bride of the soup - a soup story
Here's another Soup story because I feel you might like some more today.
i listened to the cramps and wondered how the soup was getting along.
outside, the rain still hadn't eased and the lights from passing cars was splintered by the fluid sheets.
the soup shifted inside the can, wondering how long it would take before the guy opened the lid and poured it into a pot where it would be warmed just nicely.
the soup liked to be warmed up. it felt alive in the moment the steam rose from its skin.
and when the cold spoon slipped into its juice, the soup always had to restrain a giggle. the satisfaction of being consumed was the satisfaction of a jigsaw being pulled apart and slowly put back together again. soon, thought the soup, i will be whole again.
that's when, to its joy, it felt the can opener bite deep into the tin.
the man called peter rummaged in the back of his cupboard for a pot to put the soup in and yawned over the back of his hand.
it had been a long night.
his mates had dropped him off after visiting that stupid little corner shop. it was like a dungeon in there - only one light in the ceiling was working, and this awful bugzapper clicking over the fridge.
and that guy behind the counter with the smirk. what was with him? he had strange eyes, and even when jonesy was shouting at him - calling him a cunt - all he did was smile.
peter shook his head and poured the soup into the pot.
at least he'd got a free meal.
the soup slid down into peter's stomach, and as soon as its awareness was pieced together again, it wobbled gently around the stomach and wondered why it felt so amazingly numb all of a sudden.
it began to feel a sense of peace nibbling at the edges of its consciousness and there was a strange stench in the stomach which reminded him of something.
it tried to concentrate on the smell.
what was it?
where had it smelled that before?
the soup tried to clear its mind. it just couldn't seem to focus.
there was so much of the strange fluid mingling within its flesh that it felt like the soup was drifting on an ocean.
oh yeah, thought the soup in quiet panic. that's alcohol.
alcohol had a strange effect on the soup.
it chilled it out.
calmed it down.
made it feel sleepy.
it wanted to gnaw at the stomach, punch a hole out, but just seemed to lack the energy.
instead it lolled against the sides of peter's stomach and decided it still had plenty of time to eat before it was too late to escape.
the soup lay back, knowing it would normally be irritated by the snores, but finding them strangely hypnotic.
that's the alcohol talking, thought the soup.
another thought occurred to it as it rolled about the stomach. shit, i hope i don't get a hangover.
peter dressed slowly.
his head was killing him, but he managed to somehow dress himself without falling over.
jonesy was around, shouting at him sometimes. getting him moving.
"something's not right," peter groaned. "my stomach..."
"awww, don't chuck up today, pete!" jonesy chuckled. "c'mon, mate! pull it together! here - have some aspirin."
peter gulped the fizzing aspirin and gasped as a sharp pain jolted his stomach. "ugh," he said. "think that made it worse."
the soup shuddered as the aspirin fizzled out around it.
it didn't like aspirin.
it tried to look around, but even thinking felt so heavy.
just a little more sleep...
jonesy tugged at peter's jacket. "c'mon, mate!" he hissed for the zillionth time.
"not right," peter moaned, for the zillionth time. "something not right. i'm tellin' you."
"it's gonna be okay. just a little longer, okay? jesus."
"what's goin' on?" rory asked, stepping up to the car. "he looks sick."
jonesy grinned. "couldn't take it."
"not true!" peter whined. "it's the fucking soup, i tell you. made me fucking sick."
"aww yeah," jonesy smirked. "they always blame the soup. admit it - you're getting soft already."
rory slapped the car's door. "you'll be right, pete. not much longer to go, yeah?"
peter clutched his stomach and nodded.
"c'mon, pete," jonesy opened the door. "let's go inside. get you some water. you'll feel better movin' about."
the soup shifted.
it couldn't take it.
it felt too warm in here. too stuffy.
it had to get out. it had to breathe some cool air and get back into a nice cold tin for a while. just relax. the very thought of home made the soup feel almost energised.
it poked peter's stomach lining. it wasn't looking good.
his liver didn't smell too good right now, either.
the soup reached out and pushed.
then, with a clenching of its skin in determination to be free, the soup bit and bit deep.
blood washed across the soup and was sucked into its skin like a bit of bread soaking up gravy. it didn't seem to get soaked, though. it just kept soaking it up, pulling everything that was peter's insides deeper into itself.
it fumbled about randomly, searching for the perfect spot.
looking for something.
a way out.
and then, it found it. a slit in the muscle, a sweet spot.
it shivered up and under peter's skin, soaking him up, breathing him in.
dissolving blood, bone, and meat.
and then, with a joyous howl, it wriggled a little and ate his skin.
peter's suit lay in a rumpled heap.
the soup wobbled like a small wet jelly on top of them.
it looked around at the open-mouthed crowd which was seated in the small building.
it looked forward at the open-mouthed man with the strange robes who looked like his eyes were about to pop.
it looked up at the lady dressed entirely in white who was looking down at him in horror.
her eyes were kind of pretty, thought the soup.
umm, said the soup. i do?
and everyone started screaming.
i sat at the counter, watching bride of frankenstein.
"a whole church?"
the soup giggled.
"well, then," i said, raising my coke in salute.
the soup giggled even harder, rattling the gold ring which rested on top of its tin.
i smiled, picked up the lacy garter it had brought with it, and shook my head. "congratulations, mister the soup."