MAN-BEAST
A very true story by Dave Caswell about Dave Caswell
The Man-Beast stood before the threshold and sniffed the air cautiously. Amidst the thousand aromas that it’s brain couldn’t possibly perceive, it was the lack of one in particular that it noticed most. The lack of woman scent.
The beast would have it’s day.
It crashed through the door with tremendous fervor and animalistic intent. The journey to its cave had been a long one and while it’s momentary elation by the notion of it’s woman’s absence was stifling, it still had a simple task to complete before it could bask in it’s temporary solitude. Into the bathroom it lumbered, unzipping it’s lower body cloth before it even reached the toilet. This was it’s place to expel its grievances and in a way, the beast looked forward to this moment each day of it’s existence.
The spent liquid poured out of it gloriously, replaced with a sense of sublime content. When it was done, it’s gaze swept the bathroom in an analytical fashion. There were a few muzzle hairs left around the lip of the sink, fang brush soap stains on the shiny chrome of the sink faucet, and pink stains from hard water in the washing tub. It’s mark had been made in this room. There was no reason to change the territory that it had rightfully claimed. It moved on.
The kitchen was the next place to fall victim to the Man-Beasts’ wrath. The thought of food had festered in it’s mind since it had last eaten (which was only three hours earlier) and now was it’s time to feed. It ripped the pantry door from it’s hinges, sniffed out the bag of cheese curls, and pawed it down from the top shelf. It felt small in the beasts’ grasp, but so did all of it’s prey. The time to devour was at hand.
Maximum comfort during consumption was a necessity. Two things were to be accomplished before maximum comfort could be had. One, was to de-shirt; too long on this day had the creature been closed up in it’s small, cotton prison. Two, was to lay about on the couch. A beast can only sit or stand for so long in a day before it must lay.
As it moved swiftly through the kitchen, an unsightly mess caught it’s eye. The dishes in the sink mocked it from where they sat in disarray. Unclaimed food clung desperately to metal pots, milky water pools sat undisturbed mixing bowls, and overturned Tupperware lay scattered amidst wasteland of kitchen ware. These dishes need to be done, it thought. But not right now.
And so the dishes sat.
Later, much later, in history, it would be written that this was one of the greatest tragedies mankind would ever befall. ‘The Day The Dishes Sat’ would become a day of grievance so heavy that it could only be tolerated with a day off from work and school. The records would portray it accurately as the time when dishes went undone and humanity paid dearly for it. Deservedly, the Man-Beast would be ever to blame.
Not caring, it continued on in it’s dubious quest. Once inside the bedroom door, it shed itself of it’s shirt in a vigorous display. The ragged piece of cotton landed amidst the rest of the cotton that the beast wrapped itself in daily to be acceptable among the other beasts. It all laid there in a messy pile, spent from the beasts calamitous use. It snorted at the cotton’s meaninglessness when it wasn’t hanging on it’s body. Let them lay.
Alas, the goal was at hand. The couch spread out before it like an endless ocean of comfort. All it needed to do was take the plunge. And with exquisite bliss, it did. The cushions screamed silently under all two hundred and forty pounds of raw instinct. The beast groaned in satisfaction once it was settled. It ripped into the bag of cheese curls and began to devour.
Sometime after it had fed upon the bag of cheesy delight, and was sated for the time being, the beast licked it’s paws clean and puffed out the last bit of the day’s stress from it’s lungs. It uttered a sound that was one part a pleased purr, the other part, a victorious laugh.
Before long, it had fallen into a comfortable slumber.
———————————-
“I just think that your definition of ‘clean’ and mine, are completely different,” Dave said with his arms held out to each side.
Angela sat across the living room from him on the pulled out piano bench with her arms crossed. She let a long moment pass, locked onto him with an icy stare.
“Our bathroom looks like a bus stop bathroom,” she said.
“Well that’s a little…”
“There’s hair everywhere and sometimes I wonder if you’re even aiming for the toilet when you piss! The only reason I didn’t clean it was to see how long it would take you to notice.”
“Okay. The bathroom’s in rough shape. I’ll give you that.”
“And what about the sink? How many days does it have to go before you wash a dish?”
Dave gestured to the kitchen, wide-eyed. “I figured we could do them after dinner tonight. There’s no sense in doing them twice in one day, is there?”
She made a wild hand gesture around her head as if his words were a swarm of flies she was batting away from her face.
“It’s disgusting, okay? And by the way, the last three days worth of your shirts are laying in a pile next to the bed. Is it really that hard to get them into the hamper which is literally two feet to the left of where they are now?”
Dave looked down at his lack of shirt. She’s got me there. He had been beaten at every turn and there was no excuse. It was time to concede defeat and own up.
“You’re right. I’m uh… I’m sorry. I have to be better about this.”
Her posture went slightly lax.
“Let’s act like an adult, eh?”
Dave nodded stupidly and with that, Angela was up and headed out of the room. He would need to work for her affection now and justifiably so. The house was left a mess and there was no excuse for it. Well… that wasn’t entirely true. He knew there was an excuse for it but not one that was ever possibly acceptable for use. His secret was safe for now and he had bought himself some time.
Somewhere, deep down inside, the Man-Beast uttered a sound that was one part a pleased purr, the other part, a victorious laugh.
END
