Short Story / TAT
TAT Shat
”The TAT is popularly known as the picture interpretation technique because it uses a standard series of 31 provocative yet ambiguous pictures about which the subject must tell a story.” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thematic_Apperception_Test)
The candle’s flame burnt too hot. The red wax poured down the candlesticks as thick as Skittles tears. She whimpered to herself. She chewed down the asparagus. One blackened steak chilled on each black plate with a gold ring around the edges. The plates were a gift from Skittles mother to be used on one occasion. Skittles mother Snickers used those plates on the day she was proposed to. The door opened, and the vacuum wind gust blew out the candles. Tonight was like the unpredictable life expectancy of a light bulb. Not even Skittles could have predicted the darkness that would ensue.
“What smells so good Sweety?” He said as he flicked on the lights. “I am ravenous like a legless dung beetle in the only bare spot in a cow field.”
Skittles picked up his plate, and then walked into the kitchen while saying, “I smell so good. Eat me! I have to warn you. I’ll make you shit yourself.”
The sound of a plate being slammed into the microwave splashed through the silence of the house. He could feel Skittles sighs suck up all the air throughout the house. He shrugged and took the opportunity to go to the bathroom, wash his face, wash his groin, let the farts he has been holding in out, and pop his collar up after looking at the reflection of red spots on his neck. More sounds came from the kitchen. It was items in the cupboards being pushed around. The microwave sounded like the beginning of a racecar game on Nintendo. The meal was ready.
Skittles slid the plate next to the maroon napkin on the table as he emerged from the bathroom. He sat down. There were no words, no grace, and no waiting. He dug into the mashed potatoes. He coughed. Little chunks of white starch bombarded the black tablecloth.
He lifted one eyebrow at Skittles, and said, “Interesting recipe. Are we in a garlic type of mood? If I were a vampire I would shit blood by now. It’s delicious.”
“I made it just for you. Eat it up and lets go watch TV.” Said Skittles gesturing to the bedroom.
“Did I miss something?” he said. “Usually if I come home late you are reaming me up the butt, asking where I was. The people at work spontaneously wanted to get beers and go bowling. That new Beth girl was one strike away from a perfect game. Bitch wasn’t good enough to win a free basket of waffle fries.”
His fork scraped the last of the potatoes soaked in bovine blood off the plate. He leaned back and tried to unlatch his belt buckle, but it was already unlatched. Skittles cleared the table. Then she smiled behind the full-bellied man. Her hand tapped him on the shoulder, and her finger led him into the bedroom. He stopped halfway on a creaky board and burped. It was a monster. So much gas came out, but his belly still had a cramp.
He rubbed his belly and said, “I’m exhausted and too full. I might just pass out.”
Skittles gave a pouting look of pity. She tucked him in. The covers were pushed under him at the belly, and he farted, apologized, and asked for the blanket to be a little loose. She helped him feel more comfortable.
“I think something came out on that one.” He said with a face resembling pain and embarrassment.
After a few minutes Skittles couldn’t take the stench of him and his gas. She walked outside the room away from the man covered in cold sweat. A match could have been lit, but there was a danger of a methane explosion. She covered her mouth, hoping that the vomit would stay in. Her eyes began to water. It was worse than cutting onions. She found it difficult to stand. The wall supported her. It shook under her hand.
Suddenly the groans and rumbles stopped. The only sound left was the liquid fecal matter dripping from the bed onto the floor. He was dead. It was death by an overwhelming amount of shit. It just sucked everything out of him. A minute more, and he would have died from asphyxiation.
Skittles laughed and celebrated like she was some closet coprophilia. She didn’t want to stop laughing, but there were two last things she needed to do before she left. Under the fridge there was a small wooden block with hash marks in it. Her hands ripped the tape off that supported it. The cheap kitchen knife was used to put number fifteen as a slash across the third set of fives. Then it was inserted into her back pocket. Over in the back of the cupboard she reached to get the tasteless, scentless, mega strength laxative. She pulled it out, and looked at it. The front of the bottle had big red letters that read “Fast Acting Problem Solver”. Skittles felt alone, and wanted to go find a new friend.
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It reminds me of an fecal explosion of creativity. It could also be the central element to another, more awesome story. Keep on rocking.
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I just really liked this story. I like the candy bar charecter names. I liked how you killed snickers. I didn;t find any gramatical errors. I couldn’t find anything to improve
Good Job!
Dave
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