William's Beginning

"So what made them so interested in you?" asked (Ned) with a tone suggesting a snide remark buried in the innocence of the question.
"Well," began William, with a fiery tone in retaliation. "It was almost two years ago," (Ned) listened as William's story unfolded.

A fourteen-year-old William sat on his white and green striped couch moving in all sorts of odd directions as he maneuvered a man on the large screen in front of him. Carnage unfolded as he found more powerful weapons with each turn around a bloody corner. His hands quaked as the controller in his hand let loose a salvo of rockets at the oncoming alien force.
"Will!" called a woman's voice from the kitchen, "Have you taken care of the laundry?” Will ignored the voice and climbed into a large tank and began unleashing Hell against a fleet of alien war ships. With every shot, he inched closer to his goal. The voice came again, but he continued to ignore it. His campaign persisted. The voice came again, futilely. Finally, the woman came around the corner and stood in the doorway.
"William! Have you done the laundry yet?" she demanded, wiping her hands with a towel.
"No, mom, I haven't." said Will, firmly. He contorted his body trying to dodge the enemy fire on the screen, though it had no effect on the armed gunman on screen. His mother rolled her eyes and let loose a frustrated sigh. She walked to the large television screen and turned it off. Making sure to pause his game, though he could not see it, William protested. "I was almost at the end of the level!" he complained.
"I don't want you to touch that game again until you have taken care of the laundry! And is your homework done!” His mother was ruthless. He reached for the remote, but she moved too quickly for him. He glared at her and stood up.
"Fine," he said, stabbing her with his words. "I'll do it.” He stomped through the hallway and opened the door to the laundry room. A basket full of t-shirts, complete with their witty and obnoxious quotes, ripped jeans and cargo pants, ankle socks, and boxers with inappropriate insignias on them lay before his feet.
"Don't forget to separate the lights and darks!" his mother called, now back in the kitchen.
"I won't!" he fired back. He tore through the basket throwing the light colored garments into the machine and putting the dark ones off to the side for the next load, all the while cursing his mother. Fury and frustration slowly grew in his heart as he segregated the last of the shirts and threw some soap into the machine. He slammed the door shut and turned the dial to begin the wash cycle. Nothing happened. He waited for a moment, hoping it was just a delay but the machine remained inactive. He punched it, vainly trying to force it into submission. He checked to make sure it was plugged it, which it was. He stood up and ran his hand through his hair, sighing heatedly; he turned the dial again, but to no avail.
"Mom, the washing machine won't turn on!" he called.
"Did you turn the knob?" returned the voice.
"Yes!" he responded, rolling his eyes.
"Did you press the button with the key on it?” With a little bit of hope, William pushed the little button below the symbol of a key to turn on the machine, but it remained quiet and motionless.
"Yes!" he said, losing his hope.
"Well, I just got that machine last week. It better work! You're smart! Figure it out!” William stood in front of the stubborn machine, contemplating how to make it work. He glared at the kitchen and uttered curses under his breath. In a burst of fury, he kicked the machine, hoping to shock it into functionality. It remained immovable.
"I heard that!" his mother called from the kitchen. William leaned on the machine, trying to calm himself and suppress his anger. He longed to go back to his campaign against the evil Covenant. Unable to think of anything else to do, he unplugged the machine and then plugged it back in. He put in a few more drops of detergent, turned the knob, and pressed the appropriate button. The machine stirred and he could see through the round glass window that it had begun to move its gizmos to get the stains from the clothes inside. William sighed in relief. He began to walk away, when he heard the machine stop. He turned around to look at it, and then slowly crept back toward it hoping not to invade its personal space, and enrage it somehow. Just then, the door swung open and soapy water and clothing poured out onto the floor, soaking the wooden planks and the Persian rug covering some of them. Furious, William stomped to the machine and began thrusting the clothes back into the machine. When he got them back in, he slammed the door closed again and turned the machine back on. It remained still. William's blood began to boil. He clenched his teeth and his fist.
"GOD DAMMIT!" he shouted, vengefully, and he punched the machine. It flew backward through the wall, knocking over the table behind it, then destroyed the couch he'd been sitting on earlier, went through the bathroom, cracking the bathtub and into the middle of the street, nearly hitting a yellow taxi which swerved into a fire hydrant to avoid it. William stood in shock with his jaw at his knees while he watched what happened next. The sky outside quickly grew dark. A rumble of thunder began to steadily grow louder. A bolt of lightning struck the insolent machine as it sat in the middle of the lane. It was followed by another, and then another, and several more until it became blackened and smoke rose from its charred wiring. William walked slowly through the wreckage of his house and out through the bathroom and onto the sidewalk. He stepped toward the machine and looked to the sky. The clouds began to dissipate. His mother stormed out of the front door.
"I have had it with you and your anger" she began, but trailed off when she was the incinerated washing machine. She looked at it for a moment and then looked back at William. Her expression became angrier. "This is coming out of your allowance," she said, and she marched back into the house. William, stunned, looked at the machine with disbelief. It moved, and he jumped behind a car hoping it would shield him from whatever came next. The door swung open and several of his shirts spilled out into the road in a stream of soapy water.