Jeff was fucking bored.

It had been one week, two books and a season of X-Files since he broke both his legs. Not that he broke his legs. That fucking kid was really to blame. Always leaving his trains out, no matter how many times he told him to put them away. Two year olds are stupid like that.

As Jeff lay in bed that Sunday afternoon – or was it Saturday? The days had started to meld together, as days often do. Day of the week aside, as Jeff lay in bed, he thought about all the things he could’ve been doing.

He could’ve been at work, dealing with stupid fucking people on the phone who didn’t know how to turn their modems on. He could’ve been outside in the stinking summer heat, covered in flies. He could’ve been stuck in traffic, listening to the jerks on breakfast radio. But no. He was stuck inside, in the air conditioned comfort of his bed, watching David Duchovny chasing a guy with a cigarette.

With that thought, jeff picked up the baby monitor by the bed, and pushed the button.

“Thankyou…”