by Ian Woodhead
Copyright Ian Woodhead October 2010
This ebook may not be copied, distributed, reposted, reprinted and shared, without the author's written consent
David Kerrigan kept both eyes focussed on the console games graphics, as his fingers operated the four way pad and the buttons. His mind just wasn’t as focussed as his eyes, it kept drifting away from the game and analysing David’s persistent but recent dilemma. He knew that one of them would be there by now; they always appeared just after five o clock.
His mother and father were sat together on the communal living room sofa, both giggling at some comedy programme on the idiot box. David never watched television anymore, not after he had learnt that prolonged exposure destroyed your brain. He’d found that out on Google so it must be true.
David had stopped telling them about the lumps moving across the walls. They thought that he was making it all up, tying to grab attention.
He found his eyes drifting off the console screen. Oh bloody bollocks! This was all his mother’s fault. If she had bought him that new Psychokiller game like she promised then he would have had something to keep him occupied.