Last Day

As the morning begins, Sven slowly rises from his slumber. He groans in sync with the creaking of the bed springs. "Aahh shit. I don't know what's louder, the cracking of these old bones or this damn bed." He mutters to himself. Noises emanating from his joints and other body parts should be no surprise considering that Sven is the ripe old age of 76. After a few more grunts, pops and muffled slurs he is out of bed. Hobbling to the kitchen for the second chore of the early morning routine. Sven grabs the glass coffee pot from the top left cabinet. Old and faded, that is what can best describe the cabinet along with everything else in the house. The condition of his surroundings perfectly reflects the condition of Sven. As he lifts the rusty faucet handle a loud rumble echoes throughout the house, followed by a sputter that produces brown foul smelling liquid that has no right to be described as water. "Son of a bitch!

The god damn plumbing is backed up again!" Screams Sven as he throws a yellow stained mug at the floor. Pieces of shattered porcelain fly through the air which land scattered on the dirty black floor. The display resembles the first fallen snowflakes of winter landing on cold asphalt. A few shards bounce back towards Sven's exposed legs. Jabbing and embedding within the first few layers of flesh, enough to cause him pain with trickles of blood slowly trailing down to his ankles. "Motherfucker! Can't I just fuckin wake up to coffee without having to deal with a bunch of bullshit?! FUCK!", Wails Sven with such anger that tears begin to form around his weary eyes. Not tears of sadness but tears of frustration. The man's patience has faded like his mortality. Some would say he is at the footsteps of death given his appearance and health yet something inside him refuses to let go. "To hell with it!" Spats Sven. He walks to the closet grabbing a pair of tan of overalls. He slips them over his bleeding legs with an obnoxious and over exasperated moan. "No point in a shower. Water is shit and I'll be smelling of beer soon. Ain't like I'm out to impress anyone." Spatters Sven. Living alone in isolation tends to remove any care for appearance or hygiene. Birds begin their song for the morning as the old man carefully fills a pair of rubber boots with dirty and bloody sock covered feet.

The floor squeaks with every step Sven makes towards the kitchen. Grabbing a six pack of wheat ale from the dimly lit fridge, he has completed another chore. Before walking out of the house he grabs his pack of non filtered cigarettes and his time worn flip lighter. "Smokes? Check. Beer? Check. Boots? Check. Time to load up the boat and get this shit started." Utters Sven as he hobbles to the shed sitting diagonal to the front porch. Dirty brown dust tumbles to the ground in a tiny cloud as the rusty hinges perform the task of swinging the wooden door open. Sven grabs an old tackle box littered with grime along with an old pole with an ancient reel that looks as if it could very well be older than the man himself. Removing the lighter from his pocket, Sven smoothly slides his nicotine stained finger across the thumb roller to make contact with the flint. Sparks fly in every direction before combustion produces a flame on the cotton wick. Sven brings the flame to the paper encased tobacco cylinder. Great embers of orange take over the dried brown compact leaves. Smoke bellows from the cancer stick as some may call it. Sven releases a horrendous cough that echoes through the trees that surround his home. "Happens every damn time on the first drag." Spews Sven, producing a heaping glob of spit in which he evacuates through the air with his wrinkled mouth. He takes a long pause to gaze upon the lazily flowing pond that resides across from his sad and dilapidated home. Taking another drag from his cigarette, Sven gazes to the left. Exhaling a cloud of smoke, he looks down the dirt path leading to a main road towards town.

Finishing the final bit of his cigarette, Sven pinches it between his thumb and finger then flicks it through the air in a twirling display of smoke and ember before landing onto the red dirt a few feet away. "Time to saddle up and head out" Mutters Sven. A good ten yard journey is accomplished via short limping steps as the breathless geezer reaches his boat. It is a two seated metallic hunk of scrap that by the grace or maybe pity of the gods seems to have been able to stand the test of time just as its owner. The front is dented slightly, rust bursts forth in patches like a disease. At the rear sits barely fastened, a sorry excuse for what can vaguely be called a gasoline powered motor. Sitting slightly out of place resides the handle of the pull string mechanism in which to start the pathetic source of life for this sad boat. The cracked handle with loose fitting tape is trying to hold itself together. As if clinging to a dream of remaining whole. Even though the odds favor the inevitable separation of the two halves. Sven tosses his equipment into the boat with a snarling gurgle as if the act has forced his body to release a tumorous mass of mucus. The slight physical exertion leaves him winded along with a case of light headed fatigue.

