[b][u]Little Things - Big Packages (Sequence: One)
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Roughly eight years or so came and went. I never celebrate my birthday, so my idea of my age is skewed. Something tells me I am far younger than I believe, but I could be far older. Sure, I could just take a gander at my drivers licence and count the difference from now until that date; however, that is too much effort. I do not, in-fact, give a damn how old I am. All I know is that I am too old to be living the way I do. No direction, no purpose, and leeching off my late father's good-will.

I might feel bad if I had any care to give. When Lucy was around I was beginning to feel that, but she is rotted and gone in the septic tank, much like my spirit - just absolute shit. However, on one summer day, blistering heat and all my apathetic life was thrown for a loop once more. I remember waking up well past noon to the doorbell ringing. Ever since that thing calling itself my mom learned about Lucy she had not shown up, so it probably was not her. Although, if anyone were at my door it would be her. So, with little thought, and very little care, I laid sprawled out on my filthy sheets hoping the lack of an answer would see the assumed bitch off.

Well, once I got in the mood to roll out of bed, and walked downstairs, shirtless and all, something deep within me urged me to open the front door. The feeling was not something I could describe as my own feeling, yet it came from my own mind. Hell, my questioning of it only makes it more perplexing. Did the urge to open the front door come from some sort of outside stimuli? Yet, it very much was my own thought. Or was that what the outside stimuli seeded into my mind to make me believe it? Well, I still had my will about me, so me opening the front door was completely my choice, right? In the end of the day, the front door was opened and that is all that matters.

I approached the front door careful stepping over the ample amount of wood scattered about. The cluttered mess around the front door was from me usually electing to exit the backdoor, so it was hardly necessary to clean up the deconstructed pathways that served a purpose some years ago. Oddly enough, just before I got to the front door, the doorbell rang again. To my disbelief, no one was present. Was the doorbell broken? I mean - any sane person knows that ghosts are a crock of shit. Just the musings of the bored masses. Then again, fairies were real now, so it might be not too far in a leap of logic to believe in ghosts. Ghost or not, I finally, as previously mentioned, opened the goddamn door.

For the first time in forever, I had packages. Four boxes, large crates, made of some sort of metal. This metal was darker, maybe a dull grey, so I guessed it might be carbon fiber. I circled the packages examining them for any sort of notable markings, nothing. No address, return address, or even creases. These were, at-least with my first impression, just metal cubes sitting on my front porch. Perhaps these things were bombs? Maybe sent by that bitch of a woman? Of-course that would be giving her too much credit - most women lack the patience or commitment to carefully wire up a bomb.

I mean, yeah, I don't know how to make a bomb either, but I am sure I could make one if I tried. You see, here is the thing. Men are interested in things while women are interested in people. So, despite not doing much, I am certain that my lifestyle isolated from others is only natural. Hence why some sort of deity put these boxes on my front porch. Boxes are the perfect example of a thing. On the other hand, women get plenty of people on their front porches: Family, friends, and slaves to the cooch.

Now, men on the other hand, they get boxes on their front porch. The epitome of the thing. We get things, so I am, quite literally, a man. Perhaps one of the greater of these things called men. After-all, I have four boxes, metal boxes - sent to me by god.

Do I really think that?

No...

I am just saying that to make myself feel better.

So this man right here lugged the boxes inside quickly. I stood around shirtless for far too long musing the differences between men and women, so any longer outside might attract unwanted attention. Some years ago it would be alright to stand around shirtless, beer chugging, and with a few smokes between the lips. Now with new enforcement any "anarchist" behavior is dealt with swiftly. I am not certain, but shirtless is pretty anarchist, so as I said - I got those fucking crates inside fast. They were not too heavy. Actually, they were on they were on the light side, or maybe I am just very strong (not really).

So, I tossed aside the derelict remains of wood-scrap aside. The walk-way to the front-door is where much of the wood scrap ended up, so it took me a good bit of time. Something within me, a primal sense, wanted to examine these boxes, but I felt that proper space was needed. Now the wood was tossed in the living room effectively making that portion of the house dangerous to traverse now. I begun to examine each box - no discernible marks or means to open them. At-first glance anyways, I flipped the light-switch and waited a moment for the dingy bulb to sputter on.

Then, with my keen intuition (which has been somewhat dulled by the years) I spotted the outline of a button on the top of each crate. Now was the time to contemplate whether or not I should press the obvious trap. The age old cliche dictates nothing ventured nothing gained. Well, if this is a bomb of some sort, then I would not be losing much - if anything, that sweet release of death would be a gain. So with no hesitance, I pressed the button.

What followed was not exactly welcome. Certainly a step up from a bomb, but not exactly a million dollars, or an unlocked firearm - just a bunch of little creatures. Well, the creatures were not exactly what I should reference to as simply creatures. That was declared uh, unethical, uncouth, unacceptable, or any other amount of "un" shortly after Lucy received a swirly. The contents of this box were actually highly illegal: fairies.

