California

Knox

… spouse of the four victims was found sitting on the soiled carpet floor, staring blankly at a wall that had been previously covered in blood. Mr. Thomas, the suspect, is now in questioning and has also been put through a psychological examination. There was a bit of doubt for the examination, but when the autopsy came back saying each victim had their heart removed shortly after their deaths the judicial court issued a psychological examination. The results were shortly released stated that Mr. Thomas suffers from a brief psychotic disorder….

Fucking alarm clock and their fucking need to use public new radio to fucking wake people up. The voice grated against his poor, sensitive ears due to lack of use over eight hours of sweet oblivion. Knox growled in the general direction of the fucking radio, but didn’t bother do things like open his eyes or get out of bed. How dare that clock wake him from his beloved unconscious state. Oh, yeah…Knox was needed at work in a few hours.

He mulled over the idea of preparing, or trying to prepare in his case, for another day at work. Instead, Knox snuggled into the over feather stuffed pillow he was currently hugging against his bare chest, drowning out the annoying broadcaster’s voice with the warmth and comfort his beloved bed graced him with. The warmth that his body gave off was soaked into the blankets and pillows, which lay precariously around him; rebounding the warmth back at him. Knox allowed a sigh of content vertebrate from his larynx.

Knox really didn’t want to leave his beloved bed. All he wanted to do was let his mind wander, which it was at the moment. He wondered what triggered the Thomas to have a psychotic episode. What made him carve out his family’s hearts? Maybe he found his wife cheating on him…or maybe one of his daughters got pregnant. Maybe his son turned out gay and he walked in on—Oh wait, there were only four victims…all of which were his family. But those were only possible triggers. In this case this vat of slimly, negative emotions slowly compounded over a long period of time. Every stressful event poured in a bit more of bitter emotion, until the human succumbed to it.

It was funny how people reacted to stress. It was also sad how easily people can snap, but, on the other hand, the human mind can take quite a bit of emotional/mental trauma. The human mind was so fucking fickle in that way, it could endure witnessing a person in next to nothing slaughtering another human being and not give a shit. Yet, something as insignificant as dropping a cup could cause someone to go ballistic. The indifference could easily be explained that the person had no attachment towards to victim, hell; Knox didn’t feel copious amounts of empathy towards the heartless, nameless victims. On the flip side, a person reacting so vehemently for something that seems nugatory likely used the insignificant object as a representation of another human. Or they’re just a touchy, cantankerous person. Either way, it flaunted the fact that humans were selfish; what a surprise there.

The beginnings of a gnawing, stinging pain skirted the edges of his mind as he continued on with psychoanalyzing the murderer when it was much too early to be thinking clear, coherent thoughts. Knox growled in annoyance when the aching sensation decided to make itself known to him.

Pressing nimble fingers against his temples, he exhaled slowly before cracking open his eyes. The piercing brightness bore their way through his poor retinas causing him to wince and silently begging for his pupils to adjust to the unforgiving intensity of the light. Once his pale eyes became accustom to the harsh lighting, due to the lack in curtains, Knox glanced at the still going alarm clock. It displayed, in the customary red, the cruel numbers: 7:46 AM. He narrowed his eyes into a glare as he attempted to fire the clock on fire for the offensive time it proclaimed loudly.

Abruptly, Knox was reminded that he still hadn’t turned off the radio once it started playing an obnoxiously, artificial song.

He sneered in disgust at the alarm clock before slamming his hand violently against the snooze button. Yanking back his hand Knox muttered incoherent curses towards the odious clock while clutching his poor hand against his bare chest that could easily melt the prudeness off of the prudeyest prude ever known to mankind. After a few moments of nursing his now bruised hand, Knox unceremoniously extracted himself from the millions of blankets and pillows that found their way onto his back. He shivered slightly once the frigid air hit against his shirtless body. Surprisingly, the unreasonable, Siberian temperature didn’t cause the slightest smidgen of annoyance.

Walking over to the chestnut closet, Knox cautiously peered into the dark container of clothing and possible harbor of arthropods. Once he deemed it pest free, he then continued onto the perilous task of finding decent work clothing, while trying not to fall back asleep and get hypothermia due to the drastically low temperature. Finally, the droopy-eyed, thirty year old man located a slightly wrinkled white button-down shirt and a pair of gray crumply slacks.

There is no need to inform you of what occurs in the next boring ten minutes, filled with walking into inanimate objects, mumbled curses, and mundane tasks of getting ready for work. But as a result, Knox is completely dressed with his button-down shirt in a disastrous state of being buttoned incorrectly and leaving buttons alone in the cold without their counterpart. Currently, the almost comatose male was struggling with his boring blue tie. After a few moments are awkwardly twisting and turning the evil piece of cloth, he gave up and let it rest around his neck.

After the tie fiasco, Knox accomplished in getting his stubborn silver hair into some semblance of order. At last, he could go to the diner and get his daily dosage of caffeine….oh wait, he still had to find his suit jacket and briefcase, which should both be near the door. Venturing out into the small living room, in a manner that would trick anyone into thinking Knox was besotted, much to his annoyance he noted that only his briefcase was in its proper position. He grumbled to himself about stupid fucking little things all having their fun annoying the shit out of him.

