Saturday, June 9, 2012

The Voyages Of The S.S. Amore (pt.3)

Part I
Part II


The Voyages Of The S.S. Amore (pt.3)
by
J.R. Fogle

almost getting knocked to the ground by two running gothy looking punk kids in the process.
Eventually Gavin made it back to his cabin, though certain parts of his journey seemed a bit of a blur. Leaning his head against the cool metal of the door he gathered his thoughts and desperately tried to will himself back to sobriety. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to have given himself that much liquid courage for the task that lay ahead of him. But from the looks of the largish wine stain on the floor in front of door, he wasn’t the only one who tied one on. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle on the door and stepped inside.
Susan was facing away from him on the cabin’s narrow bed. She didn't even turn in his direction when he stepped into the room. Instead she sat hunched over with her head almost down by her lap. Her shoulders were hitching a bit and she was making that (rather disgusting sounding) slurping sob that she always made when she was truly upset and crying.
“Hello my love,” He said as he sat down on the opposite side of the bed from her, his body turned so he was half facing her. She stiffened a bit as he sat and then went back to making that sucking, snotty sounding noise. Gavin felt his stomach turn a bit at the sound, but he took a hard swallow and continued.
“Susan, I am so sorry for how I acted at that Finnegan's place. It was boorish of me to flirt back with that waitress, it's just that....well, I can't help myself sometimes. You can't understand what it's like to be an internationally recognized cricket player. Being famous has always gone to my head a bit and it's difficult not to react to some people's positive energy with some energy of my own. But it was inappropriate and I apologize.
“That said though, there are some things you should know,” he continued, looking warily over at where she sat. From the sounds of it she had gone from sobbing to grinding her teeth. Not a good sign considering what he was about to reveal. “The day you agreed to be my bride was the proudest of my life. Landing you was my greatest accomplishment, even greater than when I [insert prestigious cricket award here]. But that pride was tinged with more than a little guilt.
“You see, Susan,” he stammered. “I may not have been as faithful as I should have been whilst travelling. Being famous has certain drawbacks. Groupies are a big one and we all know that cricket really brings out the fire in some women. It's like spending all day being handed cake after sweet, delicious cake. Eventually even the Pope would take a bite.
“But those are in the past. The reason I bring this up at all is so that our marriage can start on a bed of honesty and not one of animal lust and deception. Also because you may have caught an STD or two from me.”
Gavin paused and waited for Susan to erupt in her typical fashion. Instead she let out extremely loud and horrific fart. Gagging slightly and resisting the urge to berate her for such inconsiderate behavior, mostly because he was in the middle of telling her about his various infectious diseases, he soldiered on.
“There are the herpes, of course. Though I would inform you that almost every member of the human race has herpes of one form or another. Babies come fresh out of the womb riddled with herpes. The chlamydia is treatable. The gonorrhea can be a bit tricky, I once got an infection in the back of my throat. Ha ha! I have no idea how that got there.”
Susan didn't say a word, just went back to hunching and gnashing and slobbering. Gavin began to get annoyed.
“I say Susan, are you even listening?” he reached over and shook her shoulder. Her head snapped around and bit hard onto the side of his hand. Gavin yelled as she tore a chunk of flesh from out of him, blood coursed down his arm and splattered onto the sheets.
“What the hell?” he reeled back away from Susan and sat hard on the floor cradling his wounded hand. “That's my bowling hand!”
Susan stood and slowly turned. Where it wasn’t smeared with glistening blood, her face was ashen gray. The muscles around the jaw were slack. The expression in her eyes was a curious mixture of dullness and rage. And hunger. She dropped some poor sod's forearm, which she had been busy eating while Gavin poured his heart out to her, and began to crawl across the bed.
“What kind of VD is that?” he asked, bewildered.
The undead thing that was once Susan lunged.

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