my attention and I could hear the low grumbling of my father, cursing my mother for her unintuitive organization of the various kitchen supplies.
“Bottom drawer, next to the freezer,” she yelled, somehow sensing his difficulty from the bedroom.
He cursed her again and shut the door, coming out with a thick roll of semi-clear plastic sheeting. As if setting the table for an impending feast, my father began to drape the plastic over the long wooden coffee table. Then he lifted the man, who seemed to still be breathing, atop the sheeting and covered the floors, taping the seams with focused precision. After completing the strange task, he bound the stranger’s arms and roped him to the table-top.
“Alright, is he ready?”
“Dammit woman, you’re always rushing me.”
“Oh? Well, I’m so sorry,” she hummed, walking into my view, dressed in something straight off of a Victoria’s Secret mannequin.
My mother hovered over the man for a moment before sitting on his stomach, crossing her arms impatiently and turning to the kitchen where, I could only assume, my father was presently standing.
More fumbling around, drawers opening and closing, my
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