In his half asleep stupor, Knox trudged through his small apartment in search of his stupid jacket. Stupid social rules demanding professionals to dress up like stuck-up bastards. Yes children, adults also have to follow stupid rules on attire so that they don’t get yelled at or fired by their jackass bosses. Moronic adults and their desire to have a say on every minor aspect on life, it’s as though they want to infuriate him.

Oh, hah! There was his gray suit jacket…laying on one of the shelves of his refrigerator…How the hell did it get there? Maybe a ghost had decided to take part in the “LETS ALL ANNOY THE SHIT OUT OF KNOX FOR HIS WHOLE LIFE” game and moved it while he was dead asleep. Or it could have been the government testing Knox’s memory by changing its position in the middle of the night. Whatever reason it was, Knox had his jacket.

Shrugging it on over his poorly put on shirt, he picked up his briefcase as Knox lazily sauntered out of his messy apartment. He got out of the apartment complex without having to deal with other humans or annoyances; he was also able to avoid falling completely asleep while he was in the elevator.

Once outside, Knox dragged his feet in the direction of where he had parked his car yesterday evening. His pale gray eyes glared at the piece of junk known as Kereta, name dubbed by Harper during her linguistic phase. One of the corners of his thin lips curls upwards remember how she listed all of the reasons why he should listen to her ingenious idea of naming to scrap of metal. He traipsed towards the sun-bleached red car. Myriad of dings and scraps marred the paint on the car; there were also a number of dents from Knox’s absolutely amazing driving. No one knows how he got a license with his skill. No one knows how he still has his license.

The tiniest of smirk played on the edge of his lips as a memory washed over him. It was of him driving his siblings to some zoo and their expressions were priceless. Knox dug around his pant pocket for his car keys; luckily, he found them with ease and unlocked the car. Sliding into the car he tried to find a place of put down his briefcase. Knox glared at the piles of random paper and books before shoving them off of the passenger seat and set down his case where it will hopefully stay safe.

He maneuvered his way out of the parking lot and began to weave his way through morning traffic. Due to his lack of complete alertness, Knox had to swerve out of the way a few times when he started to nod off. He also almost ran a red light, but luck decided to help him for once and he noticed the blazing red light. After a few more miles of him artfully driving like a madman on crack for the past month, Knox had finally arrived at the diner he visited every weekday morning. Pulling into the tiny parking lot, which only had a few other cars, he glanced around the familiar background.

The small building was covered in windows; it had a retro feel to the place what with its trapezoid-shaped sign and neon words “Eye-Opener”. Knox walked in through the side entrance and settled himself in the vomit pink colored, corner booth away from the sparse elderly people who were chattering loudly and chomping on their soft foods. There were a few fake plants hanging from the ceiling and all of the shades for the windows were completely pulled up letting in annoyingly bright light.

Knox sneered in the direction of the old coots when they noticed him and started collectively snickering at his disheveled appearance. The evil, white-haired humans often took it upon themselves to annoy him about his love life or lack thereof and criticized his attire. Unfortunately for Knox, these old people weren’t shy or shameless about how much they torment him. They were lucky they weren’t younger or else he would have punched one of them by now.

As if on que, a woman who appeared to be well in her seventies walked towards his table. She has a wild hairdo that fit well with her insanely colorful outfit, filled with patterns that would make the disco era cringe in fear. The old hag had an evil smirk splayed across her wrinkly face. “Hey dearie! I see you still haven’t fixed up your appearance! In my day, working men weren’t allowed to look like a hobo when they went to work. They wore clothing—”

“Shut up old lady. You’ve recited the same fucking lecture a million of times,” Knox growled out while he rested his forehead against his closed hand.

The old lady’s smirk fucking widened and went on in an annoyingly nauseating tone, “That’s no way to speak to your elders, you ungrateful brat! I was giving away perfectly good advice! But yooou! You and your rude manner! Hmph. You really need to get laid.” With that, she walked away trying to hold in laughter when she heard a thud from where Knox was sitting.

Knox couldn’t believe his ears. Did that old lady really tell him to get laid? Please tell him he was hallucinating. Anything would be better than knowing at the old lady really said that. His face was planted on the table in an attempt to erase that horrid comment from the old lady. After the initial shock wore off, irritation settled in its spot. He sent a glare towards the old people table that could cause a 5 ton pro wrestler to cower in fear, clutching a teddy bear in an attempt to ward off the evils known as Dante Knox Pike.

Scowling in annoyance, Knox closed his eyes and allowed his hand to support his head. Vaguely, he wondered where the waitress….Wendy? Whitney? Wilma? Her name started with a ‘W’, but Knox couldn’t quite remember. Anyways, where was she and why hasn’t she poured him his coffee? She was always diligent in making sure he never had an empty mug, not after how he scared her to death when she left him un-served for half an hour. He shook off the uneasiness that had settled itself in his stomach and rested his eyes.