adventures with asswipe ♦ short stories

in sickness ♦ 03

It was a cold October evening, the TV being the only light in the room. You had the film you were watching on pause, waiting for your love to return.

You had foolishly gone outside running errands with more-wet-than-damp hair with the mindset of 'if I slap a beanie on I'll be fine!'. You were not fine. You had gotten yourself sick, and now Asswipe was here to look after you.

You heard soft humming coming from the kitchen. He's making soup for you, you see. He's a lovely lad, really. And he can cook! You sigh, but ended up coughing up half a lung from exhaling too much.

Then you smell the burning of what smells like a rats arse.

"Is everything okay in there, do you need some help?" You croak out. (Have you ever thought of being a toad for a living? You'd be very good at it, I reckon)

"Nope, everything is fine! I'm looking after you, even making you my special soup! It'll clear you right up!" Asswipe cheerily calls out from the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Asswipe comes in with your soup, which smells more awful when you're in the same room as it. "Uh... What is it? What's the flavour?" You barely got out, trying to contain yourself.

"It's a secret special recipe! Come on, open your mouth!" He grabs a spoonful of what definitely isn't soup, or any other liquid for that matter, because it is a solid.

You did as you were told.

And you projectile vomited onto Asswipe's face as soon as it hit your tongue.

Maybe you won't continue the film after all.