The Metaphor
Let me tell you about this thing. I know, I know, you might think that it’s some metaphor but let me just stop you there. I don’t do that learned folk talk. I’m telling you—this thing was and then it wasn’t, but then it was again, but different. I’m not making any sense. But look, doc, just because I wasn’t makin’ sense then, doesn’t mean I’m crazy. I’m a man of nearly fifty, and I’ve done a few tours in the military in my day. I’ve seen a lot, but nothin’ like this.
There I was, just minding my own business in the park off Railroad, you know, the street between the Jupitar Bar and Stenello’s? Well, if you go a little way down toward the water, there’s a little park bench where I like to eat my sandwiches when it’s not raining. The transients don’t bug me there too much. Anyway, there I was, eating my pastrami on white, when this I don’t know what it was came up to me. I thought it was some kind of dog—it had a huge head though, and tiny, squinting eyes and the thing had no tail. Its mouth was open a little bit, and I could see these big huge teeth. They wasn’t sharp like, but looked like rodent teeth. I thought it was some weird deformed giant sewer rat that had come from the nuclear plant or something.
So this thing just walks right up to me, right as I was taking a bite. It didn’t care that I didn’t know what it was, and that it didn’t know me from Adam. It just came up to me, put its huge muzzle or whatever you call it, on my lap, trying to sniff at my food.
I tried to nudge the thing away with my knee. “Git off!” I told it. But it didn’t want to budge. It was too interested in my sandwich. And you know, if I didn’t know any better, I would think that this thing didn’t eat meat, not with those chompers in its head. But I wasn’t about to share my sandwich. It’s the only joy I get out of my day. I’m in a factory all day, until it’s dark out. And alls I want is to eat my sandwich in peace.
We go back and forth like this a few times, me pushing it away and it just coming back. Finally, I lose my calm a bit, ya know? I had to get my boot involved. I kicked the thing. I had to. It wouldn’t leave me alone. You would have done the same, surely!
Well, the thing didn’t like it one bit. It screeched something terrible and reared back on its back legs. Now here’s the really screwy part, doc. Hand to God this is how it happened. Its front legs stretched out, this terrible cracking noise as it’s bones changed and grew. The arms kept growing until they were the length of my whole body, with all these different joints that bent in all these weird ways. Its body stretched out too, and it's face went long and pointed. And those rodent teeth, well, they definitely weren’t for eating grass any more. They moved back in the thing’s head, pointing backward towards its throat, and it had this tongue that came out of its pointy head and grabbed a hold of my ankle.
Of course I fought the thing. What else could I do? I tried my damnedest to get the thing to let go. You know, if I were back in my military days I would have had my knife on me and been able to defend myself. But all these concealed weapon laws—boy I tell you this country sure is goin’ to shit. The point is, I couldn’t shake the thing. It had both its claws around my leg, the tongue still around it dripping saliva all in my sock. But that didn’t concern me none. All I knew was the terrible crackling noise of its arms as it moved. Then the damn thing bit me--hard! I couldn’t look, I didn’t see it happen. I saw its mouth open, saw it bring my leg toward it, and I couldn’t watch. A man should never have to go through such powerlessness. But there I was. There it happened.
Next thing I knew, there was this scream tearing through my skull. I opened my eyes to look where it was coming from, and couldn’t see anyone, and the thing was gone. I realized it was me that was screaming. And brother, let me tell you, I ain’t one to scream. I’m a man. I can handle pain. But this was nothin’ like I’ve ever experienced. And the damn thing was gone with my foot! All that was left was blood squirting all over.
The next thing I knew, some dirty guy was running at me with a trash bag, trying to wrap it around where my foot was. My foot was damn gone! And I couldn’t for the life of me stop screaming. I don’t know who called them, but the medics arrived just before I passed out. I think I owe my life to that guy, though. It’s funny that I go to that spot to get away from the homeless population, but it was some homeless guy who saved me.
Any way, the paramedics said they couldn’t find my foot, but the docs did do a good job of keeping me alive, I’ll give them that much. They don’t believe me, which is probably why they sent me to see you. But I gotta tell ya, the morphine has worn off and I’m still sticking to my story. There ain’t nothin’ that’s changed about it. However, I will say this. In hindsight, I probably should have given it my sandwich.
© 2017 by N. J. Thompson, Nicola Thompson, & AuthorNJThompson. All rights reserved.
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