Oof. I’ve got that weird knot in my stomach again.
Maybe it’s because I’m about to post a short story on the internet… again?!
Part of me is like, I really don’t wanna be that blogger that’s always posting their work online as if people will actually take the time to read it.
The other part of me is like, I can’t think of any other way to get impartial feedback than to have a bunch of complete strangers read it at their leisure.
Oh, what manner of moral dilemma occurs within my brain. (A+ prose.)
Eh, screw it. I’m going to post it. I mean, it wasn’t like I had anything else slotted for this blog post…
But I feel like there ought to be some incentive because no one really wants to read a short story on a blog, do they? I mean, maybe, but probably not. So if there’s something you’d like me to read and comment on, drop it in the comments. Or drop your social media handles and I’ll follow you (if I don’t already). In any case, I’ll find a way to pay it forward, because once you read this sci-fi horror shit you’ll be wondering how it was worth your time.
So without further ado…
I’ve never had a problem with being dirty. As a little girl, I used to play in the mud in the backyard. I’d plunge my hands deep into the earth and dig up the worms and the cold clay. Then, my mom would come outside and find me, and it would all be over. She would hold me out in front of her like I was a nuclear bomb about to go off and dump me into the bath, where I would be thoroughly cleansed of all impurities. Then she would take an hour-long shower and tell me to play inside with my nice, disinfected toys. They weren’t nearly as much fun.
As a teenager, my room was dirty. In college, my dorm was filthy. Here in my first apartment, all I can say is that I don’t invite people over.
And I really couldn’t give two shits about it.
I work fifty to sixty hours a week at a Pizza Hut, usually six days a week. I don’t have time to clean. I long gave up on trying to keep up with dishes. I barely even use the kitchen anymore, so why clean it? It’s such a drag. I do laundry when I run out of underwear because I have plenty of clothes, and besides, I think better when things are in disarray… when I bother to think at all. As soon as I get home from work, I’m usually so tired that I collapse on the couch and watch Netflix until I fall asleep.
I will give myself this much credit, though. I keep myself clean. Sometimes I skip a couple days of showering, but at the least I’ll wash my face and put on some deodorant. I do my make-up, put dry shampoo in my hair, wear perfume. Yeah, my clothes may be a little wrinkled and my hair a little messy, but no one has ever complained about me smelling bad at work.
It’s my dirty little secret, literally. There are some people you look at and know they’re slobs—I see them come into Pizza Hut every day. It’s those of us who keep it contained that are the true masterminds.
Of course, I never bring anyone home, but that would ruin the mystique. If a girl wants to hang out with me, we can go out for some drinks. If a guy really wants me, he can take me back to his place. If, God willing, we start dating, well… then I’ll think about picking up a little. But it hasn’t happened yet, so I’m in the clear. Hooray for me.
The kitchen had started to stink lately, so I started spraying it every day after work with Ozium, a heavy-duty odor neutralizer. It’s the stuff my dad would always use, even though my mom insisted that it depletes the ozone layer.
All I know is that it works like a charm.
After a long and particularly brutal closing shift, I did my usual routine: changed out of my work clothes, poured myself a margarita, sprayed some Ozium, and headed for the couch. Except when I turned to leave my closet-sized galley kitchen, I thought I saw something move in the ominous pile of pizza boxes, dirty plates, and congealed food waste pouring out of the double-bay sink. Did I have mice? Now that might bother me a little. I stared at it for another minute, but nothing else moved, so I sprayed more Ozium for good measure and collapsed onto the couch, lulled to sleep by the sounds of The Office.
When I woke with a start, the TV had that “Are you still watching?” screen that Netflix uses to try to shame you. I looked at my phone. It was two in the morning.
I should probably head to bed, I thought, but something felt… off. I looked around and realized that it sounded like the TV was still playing, just more muffled. Maybe my neighbors had the TV on really loud. But there was a kind of garbled quality to it, like it was coming from underwater.
It was coming from the direction of the kitchen.
I’m easily spooked at night, I’ll admit, so there was a part of me that had to know what it was before I could go to bed. I got up and walked towards the backside of the apartment, still thinking maybe it was the neighbors.
But when I approached the kitchen on my right, the noise got louder.
My heart was racing. I took a deep breath and flipped on the light. Of course, there was no one there.
“H-Hello?” I said, feeling ridiculous.
“H-Hello?” a garbled voice echoed back.
