Dichotomy

A Short Story by david wayne black

Second Draft, December 2007

Introduction

The genesis of this story is brief.

It was inspired, in part, by the “Anita Blake” series by Laurell K. Hamilton. After reading all fifteen novels, it was not surprising for my mind to be on “preternatural” creatures.

I would also like to give a nod to a fictitious character found in Dean Koontz’s “Odd Thomas” books: P. Oswald Boone. Also a writer, he is alleged to have authored a collection featuring a bulimic detective.

“You know what would be really ridiculous? A vegetarian werewolf. How’s that for a stupid idea?” Karen agreed. We both thought it was silly.

But I still jotted it down.

During my next run with Ubu, it magically coalesced and begged to be released.

This happens a lot.

Maybe my dog is a “muse.”

I leaned over the toilet again and crammed two fingers back down my throat. This time, it did the trick. My still-recovering body spasmed violently with the spewing. Blood and chunks and the thick, goopy substance that seems to accompany every ejectus exploded around my hand into the bowl.

It was not enough. I forced my hand again. A big fucking mess was gonna be the follow-up to my purging. Who cares? What part of my life hadn’t been a disaster lately? I used my free arm to steady myself. So weak. So tired. I really shouldn’t do this so close to the change. But if I didn’t…

I shook the threatening thought from my head and flung clinging bits of vomit from my index finger in tandem and as punctuation. Ugh! More meat! And blood! It barely had time to digest.

Or was it mine?

I hope I didn’t kill someone again. Like I need that kind of complication.

Another wave of puking began. I only needed my fingers as sort of a jump-start. A gush of chunky viscous fluid splashed into the soupy stew that was my toilet. I felt faint. A runner of sweat and that weird, unidentifiable shit from morphing ran into my eyes. I hadn’t experienced this level of exhaustion in a long time.

That sense of detachment that precludes a trip into unconsciousness stole over me. I was gonna pass out after all.

Starbursts clouded the edges of my vision as I feebly pushed away from the commode. I didn’t want to drown in my own throw-up on top of everything else. But I had no control. I had no choice. All I could do is hope.

The world dimmed and then went black.

Boy did this taste like a Monday.