As Robert opened the jar, steam poured out sucking his soul, his brains, and oh no! his will! No!!!!!! he screamed in his head, but he couldn't talk. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. The steam receded back into the jar, and Robert looked up in a vacant manner, watching Mr. Mason label the jar with his name and put it in a fridge with some other containers.
"What's that for?" Robert thought in his head. "Huh."
"Ok, Robert. You can go now," Mr. Mason said.
Robert trudged out the door, returning home with no opinion, no life, no will. If only his brain had the ability to wonder what his parents would think of his change in attitude, from rebellious and obnoxious to sullen and with a dead look in his eyes.
As he walked home, Robert was affronted by passerby, hearing people whispering about him.
"Why does that kid look so dead?"
"Whoa, that guy over there looks really lifeless!"
When Robert reached his house, he stumbled up the steps to the front porch, clutched the doorknob and shuffled into the house. His parents noticed his strange behavior, and said, "Hey Robert, why do you look so sad?" but Robert just stared at them and walked past them, and into the kitchen.
He made a peanut butter sandwich, frantically assembling it. Slap on some peanut butter, smear some jam, smash the two pieces of bread together. Robert then stuffed the sandwich into his mouth, scarfing the entire sandwich in two bites.
"Seriously Robert, why are acting this way?" his parents said. "We need to find out what's happening!"
Robert slowly looked up, his eyes glowing a ghostly green. He whispered in a raspy voice, "Please! Investigate Mr. Mason! Mom! Dad!"
And then he toppled of his bar stool, crashing onto the hardwood floor. His glowing eyes faded, and so did his body.
The End
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