CaptainWacky
I want to smell dark matter
it's a charles horse thing
you know the deal
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Charles Horse stood by his window. He was waiting to see the pretty girl again. He assumed she was pretty, anyway. She wore clothes he could imagine a pretty girl wearing. She was blonde, he knew that. He'd seen the back of her head enough to know that. she had to come out of her flat eventually. He just had to wait. He knew how to wait.
He waited. He wished he could still see her tv through the window. He remembered that time they were watching the same thing. They could have talked about that. They could have passed on the street and he could have said "hey, we were watching the same thing!" That was a thing a normal person could get away with, right? Except if he did, she'd probably just be creeped out that he was looking through her window at her tv.
He wished he could smell her.
He kept waiting but she didn't come out.
Charles Horse went to bed.
...
He was in her flat now. He must have broken in. It was bigger than his. Of course it was. She was better than him. It was nicely decorated. He wondered where her dog was. Maybe he broke in while she was out walking it? Yes, he could see her now, walking the dog, smiling at children. No idea that Charles Horse was in her home. No idea he was in her kitchen. He took a bite out of one of her apples. What if she found it? He flushed the apple down the toilet. Simple. This was normal. He went into her bedroom. He nice clothes were all laid out on her bed for some reason. He put them on. Slipped into them. They fit him, somehow. He felt good. Was it because they were her clothes or just because he'd always wanted to wear women's clothing? He wasn't sure. He wondered if she would be getting home soon and looked out the window. He could see his own flat now. Wait, that wasn't right. This room didn't look onto his place. Yet he could see his bedroom...she was in it. In a bra. Laughing. With a man. A manly, sexy man. With pecs. Oh no. She knew. She was mocking him...
No, this was a dream. He realised that now. That's why he could see her in his room. That wasn't the right view. Unless he'd gotten confused about the layout. The street looked normal. How could he tell if it was a dream?
He climbed into her bed and went to sleep still wearing her clothes.
...
There was always that moment, on waking up, when he forgot who he was. Forgot he was Charles Horse. A blissful moment. His identity would return to him soon. Was it all a lie? Was he even his brain? Who was even asking this?
He wondered what day it was. Then he remembered that he'd broken into the pretty girl's home and felt panic. He fought to open his eyes. His body wouldn't let him. He wasn't prepared for what he would see...
He was still in her bedroom. Oh God, he'd really done it. He was still wearing her clothes. It hadn't been a dream. He ran to the window and looked out. The view was the proper one now, not looking onto his flat. But...how. Where was she? She couldn't really be in his bedroom having sex, becausse the view hadn't been right when he'd seen that. It had been the dream. This was real. So where was she? How had he managed to sleep in her bed, wearing her clothes...
Had he killed her? He checked her bed, even though she couldn't possibly be in there. He would have noticed. He...he felt drawn to her bed still. Not in it...underneath it. Oh God. There was an arm sticking out. Pink. Chubby. He was disappointed to learn that she was chubby. He'd killed her and she hadn't even been thin.
He had to pull her out from under the bed and put her in it. They'd think she'd died in her sleep. He pulled her by the arm. He could see her face now...she looked so old. So grey. Wait...who was this?
The hag opened its eyes and he jumped back in fear. But he couldn't move. She was going to eat him, fuck...
...
His heart was beating fast when he woke up for real. He didn't understand it for the first few seconds. Was he having a heart attack? He, she had been about to kill him. The hag under the bed. He managed to slow his heart rate down. He'd learned how to, over the years. He felt his body, to make sure it was still there.
He wasn't wearing her clothes anymore. He really was awake now. Back in his old bed where he belonged.
But he still felt like someone was under it. If not the hag, then the pretty girl's body, somehow. He hadn't dreamed the murder, but he had dreamed that he had murdered her. That was significant. He hoped he never dreamed any details. But it was possible he would. Maybe he could just stay up all night, every night.
It was only 3 a.m.
He finally peaked under his bed. It was normal. No hag. No pretty girl. Not even her dog. Just his old broken video games consoles he hung onto.
He told himself never to watch for her through the window again.
But he'd never stick to that.
