Alice Amoeba Ch. 03

At first he thought a main had burst. It certainly looked like water. As it came closer, he saw it was some sort of thick, jelly-like blob, like in the movie with 'Ol Steve McQueen. It occurred to him, slowly as it turned out, that maybe he should run, but the thing looked fast and he wasn't exactly healthy. Besides, it had to be one of his visions, right?

The thing slurped and gurgled like a primordial sea creature. It was shapeless, constantly changing, slurping and slithering. It came close and, as it passed by, he saw something in its mass. His bleary eyes recognized the struggling, writhing figure. "Holy fuck! The fucking pretty boy!"

He didn't know the prick's name. The young punk always had some slut hanging off his arm, at least when he wasn't with that crazy blonde bitch. What was her name? They always looked at him like something scraped from the bottom of his shoe. They treated him like one too. Pretty Boy sometimes even snatched money from his cup, like it was nothing.

"Like I'm a fucking bank or something. Well, he don't look so fucking superior now."

Pretty Boy was naked, floating in that blob thing like some pineapple cube in a lump of jello. The way he struggled reminded Hank, eerily, of a snake. His arms and legs seemed stuck to his body somehow. "What the fuck is that about?" Hank wondered.

A giant cocked erection, complete with plum-sized balls, speared from Pretty Boy's hairless groin, squirting jizz like a child's water gun. On seeing that cock, Hank finally understood Pretty Boy's arrogance. "Geez, the worthless fuck could be a fucking porn star with that! No wonder he has so many sluts."

The ecstasy of the obvious orgasms ripping through Pretty Boy's body, contrasted drastically with the look of terror on his face. Tiny, beady bubbles issued slowly from the punk's nose. Pretty Boy looked at Hank beseechingly. Hank drew back, feeling something other than alcohol-fueled detachment in years. Not quite sympathy, the asshole's crimes against him loomed large, but it made him curious enough to follow.

He noticed the blob itself would constantly form shapes, mostly of women. They rose and fell back into the jelly mass like liquid statues, constantly forming and reshaping. Hank remembered childhood visits to the city museum. The sculptures were his favorite. He recognized one jelly figure.

"Looks like Pretty Boy's crazy girlfriend." The other one was familiar, "Didn't he have another one earlier?"

The two blob girls were hot, curvy, and wore cold seductive smiles. The mass slithered along the street until it came to a manhole. Stopping on top of the cover, it rested for a second before the cover popped off like a champagne cork. It hovered over the hole for a brief second.

During that second, Pretty Boy went from supine to upright. The blob reconfigured into a new shape: two transparent jelly women, distinct but merged by protoplasm, with a nude young man engulfed between them. The trio stared at Hank, two mocking and seductive, one desperate and terrified.

The jelly women swirled around Pretty Boy's body, then the three slowly oozed into the open manhole. Only the young pretty boy faced him, sobbing, surrounded by swirling protoplasm. He stared at Hank all the way, as he sank into the manhole. When only his head remained, there was a brief hesitation, and then it disappeared in a splash of sewer water. A noise, like a gasp, or an orgasm, bubbled up, and then the manhole was silent.

Hank stood for several minutes, looking at the manhole. He looked at his Jack Daniels, then at the manhole, then at his Jack Daniels.

He snorted, "Fuck! I'm done," threw his bottle into the hole, and set off for the A.A office two blocks down the street.

The End.