(no subject)
Seymour drags a large form, wrapped in cloth, through the back alleys of Skid Row. He sees faces in the shadows. Every noise becomes someone approaching. Once he happens upon a sleeping bum and almost passes out. But no one notices. Or if they do, no one stops him.
He's panting, sweating, arms burning, by the time he reaches the shop. He has to stop in the side alley to the store (where he met the dentist) and breathe for a while.
Mutt, the scruffy stray dog - he's a sort of communal pet of the Skid Row bums - trots over and sniffs the package.
"Go away! Shoo!" Seymour hisses, raising his hand to swat him. Mutt knows that gesture well and scrambles away, tail curled between his legs. Seymour will give him a treat tomorrow to make up for that. He drags the package in.
Twoie's head swings toward him. "Chop him up. FEED ME!"
Seymour goes to the shed by the side alley. He unwraps the package. The corpse - the body - the dentist is still grinning. Seymour half expects it - him - to start laughing. He closes the dentist's eyes. Thinks of saying a few words, the only eulogy the dentist will ever get; abandons that idea as soon as it comes. People like the dentist don't deserve eulogies (or, at least, not from the people that killed them). He takes the dentist's apron - the body is still warm, malleable, almost like it could come back to life any second - and ties it on.
He bought an axe earlier today and kept it under his bed. He thought he'd need it.
Thud Bone inside the body is off-white, kind of pink. Thud Muscles are reddish with threads of purple. Thud The larynx is a thick tube, the spine tough to saw through, it takes two swings. Thud Soupy green-brown fluid gushes from the stomach (gotta hack through the torso, it won't fit in the sack or the plant's mouth otherwise). Thud Blood still drips without a heart to pump it. Thud Smells thick, earthy, like copper. Thud
Seymour stuffs the dentist's head into the sack he bought. He picks it up by the hair - his fingers are covered in Vitalis. He drags the sack to the side door, approaches Twoie, and pulls out a booted foot.
The plant chortles between bites and slurps. The sack is soon empty. The plant was hungry. Twoie looks at him, grinning as it licks blood off its teeth, then goes to sleep.
Seymour goes to the employee bathroom which doubles as the janitor's closet. He gets the scrubbing brush, pours water in the bucket, takes a bar of soap and a few of his rattiest rags for drying. He goes out to clean the linoleum floor. It's something he's done a thousand times before.
He can't quite get the blood out. He'll say he spilled something. Something red. Mr. Mushnik will believe that.
Later, he cleans the shed. He goes to the trash and throws out the dentist's apron, the sack, the rags, the pink-tinged water.
He manages to get to the bathroom when the urge to vomit hits, so he doesn't have to clean that up. One less thing to worry about. Seymour stares at the toilet and tries to convince himself that everything is going to turn out all right.