"The Stench of Life" - a very short story

[matt35mm]

George is sat down, eating a sandwich. He stuffs his face and has a real bored stare.

His mother stumbles into the room, stomping around and making muffled groans. George takes a minute to realize that something is wrong: she's devouring herself!

Mouth still full, George runs toward his mother. She attempts to bite him, and he beats her to death with his fists.

George's eyes are shut tight. The only sound now is his heavy breathing, which soon turns into sobbing.

He stops breathing, and swallows his sandwich.

Then, George opens his eyes, and stares at his mother's warped corpse. Red.

Chest open. Steaming.

George feels faint, and moves toward his mother's body, into another world.

This world is red and sticky and disgusting. George finds that it is a world of body parts. These body parts are generally not happy, because they find their work unfulfilling. Every body part except for the stomach. The stomach likes its job.

George starts up a conversation with one of the lungs, who bemoans the repetitive nature of its job. There are other body parts that also do repetitive work, but the lung feels that it is less appreciated than the other organs. The heart, for example, gets so much credit and care. It just seems dumb.

George says that he thinks he knows how the lung feels. George also has a job where he does a lot of repetitive work, and for what? Just to end up beating his own mother to death.

The lung explains why the mother devoured herself. She became a zombie, and decided to feed on herself instead of on George, so that George may have a chance at living.

George looks at his new surroundings. He feels small in this cavernous place. "How did I get into her body?"

"You're not in her body," the lung assures George. "This is where you go when you die."

Abe Lincoln walks by. The only other human being.

George and the lung hear crying, and they decide to find the source of it. They hunt around, and finally find the sound coming from a large intestine.

"Can I help you?" George asks.

"No. I don't think so," replies the large intestine.

The lung butts in, "C'mon, what's the matter, buddy? Just tell us!"

"It's just..." the large intestine hesitates before continuing, "It's just that you should never fall in love with your co-worker. I fell in love with the small intestine. It was a doomed romance."

"We've all been there, buddy," says the lung. "Well, not physically right there, but we have, most of us, experienced similar situations, and I am saying that I think that I can identify with the way that you are feeling right now. It's, uh, the sympathy. Right, guy?" The lung turns to George, but George is turned the other way, not listening. "Hey, guy?"

George quivers, eyes shut tightly.

"Hey, is this guy all right?" the large intestine asks.

The lung nudges George in the arm. George seems to snap out of it, but his blinking has become curiously slow. Finally, George asks, "If this is where we go when we die, where are all the other dead people?"

"Who am I, the Taj Mahal?" the lung asks, before turning to the large intestine and indicating toward George, "Look at this guy, trying to figure out stuff." The large intestine chuckles a little bit, causing a bit of poo to leak out.

"What are we here for, if not to figure stuff out? A reason. Or at least, a way to escape," George ponders aloud, eyes focused on nothing.

"Listen," the lung puts its arm on George's shoulder, "I'm going to tell you something that His Holiness The Dull-Eye Llama once told me. He said, 'Remember always, you are here to breathe.'"

George turns, and looks blankly at the lung. "Are you sure that wasn't just meant for you?"

The lung thinks for a moment. "I don't see why it doesn't also apply to you."

George makes another slow blink, staring at the lung all the while. George then closes his eyes, breathes in deeply, and then exhales. He opens his eyes. "I stink."

The lung presses its lips tightly together, and pats George on the back. "Buddy, we all stink."

George becomes alive again.

[pete]

the writing's real tedious for something that's supposed to be weird and funny.  it reads like a synopsis of a better piece.
but good concept.