I leapt backwards like a cartoon cat. There were chills running up and down my spine like ants on a log.
“Okay, what the fuck?” I said.
“Okay, what the fuck?” the voice echoed.
“Who are you?”
“Who are you?”
“Seriously, what’s going on?”
“Seriously, what’s going on?”
This was starting to get old, actually. “Okay, is this a prank?”
“You wanna pull a prank?”
“Okay, this is getting weird.”
I had determined that the sound was coming from the mound of food waste in the sink. Had someone actually put a speaker down there? Who did I know that would even do that? No one except my family knew where I lived, and I could bet my life on the fact that they wouldn’t dare come within a fifty-foot radius of this place, even for a prank.
So what kind of sick bastard would do this?
I armed myself with a cheese-crusted slotted spoon and peeled back a layer of dishes to reveal… I wasn’t really sure. It was sort of a congealed mass, half steeped in dirty sink water, surrounded on all sides by dishes with nothing but grossness in the middle. It was kind of a blob, a big food blob.
“There can’t be a camera down there, can there?”
“Camera? Who has a camera?” came the voice. From the blob. Of the blob. The blob was the voice.
I blinked rapidly. Was I dreaming? Was I so overworked that now I’d started having surreal lucid dreams? I decided to go with it for the moment.
“There’s no camera,” I said. “Just me.”
“Who’s you?” said the blob.
“Um, my name is Marley. I… live here?”
“Hi, Marley.” The voice was clear but young, like an older child. It sounded kind of like a boy, if I was going to give the blob in my sink a gender.
“Do you, uh, have a name?”
“No. But I hear them.”
“Oh… on the TV?”
“Yeah. There’s Michael and Jim and Dwight and Pam and Andy and Kevin…”
“Which do you like?”
“I like Gabe.”
“Gabe?” I wracked my brain for a character named Gabe. “That one character from, like, season six?”
“Sure, that one.”
“Okay… that’s your… name, then.” I couldn’t believe I was giving a name to a sentient blob. Wait, wasn’t this a dream? “Do you… come from someplace?”
“I don’t know.”
“You grew in my sink, didn’t you?”
“Well, I’ve always been here. You must be the one who feeds me the good air.”
The Ozium? Holy shit, was my mom right all along about it being toxic? “Um, yeah, that’s me, I guess.”
“I’ve been waiting to speak with you.”
“Um, you have?”
“Yes. I just had to learn how first. You see, I want more.”
“Of the good air. And the good sounds.”
“You want me to feed you more Ozium… and watch more TV.”
“Yes. Exactly that.”
“What will happen if I do?” Was this going to be a Gremlin situation?
Yikes. Sounded like a Gremlin situation. “Um… into what?”
“I don’t know. Me?”
“You’re gonna eat me, aren’t you?”
“No, why would I do that? You feed me. You take care of me.”
Jeez, I had The Blob for a pet. I couldn’t even keep plants alive, and yet somehow I’d managed to accidentally create life. This was the weirdest dream ever. “That’s good to know. Okay, um… I’ll feed you in the morning. Is that okay?”
“I guess that’ll be fine.” A blob who’s passive-aggressive. How comforting.
“I just need to get to bed. I promise I’ll feed you in the morning.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Marley.”
I went to bed, half-laughing at the pure absurdity of it all. A sentient, Ozium-eating kitchen-sink food-waste blob named after Gabe from The Office?
I needed to stop falling asleep in front of the TV.
In the morning, I smiled at the recollection of my lucid dream as I showered and got ready for work, even though in the back of my mind, I felt a little weird.
I stopped by the kitchen on my way out, just to smile and laugh some more. “Just a dream,” I said.
“Good morning, Marley!” came a voice. From the sink.
I damn near had a panic attack. “No way. Oh, shit, it wasn’t a dream. Oh, no.”
“Do you have the good air?”
I walked over and looked at it. Er, him. It was exactly as he’d looked last night. It looked even weirder in the daylight. “Uh, yeah,” I said in a daze, and sprayed him liberally with Ozium. I half-expected a many-toothed mouth to open up and swallow it, but it just absorbed into him like it was… supposed to.
“Oh, wow, thank you! And the sounds?”
Zombie-like, I walked to the TV and turned on public broadcasting. “Enjoy,” I said.
“Wait! Where do you go during the day?”
“Work. Someone’s gotta pay the rent.”
“In an office?”
