Monday, April 7, 2014

"And Their Days Consumed in Futility"

Sam swiped the brush across the battered cordovan laceups. Back and forth. "Once these are perfectly shined, I'll be able to leave."

Claudius moaned as a python-sized worm slid down his throat, out his sundered chest cavity, and back up to his mouth.

"Laws? Morality? I never let them get between me and excellence. Damn 'em all." Back and forth.

Claudius groaned.

"Sorry. Figure of speech. But who cares? I'll be out soon." Back and forth.

The worm's tail cleared Claudius' teeth, and before its head slithered in, he rasped, "Missed a spot. Again."

Sam could've sworn he was smiling.


B. Nagel said...

Very nice. I admit I'm lost on Sam, but I'm fairly certain that this is uncle-father Cladius, late of Denmark. Worms.

Loren Eaton said...

B.! You live!

Sam is just a guy who thinks he can polish his way out of hell. Google the title and you'll see that I was trying to imagine a rather unique torment.