Read Online The Unexpected Occurrence of Thaddeus Hobble by Gareth Wiles - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gareth Wiles
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from below melted it. I stayed silent, just watching in awe as she went about this basic task. Was this to be our first meal together as a loving couple?
Without a single word uttered between us, Lauren brought out a knife and stepped up to me. I looked at her â the first time Iâd seen her this close in a long time â and felt utterly terrified. She took hold of my penis and slashed it clean off with the knife. I couldnât feel it, I was in complete shock, watching on as she tossed the severed object into the frying pan and cooked it. Blood bubbled and spat and my penis became all burnt and hard. When Lauren decided it was cooked enough, she removed the pan from the stove and pricked my cooked penis out with a fork. She marched back over to me, opened my mouth and forced it into it. The searing heat of it at once burnt the inside of my mouth, and then choked me as Lauren forced it further down my throat with the fork. She stepped back, smiling, as I writhed in agony and jerked my neck back and forth to try and dislodge the charred remains of my manhood. Blood poured out of the stump betwixt my legs and I felt no more air enter my lungs.
It was a few minutes more before Laurenâs smile turned to a frown as she perhaps became upset at my lack of death. I too was puzzled why I had yet to succumb to this torture. She grabbed hold of the knife and buried it into my chest, leaving it there, as I again wriggled and writhed in pain. Still death did not come. My attacker began looking very stressed and overwhelmed with the situation, for the first time ever letting her hair down as she pulled at it. It hung completely over her face, concealing it, as she lunged forward and pulled the knife from my chest. Frantically she thrust at her own chest with the weapon, stabbing herself a dozen or more times as I carried on choking. Soon she fell in a heap, throwing the knife at me with her last ounce of strength and clutching at the wounds on her chest. She fell backwards, hitting her head on the stove and rolling forward onto her side. I stayed, hanging there, the choking a constant sensation for a week or more as Laurenâs body rotted in front of me.
It was not until the stench of her decaying corpse, which had so filled my own nostrils for endless days, raised some villagers that I was freed. My body was completely drained of blood and the sorcery of my survival was quick to fill their minds. I was indeed lucky to survive â they sealed the stumpy wound that was once my penis with salt.
* * *
So here I am, on Beagle, with no penis. I think constantly of Lauren, the woman who I saw in my dreams and fell in love with only to watch her kill herself and turn to a maggot-eaten pile of stinky sludge. She was the never girl â the only penis she had ever touched was the one sheâd quickly dashed off with a knife and cooked. In some ways that drew me closer to her; she had been able, right at the end of her life, to touch a naked man. I am that man, and it was worth losing my penis over.
To try and give my life meaning this far along is utterly pointless. I just repeat what I have done the previous day, and follow orders. My very brief moments of rest are used up, as I say, with thinking over my past. I say past, but it would feel more natural to say pasts. It sounds perfectly mad to surmise that I do not feel this has been or will be my only life. I have been unable to get to the bottom of the idea, but I do feel that I have been here, on this Earth, before â and will be again. I sense that I know things and have many other life experiences, but cannot completely remember. It is an aching sort of feeling. I am wholly alone in these thoughts, with not one single friendly shipmate to discuss them with. I have only briefly come close to making a friend, but I scuppered any burgeoning connection. Charles his name is; one of those geologists who think they see things that arenât immediately there.
Without a single word uttered between us, Lauren brought out a knife and stepped up to me. I looked at her â the first time Iâd seen her this close in a long time â and felt utterly terrified. She took hold of my penis and slashed it clean off with the knife. I couldnât feel it, I was in complete shock, watching on as she tossed the severed object into the frying pan and cooked it. Blood bubbled and spat and my penis became all burnt and hard. When Lauren decided it was cooked enough, she removed the pan from the stove and pricked my cooked penis out with a fork. She marched back over to me, opened my mouth and forced it into it. The searing heat of it at once burnt the inside of my mouth, and then choked me as Lauren forced it further down my throat with the fork. She stepped back, smiling, as I writhed in agony and jerked my neck back and forth to try and dislodge the charred remains of my manhood. Blood poured out of the stump betwixt my legs and I felt no more air enter my lungs.
It was a few minutes more before Laurenâs smile turned to a frown as she perhaps became upset at my lack of death. I too was puzzled why I had yet to succumb to this torture. She grabbed hold of the knife and buried it into my chest, leaving it there, as I again wriggled and writhed in pain. Still death did not come. My attacker began looking very stressed and overwhelmed with the situation, for the first time ever letting her hair down as she pulled at it. It hung completely over her face, concealing it, as she lunged forward and pulled the knife from my chest. Frantically she thrust at her own chest with the weapon, stabbing herself a dozen or more times as I carried on choking. Soon she fell in a heap, throwing the knife at me with her last ounce of strength and clutching at the wounds on her chest. She fell backwards, hitting her head on the stove and rolling forward onto her side. I stayed, hanging there, the choking a constant sensation for a week or more as Laurenâs body rotted in front of me.
It was not until the stench of her decaying corpse, which had so filled my own nostrils for endless days, raised some villagers that I was freed. My body was completely drained of blood and the sorcery of my survival was quick to fill their minds. I was indeed lucky to survive â they sealed the stumpy wound that was once my penis with salt.
* * *
So here I am, on Beagle, with no penis. I think constantly of Lauren, the woman who I saw in my dreams and fell in love with only to watch her kill herself and turn to a maggot-eaten pile of stinky sludge. She was the never girl â the only penis she had ever touched was the one sheâd quickly dashed off with a knife and cooked. In some ways that drew me closer to her; she had been able, right at the end of her life, to touch a naked man. I am that man, and it was worth losing my penis over.
To try and give my life meaning this far along is utterly pointless. I just repeat what I have done the previous day, and follow orders. My very brief moments of rest are used up, as I say, with thinking over my past. I say past, but it would feel more natural to say pasts. It sounds perfectly mad to surmise that I do not feel this has been or will be my only life. I have been unable to get to the bottom of the idea, but I do feel that I have been here, on this Earth, before â and will be again. I sense that I know things and have many other life experiences, but cannot completely remember. It is an aching sort of feeling. I am wholly alone in these thoughts, with not one single friendly shipmate to discuss them with. I have only briefly come close to making a friend, but I scuppered any burgeoning connection. Charles his name is; one of those geologists who think they see things that arenât immediately there.
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