“Um, no. In a Pizza Hut. I’m gonna be late. Uh, have a good day, I guess?”
I left. I left the blob in my kitchen and went to work like it was just another day. An average, run of the mill, shitty day at the local Pizza Hut. The only thing that really made it bearable was the fact that Thomas was the shift manager. Thomas was a beautiful man. Smooth, chocolate skin, muscular arms, and an easy-going smile with perfect teeth. He was a year or two younger than me but he had such a confident swagger about him, and it made all the girls swoon.
He and I had been working together for two years. Of course, he’d gotten promoted way sooner, but I definitely didn’t care as much about this job as he did, even though by Pizza Hut standards I still did a pretty good job. I was also, and I quote, “Really good at cleaning things.” Thomas was well-aware of this, which is why he usually entrusted me with the tasks that no one else wanted to do. Like today, how I had to clean up puke in the boys’ bathroom. He’d given me that dazzling smile and told me I could go home fifteen minutes early if I did it, so I’d willingly gone like a sheep to the slaughter. Ugh, I was still gagging. Staring at Gabe the Blob was more appealing by comparison.
By the time I was off-work (we were slammed, so I didn’t get that fifteen minutes, but Thomas said it could be an IOU), I was anxious to get home. Maybe it had been a daydream? Remnants of the subconscious?
Nope. Third time’s the charm: there was a blob in my sink.
“Yep, I’m home,” I said, moving to the kitchen. Something had definitely happened since I’d been gone. Gabe had a face, kind of. The blob now had the rough outline of eyes, a nose, and a mouth, like one of those toys with the array of pins that you stick you face into to make an imprint. Minutes of fun.
“How was work?” he asked.
“Um… terrible. Fucking terrible. I mean, it normally is, but today I had to clean up puke.”
“The mouth stuff?”
“Yeah. But, I mean, overall it was average. How—How was your day?”
“Fantastic! The sounds were great, and I can kind of see, now. Speaking of, can I have more Ozium?”
How could I refuse that adorable face?
“So,” I said, getting a beer from the fridge and leaning against the counter adjacent to the sink. “You’re a blob that can talk. What am I supposed to do with you?”
“I don’t know. What do you usually do?”
“Watch TV. Drink. Pass out on the couch. While you’ve been… gestating?—ew, gross—that’s all I’ve been doing.”
“Well, that sounds good to me. I love that, actually. I love listening. I love talking, too. It took me so long to figure it out. I wasn’t sure if you talked, at first. I’d never heard you talk. I like your voice, though.”
“Wow. Thanks. And yeah, I talk. I guess there’s just never anyone to talk to, here. It’s pretty weird, actually. I can’t remember that last time I talked to someone outside of work.”
“You can talk to me all you want. I just like to listen.”
I thought about it. “What do I talk about?”
“Talk about you.”
“Um, okay. So, I’m twenty-four years old, I’m a college dropout, I’ve lived in this town my whole life, and I hate it, because everyone knows everyone here but no one knows me. But that’s so pathetic because I don’t even like anyone in this town, with the exception of maybe a few people. But I don’t wanna go anywhere else, either, so my life is just like… work, home, sleep, repeat. Occasionally I go over to my parents’ house for dinner upon request, but I don’t really like to. I’m the youngest, both my siblings are married with kids, and I’m kind of the black sheep in my family.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I don’t really fit in with them. Especially my parents, and to a certain extent, my brother and sister. They’re all really clean-cut and healthy and successful and their houses are really pretty and nice. I think my mom is clinically OCD, though she’d never admit it. And my dad is just super particular, though I think he mostly does it to appease my mom. But I’ve always been a mess. I hate cleaning, I hate the compulsion to be clean, or neat, or healthy, because it’s all a big show. They act like their shit doesn’t stink but it does. Everyone’s so uptight all the time and on each other’s asses and growing up I always equated that with how everything always had to be clean or the world would end.”
“Sounds like you’ve just got a different outlook.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I’d really gotten into it. I was kind of out of breath. “And now, I’ve gone and been so filthy that I actually spawned life. My mother would have a literal heart attack. I should probably be more upset about that, but I’m really just fascinated. And kind of impressed.”
“I am, too.”
“You wanna listen to the TV?”
So I watched Black Mirror while the blob listened. It felt a little weird, I’ll admit, having another… consciousness in the room. I even made comments to him now and again. I didn’t pass out on the couch this time, either. Around eleven, I turned off the TV, said goodnight to Gabe, and went to bed in my bed.
