Short Story: Reuben and the Octopus

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After being shipwrecked, I woke up with an octopus wrapped around my chest. I started into her molten, goat-like eyes. Her gelatinous body was the color of the rust and red tree fungi.

I asked her what she wanted with me. But the octopus just throbbed and buzzed, emitting a devil drone that both terrified and pacified me with its malefic magnetism.

I lay on the beach like that for a while. The waves playfully molested the sands, and my feet began to freeze as the tide rolled in.

By the time it was midnight, I was violently cold, and my body was convulsing in a futile attempt to rescue itself from hypothermia.

But the octopus remained unmoving, her golden, glowing eyes lamp-lighting my face, so that I could never forget who was allowing this to happen to me.

After I had died, my wife lifted up her veil with her tentacles, and kissed me with her suction cups in the moonlight.

“Why did you have to kill me?” I asked

“I always hate it when you don’t come home,” she said.

We spent the rest of the cosmos frolicking in flames.

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