Helen Keller

No sooner do I sit in my warm bed and turn on my television to seep into darkness does Hellen Keller show up and start slapping all my things. I used to say “who are you? What are you doing? Why can’t you see anything? I’m going to call the police!” And then Hellen Keller slaps my phone away before I can dial 911, and then slaps me over and over and over again with her calloused fingers until I am outside of my bedroom, watching her rampage from the door.

“Stop, stranger!” I tell. But Hellen Keller could not hear me, and instead flung gasoline tanks I forgot I had placed from the shelves all over the private space of my bedroom. One of them accidentally latched onto her fingers in such a way that her shaking to be rid of it spread no insignificant amount of gasoline upon my bedsheets and personal items. Then Hellen Keller accidentally removed a lighter from her own pocket and gurgled a frightful noise that sounded much like “Gerald, you must repay your debts” and lit everything on fire, disappearing through the window.

For an instant, I was dumbfounded, before recognizing, past the dark glasses, this woman as the legendary deaf, blind college graduate Hellen Keller. Even if she seemed tall and masculine, There could be no other reasonable explanation than the simple misunderstands of how the world worked. Hellen Keller from an era before she recognized the world beyond her darkness had gone on a panic-stricken rampage through my apartment. I knew I had to find her and teach her the ways of the world. So I packed my bags and scuttled to a tent in the woods.

It was then once more that Hellen Keller found me, as I knew she would. She kicked over my lantern and started a forest fire that is still raging, before accidentally grabbing me by the throat and flailing her fist against my face repeatedly.

Hellen Keller’s distorted words sounded almost like “you can’t run from the mafia. You can’t run from me.”

I said “Hellen Keller please please stop. Please please please stop hurting me, Hellen Keller.”

Hellen Keller was oblivious to my cries and continued smashing herself against me. It was then I knew that in order to survive, I had to reach her beyond her solipsistic darkness. So I smashed her head with a snowglobe. She screamed.

“What a terrible mistake you’ve just made,” said Hellen Keller, bleeding from her shaved forehead.

“Hellen Keller, open your eyes!” I screamed. “This isn’t you!”

Hellen Keller smacked me with her muscular fist tattooed with the word DEBRA. It was a gift she gave me, to understand what her world was like as I prounced in the dark, seeing and hearing nothing. I woke up and I was in a car. Hellen Keller was driving.

“It’s so good to see how much progress you’ve made,” I said to Hellen Keller. I truly was a miracle worker. She had gone far in the world. But she remained silent in gratitude. But what had I done to teach her these things?

I stopped thinking about that, and most things, as Hellen Keller stopped the car and ejected me through the windshield. It was there that thirty to fifty Hellen Kellers by a series of pratfalls and spills started beating the everloving shit out of me.