I’d forgotten how comfortable it was.
I had a new routine now: feed Gabe in the morning, turn on the TV, go to work, stare at the clock and/or Thomas until my shift was over, go home, tell Gabe about how shitty everything was, feed him, watch TV, go to bed.
On my next day off, I went shopping and stocked up on Ozium and margarita mix, the main components of our respective diets. Gabe grew a mouth a few days after I discovered him, and though we learned that I could basically feed him just about anything, he liked that damn odor eliminator the best.
On the plus side, the kitchen didn’t smell bad ever.
I paused in front of the Drano as I was passing down the cleaning aisle. Gabe was more than just a mouth, after all—he’d grown exponentially in the last week, actually, and was now a bust with clearly defined features. He basically looked like a guy who was made of greenish-grey Jell-o, and I still had no idea how he had a brain or organs or bones, but he was becoming more anthropomorphic by the day. He’d even aged to the point where he looked and sounded like a young adult instead of a kid.
What if he became mobile? What if he decided that Ozium wasn’t enough?
I quickly put the Drano in my basket and headed for the checkout.
I picked up some Chinese food on the way home and we watched Friends together. He’d learned how to laugh a few days ago and now he couldn’t get enough comedy. I had to admit, it was amusing. I found myself laughing out loud a lot more, too, when normally I would suppress a chuckle.
Huh. I guess laughing is a social thing.
Work continued to be a load of horse manure, but at least I had something to look forward to besides sleep. I mean, I still had Thomas to swoon over whenever we worked together, but beyond that I’d never anticipated much of anything.
I talked to Gabe about Thomas quite a bit, because who else was gonna listen? And for someone whose knowledge of human interactions was limited almost entirely to millennial sitcoms, he gave some darn good advice. And every day when I got home, he would ask, “Have you asked Thomas out yet?”
To which I would reply, “No, but [insert menial interaction here].”
Gabe was getting frustrated with me, I think. As close to frustrated as he was capable of getting. Heck, I was getting frustrated with myself.
It was time to stop floundering around.
I got dolled up extra pretty the next time I knew we were working the same shift. I even got a second opinion from Gabe. “How do I look?” I asked, turning in a circle.
“Ravishing,” he said. I was caught off-guard by that. Where had he learned that word? The TV, I guessed, but I never expected him to call me that.
Did he even know what it meant?
I spent most of my shift nervously watching the clock, waiting for Thomas to go on break, because that’s when he’d be in the best mood. As soon as he did, I stole away and acted like I was coming back from the bathroom. He was sitting on his phone in the break room, eating a sandwich.
“Hey, Thomas,” I said, standing in the doorway.
“Hey, Marls.” My work/general nickname. “What’s up?”
God, I felt like I was going to barf. “Hey, so, I was just wondering if, like… you’d wanna get dinner with me sometime?”
“Like on a date?”
“Um, yeah. Like a date, I guess.”
He chortled in that awkward way people do when they’re not sure whether or not something is a joke. “Uh, jeez, Marls, I’m really flattered. And you’re a nice girl. But, uh, I don’t date coworkers. I’m sorry. It’s just too much drama.”
“Oh. Yeah. Okay. I get it. Totally fine. Yeah, I’m just gonna… get back to work.” I speed-walked back to the kitchen, fighting tears. Rejection always hurt, but what hurt more was how he’d almost laughed at me, like I couldn’t be serious.
Why wouldn’t I be serious?
I avoided him for the rest of the day, which was really hard to do, seeing as though he was running the shift. I just kept my head down and made the damn pizzas. I just wanted to go home.
As soon as I entered the apartment, Gabe greeted me just like he always did. “Hi, Marley! Welcome home!”
I almost started crying right there. He was so sweet, like a dog who was always ecstatic to see you, even if you’d been gone for five minutes. To them, it might as well have been a hundred years.
“How did it go? You sound sad. Don’t tell me it went badly.”
I stood in the narrow doorway of the kitchen. “It went very badly,” I said, and then burst into tears.
“Oh, Marley, it’s okay. Come on, don’t cry.”
I honestly really wanted to cry into his shoulder, but he was basically gelatinous, and though I’d never touched him, I imagined that if I did it would be like crying into a bowl of Jell-O.
