The octopus creature had us both strung up by our necks and I could feel his rubbery suckers folding around the front of my throat. I looked at my husband dangling nonchalantly in front of me and met his stare, finding that even was I not being strangled, I was entirely incapable of a single utterance. What might have been suitable? Aladdin’s musical and romantic ‘I can open your eyes’ engaged in a brief dalliance with my brain, but it just didn’t seem right due to the lack of drama and general infidelity. In the next moment the octopus had sort of resolved the problem anyway by ripping my husband’s eyeballs out. In the end I had said nothing, and then it had been too late. Perhaps the thought was enough, or perhaps the vast emptiness which followed was louder than our time together had been.
I looked at the octopus creature and complimented him on the blueness of his tentacles. The tedious air of the sycophantic.