Had these been on route to an authorized sanctuary and ended up here? Surely no one is that stupid. Although, I have not kept up with politics, nor did I ever, but everyone knows the government is stupid. The fairies in each box were contained in a peculiar device that look like nothing I have ever seen. It is quite elaborate, complicated, and intricate so I will try to describe it the best I can. This "containment device" filled up most of the box excluding a false bottom (that we will get to later). It consisted of several chambers, shaped like sarcophagi, with translucent glass, that each connected to a central unit via tube. Inside each of these sarcophagi was an individual fairy of all different heights, weights, skin-tones, and so on. All bare and nude - I was not very interested in ogling their naked little bodies and more interested in the thing they were contained in. Each sarcophagus seemed to have moisture dripping in from the tub connected to the central unit, which would make sense because in passing, some time ago, I heard that a fairies wings need moisture or they will dry out. It seemed this moisture was filtered out by tiny mechanical filtration units on the surface of each sarcophagus. It seems the moisture came out of the filter, fill the sealed box, then enter the central unit once more, acting like a cycle of sorts. Of-course, this is all pure conjecture - I had no idea how the containment device worked, but as a male, with my disposition towards things, I know a thing or two.

Well, before I ogled the devices more and came to a decision of what I was going to do with these random visitors, I felt that they would be better suited in the basement. So, one box at a time, down and up the steps a total of eight times. One trip down and one trip up every time - my last trip up to retrieve a meat mallet tenderizer which had not seen use ever since my dad croaked. It had a fake gold plating, or was it real? I am not sure - always assumed fake because who the fuck would coat a mallet in gold? Back in the basement, lights flicked on, all four boxes had been sat in each corner of the pool table. I let out a small sigh looking about the old game room. Renovations never were completed, so only half of the floor was carpeted. On the uncarpeted side sat the pool table along with four retro pinball machines, while on the cozy carpeted side was an entire entertainment set up. You know, the whole nine yards: big flat-screen, surround sound, too many game systems, a redundant DVD player, and blah blah blah - you get it.

One peculiar thing interested me about the basement I never bothered to process - Lucy's pathways were still up in here; furthermore, in a little side room reserved for the second washing machine in the house, were the pipes the lamented-lamia would have took a shit-swim through. For a moment, I forgot all about my guests and I turned my attention to the utility room. I stepped near the piping and ran my fingers over it. Touching where she had tainted with her defiance lit an old fire in me. And with that, I was sent into a bloody rage, tearing all the remaining pathways from the walls with my bare hands.

I tore and tore, my hands bleeding profusely, but I kept tearing. Along the stairwell, I somehow made this pathway particularly reinforced. I could not tear it from the wall. Was I weak? I am the master of things, thus the wooden pathways I fastened to the walls should bend to my will. This last bit of path just would not come loose. Certainly, I would have tore and tore until my hands were nothing more than bloody nubs if it were not for a voice calling out.

"What gots ya so fired up sparky?"

The voice was raspy and small - loud enough to be heard, yet commanded no real presence. I slowly craned my head to the direction of the voice. Hovering above the pool table, with arms crossed over its bare chest, was a grey skinned fairy with red vine-like markings swirling about its body. Slowly, awkwardly, and with monstrous steps (relative to the size of it) I made my approach. Blood drizzling from my finger tips, I saw fit to try wipe it away on the nearest thing, myself. Still shirtless, I began to rub blood over my gaunt body, and then the little thing made another remark.

"Wowza - tryin to copy my look bud? Flattered, but uh, blood belongs inside - not outside..."

It fluttered back slightly as I got closer. Surely I was not going to try and kill it, right? I stopped, "I am the master of things..."

"Master of things - is that watcha wanna be called?"

"Yes, call me the master of things. I control things - you are a thing."

She fluttered a bit closer, "So, master of things, uh ya can call me smokey."

I fixed my gaze on it - pure red eyes. It looked textbook evil. Fuck, it even had little fangs too. I glared down at one of the fairies still in their chamber, no such features, so was this one unique? It would explain how it got out of wherever it did, "Where did you come from?" I simply stated and then put one of my bloody fingers in my mouth, sucking on the now drying blood.

She winced at the act of such, but still answered me quickly enough, "Little more aware than the othas', been awake for quite sum' time - jus' popped open my chamber when ya' stepped off."

With my fingers still in my mouth, I said with a muffled voice, "Where are yu' frum'?" I slowly extended my free hand towards the gold mallet.

"Heh, beats me! Jus' woke up, remember bein' back somewhere... more sterile... with people more clean cut, but dis' is a nice change o' pace," it remarked with a shit-eating grin on its face.

I rested my hand on the mallet while also removing my other hand from my mouth, "Well, Smokey, you are a thing... right?" I edged forward slightly, hoping she got the message.

"Yep... just one lil' thing. The woman bits are jus' aesthetic, so master of things... how bout ya' say we get to work? Hm? There's a lil' trick to openin these containers, gotta be careful or you might break the merchandise..."

And so... Smokey - my new thing - instructed me how to better become the master of things.​