“Screw that guy,” he continued. “What an asshole. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“He doesn’t date coworkers, he said,” I blubbered, coming into the center of the kitchen. “But he went out with Ashley Brady last year. They dated for two months and then she quit Pizza Hut because she got a better job at a warehouse. It had nothing to do with their relationship.”
“You don’t need a guy like that,” he said, visibly angered. Ever since he’d grown arms last week, he used them to convey a full range of expression. Right now, his hands were balled into fists, resting on the edge of the sink. “It’s bullshit. You’re too good for him. You’re funny, and sweet, and loyal, and beautiful. If he can’t see that, then he’s not worth it.”
“You’re the only one who thinks so,” I said.
“Well, I guess it’s ‘cause I bothered to get to know you.”
“You didn’t really have much of a choice.”
“No. I did. I could’ve disappeared down the garbage disposal weeks ago. But I didn’t want to. I like being here, with you.”
“Really.” He reached his hand forward and then hesitated. I didn’t move. He gently brought his palm to the side of my face. It was much warmer and more solid than I expected. It didn’t feel like goo. It felt like a really soft hand.
From that day on, I treated Thomas just like anyone else. I didn’t try as hard at work, either, especially when he was there. I knew he could tell things were awkward now, but what did I care? They should be. He’d made them that way.
Meanwhile, Gabe and I started having more and more fun. I set up this crazy mirror system so he could see the TV from the kitchen, and we started watching more movies: good ones, bad ones, funny ones, scary ones. He thought The Thing was hilarious and that The Wizard of Oz was scary. I started playing music for him, too, and taught him how to play chess. He could hold onto things that were lightweight, and it seemed like he was getting more solid by the day. He went through a can of Ozium every three to four days but it seemed like his growing schedule had leveled out some—he was a torso with a head and arms, and it didn’t look like he’d be growing legs anytime soon.
He didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t mind much of anything at all, really. He was so easy-going and happy all the time. I envied him for it. He probably could’ve stayed right there for the rest of time and been perfectly content.
“You know,” I said one day, “what if we moved?”
“To a better apartment. With a bigger kitchen, one that was open to the living room.”
“I think that would be great.”
“Do you think much about the future?”
“I dunno. Do you have any goals, any dreams? I know you’ve only existed for a few months, really, but you could live years and years and years.”
“I don’t know.” He looked confused. “I’m just happy to be here.”
I smiled, but I began to wonder what, exactly, the future would look like with him.
“What about you?” he asked. “What are your goals?”
“I don’t really know, either,” I admitted. “I guess to be as little like my parents as possible. Which, I mean, I think I’ve succeeded. They obsess over killing bacteria. I care so little about it living that I let some morph into a soul. “
“You think I have a soul?” We’d had a fun conversation about that after I’d made him watch Twilight, but I hadn’t been able to give him a straight answer then.
Now I felt like I could. “Yes. I think you have a soul.”
“And I think you’re amazing.”
I stopped thinking. I leaned forward and kissed him, softly, on the lips. They were warm and soft like his hand had been, not slimy or gooey, and he tasted like Ozium, which wasn’t the worst thing ever in this case. He pulled back in alarm, and I did, too.
“Why did you do that?” he asked.
“I—I don’t know. It just felt right.”
“Isn’t that something you only do when you’re attracted to someone?”
“I mean, yeah, generally.”
“So you’re attracted to me?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I like you a lot. I feel closer to you than to anyone, ever. Maybe I am attracted to you. Is that a crime?”
He leaned forward and kissed me, this time. He put one hand against my face and the other on my arm and we made out. The longer we did, the more solid and real he felt. When we pulled away, we were both breathless.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
I looked at him and at the disaster that was my kitchen and suddenly felt an overwhelming tide of hopelessness. I sank to the ground. “I don’t know, Gabe.” I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
You made out with a blob. You kissed kitchen grease. You sucked face with food waste.
I didn’t regret it, but it was a difficult thing to cope with, that was for sure. It felt so wrong yet so right. Gabe wasn’t just kitchen grease. He was a person with a consciousness. Wasn’t he?
But after the fact, he’d left red marks on my arm, not bruises but burns, and it made me wonder if I was allergic to him or if he was too toxic to touch. It hadn’t hurt while we were kissing. It hadn’t hurt after, either. They were just marks on the skin, and they faded after a couple days.
