Crab

Yo soy pensamiento sobre el immortalidad de el cangrejo. Wallace awoke to the sound of trumpets. One would think this to be an unusual situation to find oneself in, but Wallace knew better. He gracefully fell out of his bed and managed to roll his body into the wall, producing a decent thump. The trumpeting ceased. Emerging from his bathroom fifteen minutes later, we catch a glance at our protagonist, revealing him to be a man-boy of twenty-five. On his face was a look that said he only vaguely knew where he was, and cared very little to be enlightened. He popped in a copy of Bing Crosby performing Christmas carols into the stereo, and lit his first cigarette of the day. He pondered on how he should go about living on the last day of his life. He drew up a checklist, crumbled it up, and threw it into the bin. He rose, put on a pair of jeans and a dark shirt, and exited the apartment. He had left the still-lit cigarette in the bin, and the building was up in flames before long. Strutting down the sidewalk, Wallace sorted out his thought processes. Before long, he turned abruptly and entered Ralph's Used Prosthetics. He moseyed around the aisles of the unclaimed appendages, and eventually approached the arguably attractive clerk. “Is there a layaway system here?” Wallace asked, completely uninterested in the purchase of artificial limbs. The clerk eyed him up and down to find any need, and assumed it was a want. “I don't get off till two,” she replied, nonchalantly. Taking another look, the audience decides she is indeed attractive, in a murky sort of way. Wallace stares at her intensely for a fourth of a second, looks down, and pulls out a cigarette. He retrieves a Zippo and lights the cigarette, and returns the lighter to his pocket in one fluid motion. He makes his final exit from Ralph's. Wallace is sitting in a bench at the park. Watching the ducks. The ducks are watching him. The air is tense, you can feel something big coming. Quack. Relief rushes over him. He leaps from the bench, starts on a decent jog toward the lake, and dives headfirst into the water. Bubbles emerge on the surface. Minutes pass. Three hours later, Wallace springs out of the Pacific ocean, near the Baha Peninsula. “I knew this was going to happen if I wasn't careful,” he muttered to no one in particular. He floats, rocking with the ocean. He sees a dot on the horizon. He waits patiently, and soon the figure can be identified as a crab, casually drifting on the surface. He loses interest, and sleeps with the fishes.