if dad is packing something else - guns. I've never actually shot a gun before, but the thought of protection sounds like a good idea. After all, how hard can it really be? Insert bullet, take off the safety, and then pull the trigger and blast away. I'm not an evil person, but I would love to take on Cujo with a gun rather than a shovel.
I make a mad dash throughout the house looking for any kind of weaponry. My father wasn't a hunter, so I'm not sure where you keep this kind of stuff. I suppose with two kids it isn't something you have lying around on the kitchen table. I check under their bed but only see another flannel shirt and a pair of socks.
I revisit the closet, but no weaponry there. I check to see if they have a basement but it doesn't look like they do. I even revisit little Misfit's room but expect to find pot more than I expect to find a gun. As it turns out though I find neither, not even a pack of cigarettes. Little Misfit must be bad boy on the outside and good wholesome boy on the inside.
I don't even bother revisiting the little princess's room; I doubt she's packing heat. I do decide to visit the last place in the house I would expect to find a gun - the garage. I don't know why someone would have a gun in the garage but it's my last hope. As I'm reminded again, garages are extremely dark when there's no electricity so I get my first opportunity to use my new flashlight.
Surprisingly, there are no cars in the garage. Did they go where everyone else went? As I scope out the area, Mr. Flannel appears to have a nice tool collection and a bench to work on. He must be a handyman. The bench takes up a lot of room, enough that they most likely can only fit one car in here. Surveying the tools, I would think some of this would be of use to me but I can't think of anything that would. There's a hammer but if I were going to attack Cujo I'd rather use a shovel. There's also an assortment of wrenches and screwdrivers but I'm not working on a car or putting a toy house together anytime soon. It's hard for me to believe, but with all of this junk I can't find anything useful to take with me. No guns or weapons in the entire house. It looks like Mr. Hunter Flannel is a poser just like his son. I go back inside empty-handed.
I can't find any clock, but the sun is getting ready to set so it's probably around seven o'clock or half past. It's starting to become very dark already, and I realize it's about to become extremely boring too. I'm in an empty house all by myself, and it's about to become pitch black. Unless I feel like snooping around the house some more with my flashlight, there's nothing for me to do other than sit here with my thoughts.
As the last few minutes of daylight shine through, I decide to sleep on the sofa. Who knows what Mrs. Big Panties and Mr. Flannel like to do in their bed.
My thoughts turn to tomorrow. Will I wake up and find everything back to normal? If so, I'm definitely taking a sick day. I'm not planning on this so I work on my strategy assuming nobody will be around. I'll take the food, bottled water, gas tank, and shovel and make my way home... hoping I don't run into Cujo along the way. I have enough food and water to keep me alive for at least a few weeks, but I don't have much gas to get me very far. Where would I go anyway? I suppose I could take off and drive in one direction as far as it will take me until I find someone. With three-quarters of a tank in Abby's car and the few gallons left in my neighbor's gas tank, that should get me around three hundred miles, provided I don't drive like a maniac again. I'm sure I could find someone to help me in that distance.
I don't think about it anymore because tomorrow, when I wake up, I'm confident I'll find somebody to talk to. It's too unrealistic that everyone took off and left without me; someone must have stayed.
With these thoughts in mind, I drift my attention to Abby. I wonder where she at this exact moment. What is she
I make a mad dash throughout the house looking for any kind of weaponry. My father wasn't a hunter, so I'm not sure where you keep this kind of stuff. I suppose with two kids it isn't something you have lying around on the kitchen table. I check under their bed but only see another flannel shirt and a pair of socks.
I revisit the closet, but no weaponry there. I check to see if they have a basement but it doesn't look like they do. I even revisit little Misfit's room but expect to find pot more than I expect to find a gun. As it turns out though I find neither, not even a pack of cigarettes. Little Misfit must be bad boy on the outside and good wholesome boy on the inside.
I don't even bother revisiting the little princess's room; I doubt she's packing heat. I do decide to visit the last place in the house I would expect to find a gun - the garage. I don't know why someone would have a gun in the garage but it's my last hope. As I'm reminded again, garages are extremely dark when there's no electricity so I get my first opportunity to use my new flashlight.
Surprisingly, there are no cars in the garage. Did they go where everyone else went? As I scope out the area, Mr. Flannel appears to have a nice tool collection and a bench to work on. He must be a handyman. The bench takes up a lot of room, enough that they most likely can only fit one car in here. Surveying the tools, I would think some of this would be of use to me but I can't think of anything that would. There's a hammer but if I were going to attack Cujo I'd rather use a shovel. There's also an assortment of wrenches and screwdrivers but I'm not working on a car or putting a toy house together anytime soon. It's hard for me to believe, but with all of this junk I can't find anything useful to take with me. No guns or weapons in the entire house. It looks like Mr. Hunter Flannel is a poser just like his son. I go back inside empty-handed.
I can't find any clock, but the sun is getting ready to set so it's probably around seven o'clock or half past. It's starting to become very dark already, and I realize it's about to become extremely boring too. I'm in an empty house all by myself, and it's about to become pitch black. Unless I feel like snooping around the house some more with my flashlight, there's nothing for me to do other than sit here with my thoughts.
As the last few minutes of daylight shine through, I decide to sleep on the sofa. Who knows what Mrs. Big Panties and Mr. Flannel like to do in their bed.
My thoughts turn to tomorrow. Will I wake up and find everything back to normal? If so, I'm definitely taking a sick day. I'm not planning on this so I work on my strategy assuming nobody will be around. I'll take the food, bottled water, gas tank, and shovel and make my way home... hoping I don't run into Cujo along the way. I have enough food and water to keep me alive for at least a few weeks, but I don't have much gas to get me very far. Where would I go anyway? I suppose I could take off and drive in one direction as far as it will take me until I find someone. With three-quarters of a tank in Abby's car and the few gallons left in my neighbor's gas tank, that should get me around three hundred miles, provided I don't drive like a maniac again. I'm sure I could find someone to help me in that distance.
I don't think about it anymore because tomorrow, when I wake up, I'm confident I'll find somebody to talk to. It's too unrealistic that everyone took off and left without me; someone must have stayed.
With these thoughts in mind, I drift my attention to Abby. I wonder where she at this exact moment. What is she
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