The room is silent except for the mindless drone of the TV.
The lights are on. Is nobody home?
The computer is online.
Debris from food -- pop cans, yogurt cups, a bread wrapper -- litters the floor.
From the front door, across the living room an array of clothing (outerwear, comfy shoes) and accessories (purse, briefcase) spreads like a trail of the remains of some human person.
Suddenly, but VERY slowly the fingers of one human hand creep up to the computer keyboard from over the front of the table. The fingers are somewhat curved and stiff, there is no supple flexibility. A "ten-ride" train ticket drops from between the fingers.
There is no sign of any other part of a human form in sight.
Now, in addition to the sound of the TV, is a faint sound of labored breathing.
VERY slowly the fingers drop to the keyboard and clumsily beat out a few words...
Suspensefully, the words take shape.
Then, the hand disappears as suddenly as it appeared.
The TV once again drones alone.
On the monitor is seen the following words....
"it was grate. you only have 1 chance to make a first impres................"
The sound of not-so-soft, dead-to-the-world snoring now fills the room.
© copyright, 1999, Jill Postma