Love of my Life

I found the thing stuck in a laundromat dryer. My attempts to grab him were futile. I received several bites. I was tempted to call animal control and have them cut the things head off, but only for a moment. I don’t think human homunculus’s can carry rabies and I don’t know what animal control would even do. I don’t know the number, anyway.

So, I ran over to the corner store and grabbed some treats. I tempted him out with candy, strung him along on little pieces of cereal all the way up to my fifth-floor apartment. The elevator was out but I wouldn’t have taken it anyway. I didn’t want to stand so close alone with this little thing.

But at the same time, I was bringing it into my home. Maybe an elevator is more intimate than my bedroom, not that it was allowed in my bedroom. He stayed in the kitchen, slept in a cupboard, pooped in a tin can that I flung out the window every morning.

I could have just flushed it but that didn’t feel right. The toilet is where I went, he went in a tin can, you don’t get to dignify a tin can shitter by simply flushing it, you have to embarrass it, like a cat.

Not that cats mind. Not that he minded either. I call him he but it could also be a her, but it’s probably a them. I don’t want to name him. What he is is something. I think he’s a homunculus human fusion but I have a very thin grasp on the word homunculus. I’m not sure I’m even spelling it right. I could look it up but I won’t. He has a foot like a slug, a neck like a bean stalk, and a head just like any other person. It’s a pretty head. So pretty I think he might be a girl, but I’ve inspected him thoroughly and I haven’t found a single vagina. I haven’t found a penis either, not that I was looking for a penis, though.

I have to move it place to place, it moves too slowly, probably because of the slug foot. I set him somewhere and he wobbles around like a punching bag all lanky and top heavy, stuck to the floor. Not that I’ve ever punched him before.

He’s so pretty, facially, but below the chin he’s disgusting, just all green slime. He has a tiny hole in his foot, it’s his asshole and pisshole. Cloaca. Maybe he’s part bird.

I read in a book once that dragons don’t have assholes or pissholes or cloacas. They don’t poop. The fire is the digestive system. Instead of taking a dump to get rid of their waste they incinerate it in their bellies, breath it out in a cool fireball. Also they eat gold, that’s why they’re always sleeping on big piles of it. That was a long time ago though. Dragons have been extinct for a while. That’s true, I read that in a book.

Anyway, this homunculus thing isn’t a dragon because he doesn’t breathe fire and he shits everywhere. Well, not everywhere, just in the tin can, but there’s a lot of shit in it. Well, maybe not. I don’t empty the can too often, it could be a normal amount of shit for a homunculus, but who knows, I’m not a biologist.

Sometimes I like to practice kissing it on the mouth. I think it’s mostly gross but it does have a pretty face so sometimes I like to kiss it on the mouth when I get home. I don’t know if I’m improving or not, I don’t think it has vocal chords so it hasn’t given me much feedback.

I’m thinking about wrapping it up in a little basket like in those movies and just having its head poke out and leaving it on some nun’s doorstep or something. I think that’d be funny. They’d pick it up and say something like “oh, what a precious little thing” and they’d take it in thinking they were going to raise an orphan or something and then they’d unwrap it and it’s a slimy homunculus. They’d probably scream, curse it and call it an abomination and stuff, that’d be funny. They’d all gather around ruffling up their big dresses and stomp it to death with their combat boots.

That’d be cool. I haven’t done that yet but I might. I don’t care either way.