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what a character charles horse is
what a complete character
you know the deal
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Charles Horse stood by his window. He was waiting to see the pretty girl again. He assumed she was pretty, anyway. She wore clothes he could imagine a pretty girl wearing. She was blonde, he knew that. He'd seen the back of her head enough to know that. she had to come out of her flat eventually. He just had to wait. He knew how to wait.
He waited. He wished he could still see her tv through the window. He remembered that time they were watching the same thing. They could have talked about that. They could have passed on the street and he could have said "hey, we were watching the same thing!" That was a thing a normal person could get away with, right? Except if he did, she'd probably just be creeped out that he was looking through her window at her tv.
He wished he could smell her.
He kept waiting but she didn't come out.
Charles Horse went to bed.
...
He was in her flat now. He must have broken in. It was bigger than his. Of course it was. She was better than him. It was nicely decorated. He wondered where her dog was. Maybe he broke in while she was out walking it? Yes, he could see her now, walking the dog, smiling at children. No idea that Charles Horse was in her home. No idea he was in her kitchen. He took a bite out of one of her apples. What if she found it? He flushed the apple down the toilet. Simple. This was normal. He went into her bedroom. He nice clothes were all laid out on her bed for some reason. He put them on. Slipped into them. They fit him, somehow. He felt good. Was it because they were her clothes or just because he'd always wanted to wear women's clothing? He wasn't sure. He wondered if she would be getting home soon and looked out the window. He could see his own flat now. Wait, that wasn't right. This room didn't look onto his place. Yet he could see his bedroom...she was in it. In a bra. Laughing. With a man. A manly, sexy man. With pecs. Oh no. She knew. She was mocking him...
No, this was a dream. He realised that now. That's why he could see her in his room. That wasn't the right view. Unless he'd gotten confused about the layout. The street looked normal. How could he tell if it was a dream?
He climbed into her bed and went to sleep still wearing her clothes.
...
There was always that moment, on waking up, when he forgot who he was. Forgot he was Charles Horse. A blissful moment. His identity would return to him soon. Was it all a lie? Was he even his brain? Who was even asking this?
He wondered what day it was. Then he remembered that he'd broken into the pretty girl's home and felt panic. He fought to open his eyes. His body wouldn't let him. He wasn't prepared for what he would see...
He was still in her bedroom. Oh God, he'd really done it. He was still wearing her clothes. It hadn't been a dream. He ran to the window and looked out. The view was the proper one now, not looking onto his flat. But...how. Where was she? She couldn't really be in his bedroom having sex, becausse the view hadn't been right when he'd seen that. It had been the dream. This was real. So where was she? How had he managed to sleep in her bed, wearing her clothes...
Had he killed her? He checked her bed, even though she couldn't possibly be in there. He would have noticed. He...he felt drawn to her bed still. Not in it...underneath it. Oh God. There was an arm sticking out. Pink. Chubby. He was disappointed to learn that she was chubby. He'd killed her and she hadn't even been thin.
He had to pull her out from under the bed and put her in it. They'd think she'd died in her sleep. He pulled her by the arm. He could see her face now...she looked so old. So grey. Wait...who was this?
The hag opened its eyes and he jumped back in fear. But he couldn't move. She was going to eat him, fuck...
...
His heart was beating fast when he woke up for real. He didn't understand it for the first few seconds. Was he having a heart attack? He, she had been about to kill him. The hag under the bed. He managed to slow his heart rate down. He'd learned how to, over the years. He felt his body, to make sure it was still there.
He wasn't wearing her clothes anymore. He really was awake now. Back in his old bed where he belonged.
But he still felt like someone was under it. If not the hag, then the pretty girl's body, somehow. He hadn't dreamed the murder, but he had dreamed that he had murdered her. That was significant. He hoped he never dreamed any details. But it was possible he would. Maybe he could just stay up all night, every night.
It was only 3 a.m.
He finally peaked under his bed. It was normal. No hag. No pretty girl. Not even her dog. Just his old broken video games consoles he hung onto.
He told himself never to watch for her through the window again.
But he'd never stick to that.
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what a character charles horse is
what a complete character