(I’m sorry honey please don’t hate me for what I’m going to do trust me I know what I’m doing)
“So do we have to do some kind of Project Runway schtick, or do they just tell us if we got anything?” Sinbad watched as Shark wolfed down the strange-looking desserts from the buffet table.
“I think they just tell us,” Shark said while packing his cheeks full of cheesecake. “They used to make a big show out of it, but then someone complained.”
Resting his head onto his hand, Sinbad grunted in response to this asinine reason. He then frowned at seeing a lack of familiar faces, even for a costume party.
“Shouldn’t your dad have found us by now? I mean, shit. What’s keeping him? He should’ve found us by now.”
(Okay, now this can be the true Halloween special.)
“Come on, Sinbad!” Shark had taken a lot of time to make sure his hair looked the same as it did in the picture. A part of him agonized over how many spikes there were. Then came the black robe with a hood. “I want to get there early!”
Sinbad, who was in the bathroom, responded with a slew of profanities, and cursing the game character he was supposed to be dressed as.
“Are you having trouble with the hair?” The door swung open, revealing a very disgruntled fiance. His hair drooped in several poorly-greased spikes. With swift precision, Sinbad handed him the bottle of gel.
(Fuck it I’m not waiting until Halloween to post this I just want this off this computer and argh)
(WARNING! Slurs and sexual assault committed with a sharp object!)
Every morning I wake up in pain and agony.
I say morning, in the loosest sense of the term. I don’t think time even flows in this place.
Sometimes the pain is slight. Other times it’s the most horrendous ordeal of all time. I grit my teeth nearly every time I get out of bed.
(Shorter chapter because of twofer submission)
The next morning, Sinbad took the day off to spend time with Shark. Still waiting for word on Shark’s application, both of them decided to browse the bookstore for anything good.
“October 1985.” Shark read the publication date of a child’s cookbook. “This book must be pretty old.”
Sinbad just scoffed. “I’ll say. That damn thing is older than me!” He then realized Shark was flipping through the pages of the fairly thin paperback. “Wait, you don’t actually want me to get you that, do you?”
Shark just shrugged. “It could help. I mean, who knows. You might get sick and not be able to cook. It might help to know a few things to be safe.”
(No, this chapter has nothing to do with Spider-Man. At least I don’t think it does)
It seemed like forever before Sinbad was done hurling.
Wobbling up to his full height, he quietly put the lid back onto the trash can. Then he collapsed upon it, coughing and breathing heavily.
Sinbad was now just confused and disgusted at how that was still happening. There was just no possible way for it to continue, especially after the pictures were sent.
Shark awoke to the smell of antibiotics, and the sound of machines beeping. His mind was too foggy to truly register the change in location.
He tried to turn over onto his left side, but a searing pain prevented him from doing so. Gasping in discomfort, he instead fell back into his bed.
Unlike last time he was in this place, Shark was completely alone in the room. He couldn’t remember how he ended up here. All he did recall was pain, and blood.
Taking a deep breath, Shark pulled himself to a sitting position, and looked around.
(WARNING! A grown man has a tantrum in public, and some implied gruesomeness.)
Shark was still bummed as he and Sinbad were back at the grocery store, buying another set of pumpkins to carve. His face still bore evidence of the tears he’d shed earlier.
“Dude, come on. Spending another few bucks on these things ain’t gonna put that big a dent in our finances. Probably just some vandals got to our first ones and thought it’d be funny to destroy shit.”
Sinbad’s words didn’t seem to do much good. Shark just stood next to him like some melancholy behemoth, wiping his face of residual tears and snot.