She knew that by pressing one button, she could torture them all.
They were all strapped in place, with no feasible means of escape.
Perhaps most disturbingly of all, she knew that she would actually take enjoyment from it.
Grandma pressed play, and Cliff Richards’ Greatest Hits filled the car.
Sean was surprised that his wife was coming along so enthusiastically.
She was in the car before him, and chattered excitedly on the journey.
However, she inexplicably became irritated when he parked outside Skipper’s Nautical Supplies; even though he had said, from the start, that they were going sail shopping.
Ben had been clean for 13 days, but was now struggling.
He couldn’t stop thinking about his experiences in the past; trying to focus on the morale-crushing come downs, rather than the amazing highs.
He’d vowed to give up, but couldn’t resist anymore.
Ben double clicked the Football Manager shortcut.
Norman had always been confident in his yodelling ability, but wanted to know what others thought.
Now, thanks to the wonders of the internet, his video was viewable to millions.
Day one; zero views.
Day two; zero views.
It continued...
Day 19; a view! And a comment!
“You suck, Norman!”
Rubbing her eyes, Louise picked up the phone.
The conversation was fairly brief, but ended with her insisting: “No, honestly, I’m fine. I’m better off without him!”
Louise put down the phone.
Then, she re-adjusted her duvet, un-paused Bridget Jones, and started on her second tub of Ben and Jerry’s.
Alex knew that, by law, the traffic had to stop when she stepped onto the zebra crossing. She strode out confidently.
Jay knew that he’d been driving too fast. He slammed on the brakes desperately.
Alex knew nothing more. She lay, limply.
Alex’s Mum knew true sorrow. She cried inconsolably.
Michael’s goal had initially seemed unattainable, but had finally been achieved through persistence, knowledge and graft.
The wireless technology was in place.
The system of mirrors was perfect; painstakingly adjusted to the nearest degree.
The dream was set to be realised.
Michael could now play his X-Box from the toilet!
Solitary confinement is what I long for.
But all too regularly, I hear the click of the lock. And he comes in.
He attacks me; beats me all over, with wooden sticks, for hours at a time.
The life of a drum kit isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
He had sacrificed his entire social life for three years, not to mention working up almost fifteen grand of debt, but Jeremy’s efforts were finally bearing fruit.
He had secured that degree, and now here he was in his first real job.
“Do you want fries with that?” he asked.
The dreams were getting worse.
His skin was being completely removed, by a maniac with a knife.
He was being sliced down the middle, and cast into boiling hot water.
And what was worse; when he had these dreams Mrs Potato-Head just kept telling him to go back to sleep.
