Sunday Scribblings, Weird

The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is weird.


You could tell it was alive from the various noises that emanated from it: a burst of belches, an occasional snore, wet and ominous farts and the ragged intake and expelling of breath.
You could surmise that it might be female, since a huge swell of what only could be breasts rose and fell with each mouthful of air.
It was dressed head-to-toe in filthy layers of cotton clothing, topped off with a mink coat that suffered from mange. On its feet were miss-matched boots, one a woman’s slip-on boot in leather and fringed with sheepskin, the other an ancient Doc Martin 8-eye combat boot, the black scuffed and worn into natty gray.
It sat on a bench near the vending machines, on a popular stop on the A Line.
And this being Gotham, natives were content to ignore the lump and blissfully go about their day without a care.
It was the tourists, especially those drawn to the bright lights of the big city from rural confines that it hunted.
He stumbled down to the platform, studying a subway map in one hand and clutching a unlimited rail card in the other.
The slap of leather on the concrete steps perked up its auxiliary antennae.
He wore a I (HEART) Gotham T-shirt over a short-sleeved light blue oxford shirt completed with a clumsy knotted maroon tie.
He shuffled the camera around his neck - a film camera no less – slung it to the small of his back and stuffed the subway map into the back of his Sansabelt slacks. He fumbled with his change, bending toward the soda machine to gauge his choices.
“Spare your change?” it said, thrusting a knit-mitten covered appendage forward and jingled loose change in a blue-and-white paper coffee cup.
He sighed, pocketed enough for his drink and stepped forward to drop the rest into the cup.
Its great jaws unlocked and in an instant, tentacles shot from the bulk and wrapped themselves around his wrists, ankles. It was so quick, he’d not had time to scream, as his scuffed penny loafers slipped down its gullet.
A wet gurgle rumbled from the lump, which began to squirm and shake.
And under the mink, a damp I (HEART) Gotham shirt appeared, along with a moist pair of khaki Sansabelts, tied at its waist with a maroon necktie, flecked with gold fleur-de-lis.


ojanna said...

I liked it, especially the descriptive lines; nicely done.

Dee Martin said...

best stay on the farm boy, you don't want to go there :)
If you do go leave the sansabelt slacks and the tourist tee shirt home and keep your change in your pockets!

Tumblewords: said...

Weird. Yup. Well imaged, too!

Catherine Denton said...

You got me. I expected her to ask for change but not to *gulp* eat him? LOL Great weird!

Daily Panic said...

cool and creepy. I didn't expect him to get eaten- robbed maybe but not eaten. very clever villian.

missalister said...

Just the first line of this sent me into gales of laughter. You can imagine what a mess I looked after reading the whole thing. Smudged eyeliner, red blotches, the whole nine... What a picture, the tourist T over the short-sleeved Oxford with the wrecked tie. Gawdawful. I loved the ending, finding out how “it” got its layers of cotton clothing, its mangy mink, its mixed footwear! I’ve said this before, but I feel it bugging me again to get out: you are an amazing imagination machine!

Donna said...

Caution: Brilliant mind at work.

Another typical day in Gotham where no good deed goes unpunished.

MichaelO said...

Great Subway Toads, Batman!! Do you have any idea what this is going to do city tourism? Now that that beatwriter, ThommyG, has the story out, the mayor is going to come down hard on our expense budget. I'm not about to start pressing my own cape and hero briefs. Gee whiz!

gs batty said...

I guess I'll skip my trip to Gotham. Isn't that the home of "Batman"? Maybe that is what he retired to. Interesting story.