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To drink. To live. That was my motto. My raison d'etre as I pursued my self-serving cerebrations under the influence of wine and mind-numbing spirit. Then, as it happened, I was served a rum and orange juice that had, apparently, been concocted in the bowels of hell itself. And so it was that, with curious and sudden violence, my stomach heaved ruminations of bile until, at last, before me, in the dim light of the vile and disreputable saloon in which I had sought my solitude, lay a pool consisting of what were, only moments before, the contents of my mortal being.
I staggered momentarily. Then, regaining my balance, I started with an abrupt and unfathomed fear. Did I just perceive movement in the stagnant viscera of digested food and liquor lying at my feet? No! It was not possible! Surely my mind had been damaged by drink or my senses broken at last with sickness! Yes, that must be it. I am merely taken with fever. And, yet, it moved. I did see it. Yes, it was true! It moved!
With helpless self-loathing and the trembling curiosity of the damned awaiting final judgment, I watched as, imbued as if possessing the satanic energy of a thousand nightmarish ghouls born in the bottomless pits of perdition, the disgorgement before me took shape. Slowly, inconceivably, hypnotically, the spue formed and reformed into a bizarre, blasphemous, and dripping organism of such hideous and fantastic visage that I was at once struck prostate with loathing and a paralytic fear.
The putrid, watery, reeking being, for now it was such a ghastly and viperous horror, mushroomed into existence before my now delirious and frantic eyes and I paled with fright and sickening fascination at the sight of it! And, nightmare beyond madness, the thing moved! I tried to force my legs to run, but they were fastened to the earth as if paralyzed or ruminating in charnel, stoic ooze. And it came! It came! Step after desolate step the monstrous, moldering, vomit-being closed the space between us. Madness beyond despair! Had I only the power of Mr. Bob Dole! But no! I was infected with a psychotic darkness that held me in place as the transuding, fetid, hellish phantasm greedily reached through the blackness. Reaching. Reaching for my soul.
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