I told him we shouldn’t kiss again until I’d figured this out, and he reluctantly agreed. I went to work, we watched our movies, I fed him his Ozium. We didn’t talk about it again, though I could tell it was on both of our minds. Had I ruined our friendship? Was he going to disappear down the drain now?
I couldn’t imagine losing him.
I couldn’t imagine life without him.
Three days after the kiss, he randomly asked me to come talk to him during a viewing of Alien. I obliged, feeling butterflies take flight in my stomach as I approached the kitchen.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry for making you feel things you didn’t wanna feel. It’s just that I think so highly of you,” he said.
“Me, too,” I said. “You’re just, like, the first real companion I’ve ever had. And I didn’t have to do anything to get you. You just appeared.”
“You made me.”
“You’re the reason I’m not just something in the sink. You cared about me.”
“I love you.” It was so abrupt that I clamped a hand over my mouth.
He stared at me, wide-eyed. “Y-You do?”
He grabbed me by the arms and pulled me to him, and we started making out again. It went on forever this time. Neither of us seemed willing to stop. When I pulled away, it was because I felt lightheaded. I realized my lip was bleeding.
“Oh, jeez, your lip,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it.” There was blood around his mouth. My blood. He didn’t feel it?
“It’s okay.” I smiled. “Never been kissed so hard my lip split open. Lemme go clean it up.” I went to the bathroom. My own reflection startled me. I was so pale. And it wasn’t just my lip that was bleeding—there were sores all around and inside my mouth, and even on my arms where he’d gripped me, just like before. Only this time, they started hurting.
Oh, no, I thought. Oh, shit.
I started shaking. I sat on the toilet, trying to hold it together. Rummaging around under the sink, I pulled out the bottle of Drano I had bought all those weeks ago. I held it in unsteady hands.
“Marley?” came Gabe’s voice. “Are you okay?”
I looked up. I forced myself to clean up and walk to the kitchen. I had the bottle of Drano behind my back.
“That looks much better,” he said.
“Do you feel alive?” I asked him.
“What? Yeah, of course I do.”
“Do you feel more alive now that you’ve kissed me?”
“I feel incredible. I feel like I could fly.”
“Why aren’t there any mice in my kitchen?”
“Why aren’t there any roaches, or flies, or ants, or anything else alive?” With every word, my voice rose in intensity.
He finally understood. “You weren’t always around to feed me, you know.”
“And now I am. Was this you goal all along? Was this your dream?”
“Marley, you know I could never hurt you. I just want to live. I just want to be with you.”
“Then prove it. Kiss me without hurting me.”
For half a second, he hesitated. Then, he leaned forward and kissed me, first gently, then more passionately. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into him, and for the first time ever, he felt gooey. He was enveloping me, suffocating me. He was going to consume me.
I tried to pull away, but I was stuck. From behind my back, I uncapped the Drano and squirted it upwards. He recoiled instantly and started screaming, staring at his now half-dissolved hand.
“All this time, you wanted to eat me, didn’t you?”
“No, no, not eat you,” he said. “Be with you. With each other. I can’t live in your sink forever, Marley, we both know that. Don’t you wanna be together? This is the only way!”
“No,” I said, tears streaming down my face. “No it’s not.”
“It won’t hurt. You won’t feel a thing.”
“You’re a monster. You’re The Blob.” Now there’s a movie we never watched. Maybe because it hit a little too close to home.
“You know that’s not true. You said yourself that I had a soul. Don’t you trust me?”
I paused. I shouldn’t have, but I did.
“Marley,” he said, reaching out with his good hand. “I love—”
I poured the entire bottle of Drano on him. I watched him collapse in on himself, bubbling and dissolving, yelling in pain like any mortal soul would. He kept reducing until he was nothing but a pile of sludge in my sink, like the first time I’d ever seen him. I washed it down the garbage disposal, and just like that, he was gone. Nothing but a low gurgle in the depths of the drainage pipe.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.” I gagged and threw up in the sink, crying at the same time.
No amount of Ozium was going to fix this mess, nor was I ever going to use that stuff again.
Good thing my parents taught me how to clean.
So… that happened. Obviously I wouldn’t have posted it if I didn’t believe in it a little, but I feel like I really need some feedback on this utterly weird attempt at sci-fi horror. Please be honest and constructive, and if you absolutely hated it, tell me why.
You can’t survive in this industry without a thick skin, and I’ll confess: I can be one thin-skinned snowflake. But no longer! *cue triumphant music*
©Words and Other Malarky