A Really Bad Day

A short story of revenge

Spiraling out of control never felt so awful. Don’t get me wrong, stability is a lifelong goal I still hope to achieve — but not today.

I am not a lover or a fighter. I am avoidant at all costs. Everything is backing me into corners today. The whiny sound of the ringtone on my phone drove me up the wall. I slam it to the ground, breaking it into a million pieces. My phone never stood a chance.

The doorbell ding dong, ding dong, ding, ding, ding, ding!

I can’t demolish the door with my fists, so I answer it. No one was there, just a box sitting on my welcome mat. I grab the package and toss it aside by my shoe rack.

The welcome mat impersonates someone who wants people at their door. Goodbye, welcome mat! Yes, I am that person. I ignore the millions of creepy crawlies as I lift it from the ground.

In the bin you go!

Oh, apartment living is so wonderful. I get to walk three floors down and across the street for trash. The rent is cheap, code for no fixing, and no convenience.

Walking back inside my apartment, I inhale and hack up a lung on the exhale. Stairs are my nemesis.

Upon my second inhale the kitchen trash offends my senses. I stomp into the kitchen and rip it out of the can. Of course, I tear it. Bits of rotten meat, broken glass, soda cans, and junk mail swarm my floor.

I will not jinx myself by saying the day couldn’t get any worse. It can get worse!

I gather more trash and place it in a pristine plastic bag. I knot it and put it by the front door. Oh yes, the package I almost forgot. I pick it up; it feels lopsided now. Odd.

There is no return address, only the label with my first name and address. It was written poorly. I bet it’s an advertisement. Buy one, get one half off, but not really; you must spend 1,000 dollars to get your reward.

No box cutter. Trusty keys will do the trick!

I slice the box. 
I opened the box. 
I look in the box. 
I scream.

Screams are visceral. A level of power that is dangerous when unleashed in certain circumstances. This qualifies.

My eyes met its eyes. I drop the box, but it’s too late. I have a big mouth, and it took full advantage as it gripped my face with tentacles, prying my lips open with suction cups. I grab its bulbous head, pull, tug, pull, tug, tug, tug; it keeps reeling me like a fish on a line.

My scream wasn’t powerful enough to stop it. My cry gave it an open door down my throat. It wiggles its way over my tongue. It was shifting size like a ferret squeezing into small places.

I stop screaming because it’s choking me. It’s hooked on my face, its legs slowly inching down my gullet.

My life flashes before my eyes. I went to a restaurant with my best friend the night before. They gave us these cute take-out boxes with red around the edges. I tried Sannakji but didn’t take any home.

The terrible writing and unmarked box suddenly made sense. Tentacles don’t make for good penmanship. I guess they are as smart as people think. It makes perfect sense now why they are called wriggling octopus.

As it disappears in my mouth and I suffocate, my last thought is…

See, my day did get worse.