This is a story I started during the Nanowrimo Marathon on April 12, 2014. Current word count is 2600 words, but it’s not finished. I will be posting the story in parts of about 600-1000 words, twice a week. As I write new parts, I’ll also post those.
A big, bobble-head nod to the movies, Alien and Body Snatchers, and the books by David Wong that influenced this write.
I hope you like it.
Links to previously parts of It Didn’t Have to End Like This:
Where was I? Oh, yes. You’re from another dimension. I found your portal – the one in back of the Starbuck’s on McArthur Blvd. The one behind the bags of espresso beans. I shut it down. I have no idea why a double-tall caramel latte can sever the connection, but it did. If coffee defeats you, it’s a real bummer that you opened the portal in a coffee shop. Anyway that portal is gone, but I bet you have others, eh?
Good choice on the wine, I must say.
Oh, I also stomped four of your little cousins who had just popped through. They squish easy when they are small. Never knew what hit them, boot to head. I’m guessing everyone who works at that Starbucks is crabbed. I got out. That was this afternoon, right before I came here, to meet you and your crab.
Actually, I’m not saying you have a brain crab. I think the crab has fully taken over, eaten the entire brain and Karen and everything that made her who she was is gone forever. I think you are all crab, looking at me with little crabby eyes, thinking little crabby thoughts, right now.
I have dominated the conversation, haven’t I? You talk for a while and let me enjoy this wine. It is good wine.
Vanity. I wonder if humanity simply inbred with itself so much that this defect became a common attribute, like earlobes that connect at the bottom or eyebrows that grow together or the ability to do the split-finger Vulcan sign for live long and prosper, or not. It’s amazing they have survived this far without our help.
There is much that Woodrow has gotten wrong but I let him speak. I let him reconcile one inaccuracy with another and continue to tell his version of reality, warped and insensitive though it is. One of the things he is right about is the wine – it is quite excellent.
He is looking at me, expecting me to say something. He thinks he has been provoking. I’ll continue to let him think so.
Yes, Woodrow. The wine is the best I have had, but I think you have a saying; men are like wine – some turn to vinegar, but others improve with age. By You I mean the human race. I don’t mean you. I imagine you think a box of Boones Farm Blackberry Ridge is just some, oh, how might you say it? Some fine, fancy drinkin’.
My brother you encountered at the hospital – his name was Edward, the same name as the boy. It is always the same name as the host. You are correct in the assumption that there was something wrong with him, but it’s not something as obsolescent as being a serial killer.
When we occupy a host, we have appendages that extend into the body to facilitate voluntary and involuntary actions. Edward did not fully develop the appendage that extends down to the intestinal tract. Therefore, Edward’s defecation backed up into the cranium where he resided. The more he ate of the host brain and defecated, the more revolting his situation became, until he found it unbearable.
Yes, that is funny, Woodrow. Shit for brains. You are funny. But Edward was driven mad by his situation, until he did something that would be unthinkable otherwise. It wasn’t a madness of cruelty. It was desperation and nothing more or less. Believe it or not, we have a great respect for life. Still, Edward became a liability and we had to take him out. That’s what we did.
Now, I’ll share this with you, more for me than for your benefit. Edward was in my brood. When I call him my brother, I mean he really was close family. We hatched together – me, Edward and four-thousand-two hundred and three other brothers.
Is that a tear on my cheek? It is. I miss my brood. Everyone is so busy, we almost never see each other. Life is strange, so strange. Is it not?
Would you like some more wine?
–end of part four–
© 2014, Mitch Lavender