Two

Chapter two of TENTACLE.

Jeff was the pure and unholy embodiment of a man who had stopped caring. It wasn't that he didn’t like life; she had been fair to him for the most part as an individual, grown in an opulent family who catered to his every whim and spoiled him unconditionally. It was more so that he didn’t give much of a damn. He had drifted throughout college, completing his assignments here and there, dropping out of many classes and in the end dropping out of the societal view of success entirely. He now worked as a clerk at a home goods department store.

His head was a clear dome.  

Tory opened the front door of his second floor apartment for him and watched his friends jaw come unlatched from the base of his lower face. “Holy s**t. Where the f**k is your arm? I thought you were just screwing with me.”

For the first millisecond of his life, Tory had now witnessed some type of sentiment from his friend. "You think I’d know that? And I never use the name of Mathew's in vain," Then, "Damn, I don’t even remember what happened last night. I just completely dazed out.” 

He had tried to retain, to claw out from the depths of his young mind some rational explanation to what was transpiring. Had he even been to a party the previous night? Or had he been at work, toiling out the midnight shift?

Jeff, jaw still dangling haphazardly, was not helping in the least bit. Tory did not know if he had been surprised by the tentacle, or by the muddled nature of his living room: two sofas providing makeshift clothes hangers and a shelf brimming with antiquities he had collected from quaint shops scattered throughout the city. 

  

“Dude, you have a f*****g tentacle growing out of you.” Jeff said with an air of puzzlement and unbridled wonder. 

“I can see that. How do you think I feel?”

“Can I touch it?”

Tory noticed that Jeff was still donning a pair of woolen pajamas, stained by some miscellaneous fluid near the bottom, the material frayed at spots as if he’d been wearing them since his prenatal days. 

Jeff added, “Like, will it hurt you? If I touch it?”

“I don’t think that’s very ethical.”

“Nothing about this is ethical."

“I really don’t know. Go ahead.”

The tentacle writhed and convulsed on its own, as if struggling against the possession of its new host and was beginning to secrete a pungent, oceanic odor, pervading both their nostrils like an unwanted wisp of winter air. 

Jeff proposed a finger to prod the corral pink flesh.

  Halfway to its destination, he halted the finger, muttered a ‘F*****g nasty‘ and proceeded with his approach. The second the padding of his skin contacted the tentacle Tory jerked it back, not in pain, although having felt some strange sensation, a spasmodic jolt of ticklish quality, and an untimely giggle almost escaped his lips. 

Jeff fumbled back a step. "How did that feel? Did it hurt?"

"Not at all. Just something strange. I don't know. This is getting weirder by the second."

“Bathroom’s next to the bedroom right?” Jeff said.

“Yes. Dude, our apartments are almost identical.”

Jeff pushed him aside, “I’m going to wash. That s**t could be contagious. Next thing, I’ll be growing an antennae out of my head.”

In the bathroom, a faucet turned on and someone scoured their hands, wittling down a bar of soap. Jeff returned, “That Dove s**t really works good.”

“I’m not contagious.”

“You don’t know that. Listen man, sorry, but I have to fly.”

Jeff headed for the door. Tory moved to conceal the exit, “Where?”

“My parents are coming over in three hours and I have to prepare some damn breakfast for them.”

“You can’t cook for your life.”

“Bread and butter? Not so hard.”

“What about me?” Tory said.

“Well, you better do something to hide that thing. I’ll be back. Jeez, don’t throw a hissy-fit.”

“Swear to....?” Tory was cut off prematurely.

 

Jeff, rushing down the hallway, responded, “Yeah, yeah.”

 

He closed the door and plopped himself onto the overloaded, unkempt sofa. He motioned the tentacle up and down repeatedly, touched it with his regular hand, producing the same strange sensation again, less potent now. It appeared as if the coating of the tentacle was now breathing, sucking in oxygen and then expanding to exhale. He saw this, but could not feel anything. 

Last night, last night, last night. He had been at a party, heavily drinking and intaking alcohol so much that one hushed breath would have rendered a breathalyzer futile. No, no, no. He hadn't been at a party at all; nor had he been drinking anything pernicious to his health. Or had he been at a party?  

His gaze drifted towards the tiled ceiling. There was work today: a commute on the bus heading downtown, three hours as a cashier and customer service employee at a fish shop. Why? Why?

The pink flesh sighed.  

   

Author's Note

Thoughts?

Reviews

[compositionc]

WHAT THE F**K IS GOING ON WITH THE F*****G TENTACLE?!?!?!

It's scarring and scaring the living crap outta me...

[crazysox]

It's amazing! A little more detail, maybe, but I love it so far. :)

[Joe Shetina]

“Dude, you have a f*****g tentacle growing out of you... Can I touch it?”

The best.