He leans against the boat to compose himself as he pulls out another cigarette. "I don't remember it being such a pain in the ass to throw that shit in the boat yesterday. Ah well, the hardest parts over with anyway" Says Sven in an altered tone caused from speaking with the cigarette tucked between the center of his lips. "I just need a smoke break and we can get this here rusty bitch to the sweet spot." Says Sven in a bit more audible tone as he removes the cigarette mid sentence. The man has lived so long in solitude that speaking aloud to himself is quite normal. However if anyone else were to witness it they would probably believe something is off with the man. If that were to happen, Sven would pay it no mind and would simply stare before yelling some awful obscenity to the viewer. "Alrighty then, let's do this." says Sven as another burning cylinder of paper and tobacco is sent tumbling to the ground. With a loud groan followed by popping of many joints from his knee, he climbs into his rusty metallic companion. It rocks back and forth from the shifting weight of the wrinkled man. He sways side to side toward the pathetic engine. Sweat begins to bead below his receding hairline as he grips the taped encased handle.

At every pull, more grunts and heavy breaths leak from his ancient tar infested lungs. "Come on you worthless piece of shit!" Spats Sven. Finally after the sixth attempt, the motor burps out a noxious cloud of black smoke before rumbling into a loud sputter. Sven lets out a painful grown while slowly lowering his body into the cracked leather seat next to the tiller handle of the motor. "And we're off!" Yells Sven, lighting another cigarette. The boat gurgles in the soft azure shaded water towards a section of the pond near an arched tree whose branches hang over the water, its leaves gently kissing the waters edge. Above the trees there forms light grey clouds with the smallest tint of purple beyond a deep blue sky. The wind blows ever so softly causing blue blades of grass to dance. A loud crack abruptly emerges from the aluminum can of Sven's wheat ale. He guzzles down half of it before letting out a grotesque watery belch. "Ah that hits the spot right there." Mumbles Sven. Finally arriving at his destination, Sven kills the engine of the boat and looks down at the water, the twin suns beaming in the reflection. He grabs his fishing pole, loosening the line from the reel. A double knot is tightened around the eye of a large silver hook. Sven rummages through the tackle box until he picks up a black rubber worm with a shimmering green tail. He pierces the fabricated worm with the hook before casting it far into the water. With a deep exhale of relief, Sven cracks a dim smile. Taking another drink from the can, he feels a tug on the line.

"Oh shit! We got one already?" Sneers Sven with a yellow toothed grin. Heavily handed, he turns the crank of the reel as fast as he possibly can. Shifting his weight to the heels of his feet for better leverage. The water soaked line slowly inches closer to him before a loud thud is heard from the side of the rustic boat. The sound catches Sven off guard, causing him to loosen his grip. "What the hell was that?" Says Sven with surprise in his voice. He finishes reeling in the line as the head of a fish slowly emerges from the water. With a startled yelp Sven screams, "What in the hell?!" Impaled through the lip hangs the large green and yellow fish. Its motionless body dangles, it is incomplete and the sight is absolutely disgusting. The ribs are exposed due to large sections of scales and meat being absent from looks to be an assault. It's entrails are strung about and blood dripping from the carcass, no doubt something larger has been devouring it. Before he can examine the corpse any closer, another harsh thud rattles the boat. "What the fuck was that?!" Exclaims the frightened old man. Bubbles begin to form around the floating rust bucket. Once more a loud crash hits but this time it rocks the boat, sending Sven tumbling off his seat.

Continuous banging violently pummels every side of the vessel, causing Sven to panic. Loud scraping vibrates underneath, the garbled sound of nails to a chalkboard destroy the old man's ears. "Sweet Gods! Someone help me!" Pleads Sven. A deep guttural moan echoes from beneath and sends a vibration that leaves Sven shaking. The sound breaks free through the heavy rumble of bubbles that are increasing in number, like an overflowing pot filled with boiling water. Sven screams in terror and confusion, such a situation most undoubtedly would cause anyone to act in such a way. With another wail from his dry throat, there is abrupt silence. Calmness fills the air which removes the sound, bubbles have stopped. "What the hell just happened?" Questions Sven. Beads of sweat drip off his wrinkled face. Groaning follows cracking of old bones as he lifts himself to his feet. He cautiously peers over the edge of the boat. Shifting his gaze left to right, there is nothing in sight. Sitting back down on the cracked leather seat he lights another cigarette. Shaking with mass amounts of sweat. The act of taking a drag seems like such a difficult task for the weary soul. "Did that really just happen?" Asks Sven out loud to himself. "I don't care if it did or not. I'm getting the hell out of here." He motions his hand to grab the broken handle to pull life into the motor when a large eruption of water bursts forth a shadowy talon equipped hand.

