Free Amaranthine and Other Stories by Erik Hofstatter Page B

She did not kiss him. Instead, she reached for his cock and impaled herself on his erection. The sudden penetration swept his breath away. He experienced a new feeling there and then—a feeling of violation. Why was she doing this to him? Why the deviant treatment? She rode him with hate pouring out of her eyes. His heart ached with every thrust of her hips. After the farewell coitus, Magda raised herself from his lap and left the room. No words were spoken. No words were needed. She slammed the door behind her, disappearing from his life forever—in search of her own fortunes. What exactly was she searching for? Sean did not know. He only guessed that Magda searched for something more—for something he could not provide.
     
    Sean lay in the bathtub, scrubbing his scrawny body, washing away Magda's scent with unnecessary force. The brush etched into his raw skin, leaving traces of crimson lines. Then it happened. His stomach cramped. The excruciating pain left him paralysed.
That fucking chicken
, he thought, holding his belly. He wanted to jump out of the tub and race to the nearby toilet, but Sean could not straighten his body. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Jaw clenched, he fought until the very end. All in vain. He shut his eyes and let go. Sean heard bubbles rising from beneath the water. He felt his stomach deflate. The corner of his mouth twisted into a grimace of relief. It was over.
     
    Then the whiff of faeces polluted the air. It smelled like a corpse left to rot in the Saharan sun. No, it smelled far worse. Sean's eyes snapped wide open. He was bathed in a brown river of diarrhoea. Regurgitating, he pinched his nose. Something else floated in the tub with him. He refocused and locked his eyeballs on the intruder. The thing was wrapped around a solid chunk of shit. Sean hesitated before scooping it up with utter disgust. He separated it from his excrement, the liquid stool trickling down his wrist. The thing was long and thin, like a spaghetti—except the colour. It was pure white. It wiggled and wrapped itself around Sean's index finger. He blinked, turning his hand from side to side, observing the creature that just swam out of his asshole. 
     
    “Aren't you a beauty? I shall call you Eli,” he said to it. 
     
    Sean vacated the aquarium by flushing Magda's goldfish down the toilet. Eli needed a new home. He gently carried the parasite and dropped him in the water. It sank to the bottom. It all seemed like aeons ago.
    Sean rubbed the chair, his mind whizzing through memories. He attempted to banish the pain Magda's betrayal created. Past no longer mattered. He had to focus on the moment and live in the present. Focus on Eli. Nourish and look after him. Magda did not deserve his love, but Eli did.
     
    “Do you remember when you were born? What a beautiful day that was. My beloved Magda might be gone, but you'll always be my son. Never forget that.”
     
    A proud grin spread across his features as he gazed at Eli, floating in the water. He produced another life. It
came
out of him. Eli was so much more than an intestinal worm, he was Sean's son. His stomach cramped again, the pain spreading through his bowels—the tapeworms slowly crippling him. Sean raised himself from the chair, hunched over like a pensioner. He tapped the glass of the aquarium.
     
    “Hope you're ready, Eli. When I come back, I might have a little brother for you,” he said, heading towards the toilet. 

Tristan's Equation
    Tristan's eyes snapped shut.
    His clammy palms cupped over his ears—slowly anticipating the dreadful announcement. Every three minutes for the last four hours, the transistor radio located on the top shelf (and out of his short reach) would broadcast a sequence of numbers. A sequence that he loathed—a sequence that drove him insane.
    The cacophonous speaker rattled and a thunderous voice proclaimed the following digits:
    (15,5,8, 9 – 10)
    Tristan pressed harder on his ears. Silence dominated