I awoke this morning with an idea for a short story, and this is what I have so far. I think it is time to start working on another compilation of stories and poems. Enjoy the start of The Jaws of Life.
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As I stood before those masticating jaws, I suddenly knew that I couldn’t do it.
“I can’t,” I said to the gate agent.
“Excuse me?” he asked. He wore a red jacket with a little mouth pin speared through the lapel.
“I can’t walk inside that mouth, and let that thing eat me.”
“Uhhh,” said the gate agent. His toupee reminded me of a snake trying to swallow an egg.
I looked around for my clothes and saw them in a black garbage bag in the waiting area, so I started walking toward them.
“Wait, what are you doing? He is expecting someone! You’ve been prepared!”
My skin was saturated with butter, and black pepper fell from my graying locks.
“I just can’t,” I said. Part of me wanted to apologize, but I couldn’t. Not with those peg-like teeth and that giant tongue still visible beyond the threshold.
“What am I supposed to say to Him? They’ll make me talk to him, you know! I’ll be the poor sap that has to give an explanation! Look out there! Look at him! Does He look like something you’d want to climb up on a giant escalator and shout inside the ear of? Because that’s my day now, buddy. All thanks to you.”
I looked outside the window and saw Him sitting there, cross-legged on the tarmac, giant hands resting folded in his lap.
“I’m sorry. I can tell them that it isn’t your fault.”
“Of course it’s not! It’s yours! What you can do, buddy, is get back over here and climb past the threshold, and start your journey to the Great Beyond, like every other sixty-year old man! You think you’re the first person to have reservations about climbing inside of a giant mouth? It’s what we do, though, alright? It’s part of the deal we struck with the Gods. It’s the only way to the Great Beyond. You want to see your wife, right? Your parents? All your deceased loved ones? Then stop chickening out and get the fuck over here!”
All while he spoke, his volume had crescendoed from a whisper to a shout. I went over to the bag and put my clothes on, ignoring how the greasy butter made me feel. I knew that part of my hesitation was due to the fact that my system had always resisted the effects of hallucinaginc drugs. Yet who could die this way? Years of propaganda tried to prepare the mind for this gruesome end. However, the sight of that open maw quivering with anticipation filled my mind with more fear than I could even contemplate.
“I’m going home,” I told the gate agent.
He threw up his hands and shook his head, the toupee threatening to come loose from his skull.
“No one will pick you up from here. This is supposed to be a one way ticket. And you have to wear this now. No buts.”
With one quick motion, he slapped a sticker directly on the center of my forehead. I knew what it said.
Heretic.
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