All happening in slow motion now.

Big delicious ham. Hanging by a rope from the ceiling. Large and succulent. Juices drip, form puddles on the tile.

Fat man sees the big ham. All in slow motion now. Sky gets dark and heavy lead feet don’t move and my lips pull back to yell at child.

Little girl playing. Little girl playing in a long narrow hall. Fate’s pawn, she plays directly in the path of the ham. Lips pull back to. Sky gets dark as. Heavy fat feet thunder like a herd of elk behind me.


I.

Turn.

To.

Stare.

Fat man sees the big ham.

God save us all.

Lips pull back to yell at child. Yell: “For God’s sakes, move! The fat man sees the ham! The fat man sees the ham!”

The fat man’s eyes are alive with orgasm as he barrels down on the ham, all tunnel vision now, just him and the big frigging pig hanging by a rope from the ceiling (drip drip). He looks like he wants to have sex with the ham. An optical illusion only. He’ll eat that ham, if I don’t miss my guess. “I’m going to eat the hell out of that ham,” say the fat man’s eyes. “I’m going to digest the hell out of that ham,” says the fat man’s stomach. “Sweet Hosannah, you’re a big one,” says the fat man’s poor feet.

“Tits,” say the fat man’s tits. Despite the taut suspense of the moment, I laugh a little. It’s funny that a fat man’s tits would actually say tits. I start to tell the fat man this, but he shoots past me like a cannonball.

Only seconds now. I should have done more. I should have done something.

It was probably a bad move laughing about the tits.

“Fat man EAT ham!” yells fat man. Questions pummel me: why does fat man refer to himself in the third person? Why does he talk like Grimlock from the old Transformers cartoon? What kind of a person hangs a damn ham from the ceiling in a sterile grey hallway? Should I suspect foul play? Am I being SET UP?

Child sees the fat man as shadow rises from the floor and consumes her with dark. Her eyes wide as saucers as she clutches her My Little Pony, or some stupid toy. I can’t see the toy. It looks a little like a pony. I don’t know much about kid’s toys, really. There are names for guys my age who know a lot about girl’s toys. that name is Fag-gay Asspumpington, or something similar.

Heh heh heh heh.

Oh right. The suspense.

Fat man running, chest on fire. Ham glistens. Girl clutches unknown nameless “x” doll. I stand, feet like lead.

Wish I hadn’t bought those damn lead shoes, I think.

But they look so stylish! And the girls love them! No, I correct myself, as the fat man tramples the little girl to pudding. No, I don’t regret buying the lead shoes. They look fantastic.

“Nice shoes,” says the fat man, launching big wet chunks of ham out of his mouth as he talks to me.

“Thanks,” I say. “They’re made of lead.”

“Well, they look fantastic.”

“Thanks.”

I awake with a start, sitting upright bathed in sweat. Not because I was really all that frightened, but because it seems expected.

Actually, the fat guy seemed pretty nice.