FFF #3: Ordeal

This is a story for Flash Fiction Friday. Here are the rules: "Your assignment, should you chose to accept it, will be to write the very worst short story, between 750 and 1000 words, you can. Must contain at least three of the following words: putrefy, jewellery, encephalogram, aardvark, banana, and zombie. Extra points for using all of them. Cliches are nearly required, as are excessive use of adverbs, sentence fragments, run on sentences... Extra points if you include the opening phrase 'It was a dark and stormy night...'"

So here it is:

It was a dark and stormy night when my beloved received his encephalogram, which, according to freedictionary.com, is “an X ray of the brain made by replacing spinal fluid with a gas (usually oxygen) to improve contrast.” The winds howled through the alleys around the hospital, nearly drowning out the pounding of my heart, pounding, pounding like the throbbing of our loins just before we locked together in the throes of lusty passion, but this time the pounding was the beat of fear, fear for my still and silent Aloysius who lay pronely upon the hospital bed, incapable for the moment of passion (or even, really, the most basic bodily functions).

“Oh Aloysius, my inert and suffering love,” I cried, “You must not depart from me now!” as the nurses escorted me once again to the waiting room, this time threatening to physically restrain me there should I attempt to enter the lab again. “Putrefy in hell, you unfeeling harpy!” I shrieked at the last one’s back as she departed. “Have you no feelings? Have you never hovered worriedly over the unconscious form of your beloved, in hopes that calling out his name tenderly over and over would evoke a response in the deepest recesses of his heart and mind?” I emoted.

I exhorted myself to gather my emotions and comport myself as a lady of proper breeding, dabbing my eyes daintily with a hankie, reflecting pensively upon the events of that day, which had dawned serenely, never promising to yield the perilous ordeal that followed. The sun had streamed liquidly into the room as the birds chirped merrily outside as if in celebration of the wonders of love. But as I stretched and yawned and reached my hand out to rest it languidly upon the beefy physique of my man, whom I expected to be spent and still sleeping after a night of most vigorous activity, I was puzzled to discover that such physique was not present in the bed, nor in the room, nor was it in the bathroom or anywhere else in the house.

“Oh Aloysius, my dear, burly specimen of manhood, where have you gotten yourself to on this most exquisite morning?” I queried throatily, bereft and puzzled by his absence. His virile response thundered from the front yard: “I’m off to do some aardvark hunting, my love.” Far from spent, he appeared to be most invigorated—he then burst through the front door and in three quick, powerful strides arrived at my side and clasped my tiny form to his massive chest in a breath-expelling embrace, his sinews rippling and his lips seeking mine possessively like a writer seeking a bad metaphor. “But I eagerly await your greeting upon my return,” he breathed huskily as he pulled away from the kiss, his dark eyes burning like embers from the flames of last night’s passion, threatening to reignite into fresh blazes at the slightest caress of the summer breeze. As he set me back down upon my feet I felt a tug and a resistance from the pendant around my neck, and he gently requested, “Woman, kindly assist me in untangling your jewellery from my gun holster.” We successfully negotiated this minor disentanglement, ignorant of the coming catastrophe, and all too soon he was on his way, and oh how I wish we had remained entangled, never presenting me with the most awful of dilemmas!

As I tenderly watched his departure, preparing my mind for a lonely day awaiting his return, the succeeding events took a freakish turn away from the blissful and idyllic and into the realm of the horrific. As he stepped into the yard and away from the bungalow, he jauntily reached up and grabbed at a fruit in a cluster on the banana tree, which, although ripe, did not yield itself readily. I later returned and burned that tree—oh, if only it had not resisted! A battle of sorts ensued, resulting ultimately in the banana releasing itself into his hand and the lowered branch snapping back up and smiting him viciously upon the crown. My Aloysius dropped with a seemingly lifeless thud to the ground. I rushed to him, detecting a pulse and shallow, labored breathing. Our cottage was remote, hours from any medical care, and I was forced to drag him to the jeep, fueled and strengthened by adrenaline and my desperate desire to restore my love to virile manhood.

That effort alone took over an hour, and I will not describe the obstacles to my journey once I began the long drive to the nearest hospital. Ominous storm clouds were gathering and night was falling as I finally delivered him to the emergency room, and the storm finally broke, just like my grieving, fearful heart, leading to the previously described outbursts for which perhaps I may be forgiven.

When the doctor came out and broke the news to me: “I’m sorry ma’am, your, ummm, husband? has been like this for too long. We can keep him alive, but we will never be able to help him. He will be no more than a zombie to you, I fear,” I was by then past hysteria, I wept silently, a single attractive tear streaming down my cheek, as I solemnly pledged to remain by Aloysius’s side and care for him for the rest of his days. Dr. Hammond was most solicitous throughout this ordeal, and indeed has remained so in the following weeks. I do believe that he has found my dedication and vulnerability to be quite appealing. And I must confess that his reassuring presence has been most comforting, which has perhaps led me to dwell on the thought that his profile is indeed most handsome, and to ponder the possibilities of his prowess outside the realm of the medical . . .

And so to my dilemma! Naught but a plug stands between me and newfound happiness. Oh Aloysius, you wouldn’t mind, would you?

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