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I still hear her in the night sometimes.

When I'm just on the edge of sleep, in that strange limbo world between wakefulness and slumber, and before I can slip into the welcoming arms of oblivion she calls out to me, her voice full of anguish, and I jerk fully awake with a violent start. 

To fully understand the wretchedness of my plight, I must take you back to where it all began - to the events that lead up to the very moment when, unbeknownst to (a far younger and more innocent version of) myself, I was to be clenched in the sweaty Armpit of Fate and set upon a doomed course that would inexorably lead to my very sanity being torn asunder like a pair of pants made from soggy pasta.

The first thing I remember about setting foot on that dreary isle is the way the sailor pinched my butt as I walked down the gangplank. The second thing I remember is how grey everything seemed. As though the very essence of life itself had somehow been leeched out of the landscape. Nevertheless, the apparent grim aspect of my new home did not dampen my spirits.

How optimistic I was back then! How unscathed by the horrors yet to come. How tragically unaware I was that, in just a few short months, my former innocence was to be completely stripped away. How chafed my ding-dong was after being stuck on a long voyage at sea with nothing to do but jerk off in my cabin all day.

I will not bore you with the tawdry details of the "incident" that prompted my well-to-do family to bundle me into a carriage with what little belongings could be hastily gathered together in the dead of night to be shipped off to a distant land, lest word of my actions bring them shame.

Pah! Such trifling nonsense.

Suffice to say the love between a man and farm machinery may not come to be understood by Puritan society in my lifetime, alas. 

I was to be housed in the attic room of some elderly distant relative or other (an Uncle Gustav, I came to discover), and given employment at the local chicken strangling concern, of which he was owner and master. I shall never forget the moment I stepped across the threshold of that rustic abode, mud caked on the soles of my fine footwear, and first laid eyes on her as I put my single suitcase down to catch my breath after so many lungfuls of air that was 80% cow farts.

I recall vaguely my uncle Gustav shambling up to greet me, smelling strongly of moldy cheese and cumstained underoos, extending one hand in welcome and patting me companionably upon the buttocks with the other. My attention, however, was almost entirely focused on the vision of loveliness I had spied immediately upon entering. 

My heart leaped in my chest as our eyes met. Mine cobalt blue and ablaze with passion; hers beady, black and on little stalks. I can tell you honestly, in that moment my fate was sealed.

I wonder: has any man paid a higher price, in all the history of romantic folly, for falling so hopelessly, irrevocably in love in such a savage instant? Perhaps those inclined to melancholy reflections on the nature of the human heart shall ponder this very question for generations to come. Perhaps a hobo will use my memoirs as toilet paper.

"H-who is that?" I stammered, pointing across the hall.

"Hmm? Her?" my uncle replied, turning to face the small aquarium in his study, "That's Emily. You mustn't pay 'er no mind, now, boy. I can see the way ye look at 'er and t'will come to no good end, I can tell ye roight now".

"But she's lovely!" I exclaimed.

"Aye, 'tis so. But she carries a terrible curse, she do, that one. To love her is to be cursed also."

"What do you mean?" I asked, heart galloping in my chest. In her aquarium, Emily scuttled sideways a little to probe a particular patch of sand with her claw.

"I found her washed up on the shore many years ago. She were but half the size she be now. She were clutched in the hand of a dying man, lyin' in the wet sand with his boots bein' lapped at by the tide. Well... when I say he were a man, I mean maybe he once were such. Weren't nearly nothin' human about him n'more." Here my uncle shuddered at this dark allusion, but would go into no more detail. "Anyway, he were only able to croak out six dreadful words to me before he expired, but those words chilled me to the bone they did."

"What did he say?" I asked.

Here my uncle looked me dead in the eyes and I tell you the look of dread on his face made my blood run cold, and a small squeak of dismay issue from my anus.

"'Do not fall in love with this here fiddler crab, because you'll be cursed if you do and a bunch of really bad stuff will happen and you'll be really really sad and you'll probably write a melodramatic account of it all in the first person before you disappear mysteriously and whatnot and oh fuck I'm dying urgh' said he," said my uncle.

"That was definitely more than six words, Uncle G-"

"Shh! That's not the point!" he admonished. After a pause, however, my uncle Gustav regained his composure and even managed a smile of sorts. "Best ye be gettin' along up to yer room, lad."

I fetched a sigh and, casting one last longing glance back at dear Emily, I took up my suitcase and trudged upstairs to my new lodgings. How I longed for sleep as I laid in my musty bed, listening to the mice scurrying in the walls. Alas, I found that I could take no rest. I would try to think of dull subjects, but my mind kept returning to the chitinous enchantress in the aquarium downstairs.

My uncle's warning had frightened me terribly, but my aching heart and throbbing loins urged me to fart in the face of reason and sneak down the creaking flight of stairs to my uncle's study in the hopes of a midnight tryst. I could scarcely contain my excitement at the mere thought of it!

My inner debate raged on for hours (and my shlong remained painfully priapic) before I decided to end my torment - and be damned the consequences!

I pulled on my nightshirt, lit a candle and crept toward the staircase with my pulse hammering in my ears.

Oh, but if only I had rubbed one out and gone to sleep instead!


[PAGES MISSING]



Oh, my Emily! If only I had not been so selfish... you would not have been taken away from me and I would not be turning into a monster.

My heart is turned to dog poots.

I have been such a fool. I am so sorry, Uncle Gustav.

Such calamity. Such woe. Woe is me. I am woe. I am woe's bitch.

Enough.

I must finish writing, as I can feel the last vestiges of my humanity slipping away. I feel as though I am more crab than man now.

My left arm is an oversized claw and although my right arm is still human, my handwriting is but a child's scrawl now and worsening quickly as my mental faculties desert me.

It is becoming difficult to concentrate. 

I will end my tale now, before all I can think about is delicious, delicious sediment.

Also, I'd like to have one last wank before the darkness takes me.

Blorp Blorp Bloop
October 22, 1691

:iconplanetbloopy:
PlanetBloopy Featured By Owner Jan 20, 2017
Ah, Emily. No other arthropods nor tales thereof can claim to have pinched me in the cockles so. A little spider once abseiled onto me knob, but a creature small enough to clamber inside one's bilge hose only schleps one with mere lust.
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:icon0athsworn:
0athSworn Featured By Owner Mar 23, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist

How interesting!

Something of fantasy, romance, mystery, SciFi, and classical literature completely weaved together to make some form of sense!!

For such an odd tale, you wrote it masterfully.

Cheers!

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