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In Sickness and Health // Till Death Rips Out Your Heart.

by Shephard

Operator: 111 Emergency, what service do you require?
Me: *pants* Police… I need to report a robbery.
Operator: One moment, I’ll put you through to police area comms.

[Phone clicks, dialtones are heard, a person answers.]

Comms: Police, how can I assist you?
Me: …I’ve been robbed. A robbery.
Comms: Okay sir, are you in any immediate danger?
Me: No, I… I think she’s gone.
Comms: Okay, are you having any trouble maintaining this conversation or any coherence whatsoever?
Me: I have my faculties about me. I’ve been robbed — not lobotomised.
Comms: Of course, sir. Can you please describe the person who robbed you and how they managed to do so?
Me: 5′ 7″, 50 kilos soaking wet, long dark hair and eyes greener than the Emerald Isle. She… She took me by surprise. I didn’t expect it, not from her at least. She… stole my hea-

[Breathing becomes ragged, coughs up blood.]

Comms: Sir, can you hear me?
Me: *breathes heavily* My heart. She ripped out my fuckin’ heart.
Comms: Okay sir, I need you to take deep breaths and repeat what you just said to me for clarification.
Me: SHE RIPPED OUT MY FUCKING HEART!
Comms: Sir, try to remain calm. Help is on its way. Is… *shudders* Is your heart still attached to your body?
Me: No, she took off with it since she robbed me, remember? I have a baked potato hooked up to where my heart used to be.
Comms: You’re not making any sense right now, sir?
Me: Of course I’m not — the only reason I’m talking to you is because a veggie is keeping my blood pumping through some mystical bullshit, and this woman has run off with my heart to use in some Pagan ritual.

[Sirens are heard in the distance, growing closer at a great speed.]

Comms: Sir, an ambulance will be there to assist you shortly and a patrol car is accompanying them. Stay with me and inform me of any changes in your condition.
Me: You’re the boss…
Comms: What’s your name?
Me: Tom. My name’s Tom.
Comms: I’m Marcella. Nice to meet you, Tom.
Me: The pleasure’s all mine.

[The sirens abruptly stop, crashes are heard, two of them in rapid succession.]

Me: …the fuck is happening out there?
Comms: That’s odd. Both the ambo and squad car have gone off my screen. Can you see them, Tom?
Me: Kinda hard with all these buildings in the way, but I do see flashing lights.
Comms: Okay Tom, that’s them. Everything is going to be okay.
Me: Right… and I’m definitely not going to bleed out in ten minutes from a soggy potato.

[A police car fully alight rolls past the alleyway, followed by an ambulance smeared in blood.]

Me: Marcella, your ambo and patrol car just went past, but the cops and paramedics are all dead.
Comms: What?! Are y-you sure?
Me: Yes, ma’am. I think she’s on her way back to finish the job.
Comms: Who the hell is she?
Me: The Angel of Death with a body tighter than U.S. Border regulations.
Comms: [Muttering under her breath] This can’t be happening… This isn’t possible.
Me: Sweetheart, it’s happening. Hey, do me a favour and get the score from tonight’s rugby game etched on my headstone.
Comms: What’re you on about?! Tom? None of this makes any sense?!

[A loud howling followed by an unearthly screech is heard, the phone falls silent.]

Me: Took you long enough. You gonna give me back my heart or what, you miserable little *****?
Woman: *chews heartily* No darling — you’re not getting it back.
Me: Heh. You never could cook for yourself, and the times you did, I could swear someone had died in the process. That smell…
Woman: You really do like inciting violence upon yourself, don’t you?
Me: I’m kinky like that.

[The woman picks Tom up with one arm, poised to finish him off.]

Woman: Any last words, oh lover of mine?
Me: Remind your “daddy” not to send anymore messages without sealing them in a French letter. Oh, and you have stink feet.
Woman: *screams*

~

In nomine Doritos Dominus, et Filét, et S’ghetti & Meatballs.

Glory be to the Colonel, Wendy and Burger King.

Hail Wendy, full of taste, the horde shall visit thee
Blessed art thou among pensioners, and blessed is the funds of thy bank account
Holy Wendy, mother of Nom, pity us fatties, now and at the hour of our untimely death

Our Colonel, who art in Kentucky
Fatty be your game
To Kingdom come
Our waistlines done
Like pregnancy as it is when obese

Give us this day our daily bucket
And forgive us our Subway
As we forgive those who Subway against us
And lead us not from Jenny Craig
But deliver us from procrastination

Amen.

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5 comments

Hazy Day Sunflower 12/17/2015 - 8:35 am

Ah the neighbourhood. Nice. Your stories are so descriptive. If you keep walking forward there is a woman waiting to give your heart back. Just a few steps forward. She is looking for you even now.

Shephard 12/17/2015 - 8:38 am

I’ll bleed out ‘fore I even catch a glimpse of her. That right there is fact, ma’am.

Hazy Day Sunflower 12/17/2015 - 9:06 am

Not with the potato heart you wont. She’s walking your way. She knows you have a potato timer.

alexia 12/17/2015 - 8:52 am

this is goddamn beautiful…

Lacedwithpain 12/17/2015 - 11:22 pm

so good, thank you

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