It grasps the motor in a swift gesture, ripping it from the boat and bringing it down to the water. In an instant another shadow appendage quickly rips through Sven's arm in a flash so quick that his brain barely registered the image. A blood curdling shriek breaks through the rushing sound of waves that splash upward towards the boat. A large wet ebony appendage breaks from the water to land another strike at the old man, blood flies through the air like crimson rain and splatters on the face of the frightened old man. He looks at his feet to see a flowing stream of blood that slowly covers the entire floor of his boat. Pain radiates at his shoulder, he goes to rub the pain and feels nothing but a wet spot that hurts to touch. His eyes gaze at the spot and he screams as he now sees his arm is completely gone. Anxiety infects the scared man and he falls down, his eyes follows the pool of blood that leads to his severed arm. He motions to grab the no longer attached limb but is knocked over by a fierce attack to his boat from underneath. Water boils to intense heat around Sven's metallic trap, the material sizzles in the water and the heat burns Sven's exposed flesh. The rubber of his boots begin to melt as he scrambles to find a spot that doesn't eat at him with searing pain, there is no where to run. Thrashing waves of scolding water burst and land onto the boat and the old man. It Splashes and scolds every inch of flesh it touches. He cries in drowning agony as his skin is destroyed by the scalding liquid, leaving Wells and large holes to appear. "Gods help me!" Shrieks the suffering geezer.

Thunderous banging rattles the rustic vessel until holes ricochet fragments of shrapnel slicing into Sven's torso that instantly leak blood that stains his clothing. Massive black tendrils burst through the holes, gripping onto his legs and his one remaining arm. Sickening yellow ooze seeps through nasty pulsating pores of the tendrils, releasing a stench that causes Sven to vomit. The ooze melts through Sven's clothes, upon contact with his skin it starts eating away through every muscle, eventually reaching the bone. The acidic ooze boroughs through the marrow like termites through aged wood, cracking and popping infects Sven's ears. New levels of pain send the helpless man into a frenzy of such fear that his eyes roll into the back of his head. Blood spurts out of his tear ducts, vomit continues to hurtle its way out of his mouth and mixing with all sorts of other liquids. Spasms from the inky form begin to break bones, the tendrils multiply and grow at such a fantastic rate to fully cover the man's limbs. The largest of the putrid octopi like arms wraps tightly around Sven's torso, splintering shards of rib bone that pierce his organs. Internal bleeding has begun, it is made apparent with every blood soaked cough echoing through Sven's lungs.

Beneath the boat a growing shadow surrounds the perimeter, casting an enormous shadow below. Heat continues to rise with the boiling water of the pond with a massive cloud of steam rising from its surface. Parts of the boat begin to glow a bright orange and start to warp, the body of the poor old man is baking like the very flames of hell are caressing his flesh. With his last bloody gasp of air, Sven wails. "I'm. I'm not ready to die! Please! H-h-he-h...." A geyser of crimson bursts from his mouth, eyes and ears, the strength of the largest tendril leaves the man's body drained of blood and misshapen. In the grip of darkness the body slumps over, still leaving remnants of bodily fluids. Tendrils rip through the remaining fragments of rusted metal, they lift the wrinkled and bloody corpse into the air. With a quick splash, the man known as Sven Ebbelstone is plunged into the eerie depths of darkness accompanied by the remaining shreds of metal that once was a boat. Within moments the dark entity that once surrounded the old man's boat slowly fades as it descends to the depths of oblivion. The water settles once more to reveal its beauty. Beyond the spot where the slaughter took place near an arched tree, the twin suns rise above wispy clouds of gray and orange. Soft winds gently breathe life into blue blades of grass as they sway to and fro. Sitting upon the branches of a Hobden tree, birds sing their song to embrace the afternoon.

Along the dirt path leading to the main road that leads to town, a shadow emerges. The shadow gets closer to reveal itself to be a man. He walks with no true destination and glances towards the pond as he approaches the land where the pond resides. He pauses to gaze out in admiration of the beauty and isolation of nature. He takes in the sight then faces the road to continue walking, unaware of the horror of which took place during the morning routine of a lonely old fisherman.