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Description

The choice was simple. It was him or her. His choice.

Seymour, dejected and consigned to his fate, slowly paced towards the cavernous mouth which stretched open before him. . . his shoulders hunched and his head bent towards the tabletop as if to take in each of his final steps. Seymour attempted to distract himself from the reality of his situation by remembering the lasting love they formed together; a technique cut short when his wife unfurled her mighty tongue onto the table with a wet plop. . . arching it like the word's slimiest ramp while letting out an "aaaaaahhh" sound akin to having her tonsils checked by a physician. This noise, while amusing to his now colossal wife, was like a giant fog horn to the little man. Seymour felt his whole body vibrate from the ear-piercing sound as it blasted past him on a gust of noxious wind, howling from the back of the giant's gaping throat. After a moment to compose himself, Seymour continued walking towards his destiny. Looking down, he found himself avoiding a puddle of spit which had pooled along his path. . . a curious action which wasn't lost on Seymour. "Why do I care about getting my feet wet, when I'm about to be covered in spit?," Seymour thought to himself. A thought he quickly waved away as another mystery of life. Like how he used to enjoy kissing, but he felt like drinking from the same glass was gross.

Just before he stepped onto her giant tongue, Seymour turned his head to gaze upon his lover as she dangled securely from his wife's unforgiving fingertips. They locked eyes and Seymour mouthed "I love you," as he stepped forward.

The choice was simple.

Description

The choice was simple. It was him or her. His choice.

Seymour, dejected and consigned to his fate, slowly paced towards the cavernous mouth which stretched open before him. . . his shoulders hunched and his head bent towards the tabletop as if to take in each of his final steps. Seymour attempted to distract himself from the reality of his situation by remembering the lasting love they formed together; a technique cut short when his wife unfurled her mighty tongue onto the table with a wet plop. . . arching it like the word's slimiest ramp while letting out an "aaaaaahhh" sound akin to having her tonsils checked by a physician. This noise, while amusing to his now colossal wife, was like a giant fog horn to the little man. Seymour felt his whole body vibrate from the ear-piercing sound as it blasted past him on a gust of noxious wind, howling from the back of the giant's gaping throat. After a moment to compose himself, Seymour continued walking towards his destiny. Looking down, he found himself avoiding a puddle of spit which had pooled along his path. . . a curious action which wasn't lost on Seymour. "Why do I care about getting my feet wet, when I'm about to be covered in spit?," Seymour thought to himself. A thought he quickly waved away as another mystery of life. Like how he used to enjoy kissing, but he felt like drinking from the same glass was gross.

Just before he stepped onto her giant tongue, Seymour turned his head to gaze upon his lover as she dangled securely from his wife's unforgiving fingertips. They locked eyes and Seymour mouthed "I love you," as he stepped forward.

The choice was simple.