I'll take a month

Last night, the silence was broken by a piercing scream. Happens all the time in books. Or movies. Seldom irl.

But the woman screamed as if she'd just met Frankenstein. Now Franky, as we all know, lives inside her head. Because the real Frankenstein wouldn't go through that much trouble just to scare little old her. Where is he from anyway? Europe? Unless of course she was his mail order bride. But then again, do the undead browse filipinaheart.com? Yuck, zombie love. Point is, Frankenstein lives in her head. I have monsters in my head too, why do I have to save her from hers? Besides, it's halloween, monsters are supposed to be EVERYWHERE. On your yards, Under your beds, inside your closet, in your pants, in your dreams. Monsters everywhere. They get there whether you like it or not.

The monster in my head isn't as large as a worm yet. But it's burrowing itself amongst my brain cells, making room for a home, with a lanai up front, and perhaps even a swimming pool. It'll live there and feed off me, and grow til it's larger than my brain, and I'll burst open, with a child born of my head, the way Zeus had Athena. But I'm no God of Thunder, so I'd prolly die. Which is a good thing sometimes. The dead do own the earth after all, and all I own atm is my past. And dredged up memories aren't cool to have.

Sieze the day, someone is bound to say. But what if it siezes you? Makes you into some sort of human console and press your buttons til it wins? if you're getting images of Chobits, I guess you get the picture.