Chapter 39 Chapter 39 Dinner Time

Perry piled the rice and tomato bolognese mixture on the plate again, trying to jump to the sofa without spilling the food on the plate.He fell heavily on the mat, gritted his teeth at the pain in his leg, then grabbed a fork and began to eat, whether it was his last supper or not. The tomato bolognese didn't hold the rice together very well, so it looked more like a thick soup than Spanish-style rice.But it was still delicious, and it appeased his groaning, protesting stomach.He swept away the rice like a storm, as if he had never eaten it in his life.Oh, if only I could have a Big Mac and a big bag of French fries now, or a chocolate cake with ice cream, or a chocolate bar, or a large well-done steak with a cheese Broccoli would work too.Oh, and it would be nice to be able to eat another earthly delicacy like an extremely fluffy Taco Bell taco, slathered in hot sauce and slurped down with a big bottle of bootleg whiskey.It's not that his rice isn't tasty, it's just that it doesn't really look like a serious meal, and his stomach is eagerly anticipating it to be full like a water balloon on a hot summer's day .

summer.It would be great if I could die at that time.His luck, as always, was terrible.He should have caught the "disease" in the spring, or in the summer, or at least in the fall.The beauty of Michigan in all three seasons is unimaginable.The eyes are full of green onions, and the green trees are either revealing new buds or already luxuriant, showing emerald-like deep brilliance before the arrival of winter.It would be nice to die in summer, too—once you get out of the cities and business districts and onto the winding country roads, Michigan summers are so green.A straight black highway leads to Michigan's northern peninsula through an endless sea of ​​green forest and farmland.

Farms, forests, wetlands, lakes... In the three-hour drive from Mount Pleasant to Sheboygan, this is the boundless beauty you can enjoy, except for a few traffic accidents and the sparse houses in the roadside villages. It flashed before your eyes, and gradually disappeared in the rearview mirror of the car, like a trace of a not-so-wonderful dream slowly melting in the sweet sleepiness. Summer, at least early summer, is warm.In midsummer, Michigan will be shrouded in sweltering humidity, wet and sticky everywhere, flying swarms of mosquitoes and black flies.But it doesn't hide its flaws anyway, because you will pass a small lake within five or ten minutes of driving.Back home, swim in the mullet lake, let the cool lake water wash away the unbearable heat.The sun was like a fire, and the white body was scorched red, the flames were so bright that people were dizzy, and white lights appeared in front of the eyes, as if millions of dazzling supernovae splashed down from the sky after a star exploded.

That's a good way to die.Bask in the warm summer sun while swimming around in that perfect incredible lake in northern Michigan.Contrary to the perfection of summer, winter is quite difficult.Of course, the beauty of winter itself is beyond doubt.Snowy trees and silver flowers, the endless fields covered in silver makeup, the trees are scattered and scattered, and the farmhouses are dotted.But the beauty doesn't really matter, especially when it's cold enough to freeze you like a fool.This kind of cold is especially severe in the north in winter, and in the south of this state where the population is expanding, you will see forests and fields on the way to work, full of lush greenery.Here, winter is miserable.Cold, freezing, wet.Even the snow looked dirty, shoveled haphazardly to the side of the road, mixed with rocks that had melted into piles of slush.Sometimes the dry branches are dotted with snow, and countless white plum blossoms bloom on the branches, but most of the time they are bare brown, lifeless and lifeless.That's why he came up with the idea that he must be cremated after death-he couldn't imagine that after his death, he would spend his eternal life under the frozen soil of Michigan in winter.

But he was doomed in the Michigan winter.Even if the soldiers could find him, could they help him?How much longer would the damned growth be screaming in his head like drugged rocker Sam Cornish? He wiped the last few grains of rice into his mouth. "Delicious, isn't it?" He tossed the saucer on the coffee table.Hey, he's dying, there's no need to clean up this mess.Indistinct screams began to chatter in his head. "We absorb without tasting" do not taste.Perry tensed suddenly.what happened? The expressive ability of the "Five Tiger Generals" has been greatly improved.

He leaned back on the sofa cushions.The gurgling in my stomach subsided and then stopped.Staring at the blank screen of the TV, a thought popped into his mind - what to do next? During all the chaos he had never given much thought to entertainment.He either sleeps or passes out or cuts himself up like some freak in a Clive Barker movie, or talks to the "Fab Five".For a while he watched a little TV, but dear Brother Colombo got him into more trouble. He can't watch TV, so what is he going to do?Of course, he used to take some computer books from the office and take them home to study, but if he is now asked to spend some time on computer operating system management or domestic source code writing, it is better to just let him die.However, he quite appreciates the idea of ​​reading books. He just wants to read books now, and anything is fine, as long as it can give him a moment's relief from this painful situation.

He has read less than a third of Stephen King's "The Shining," and he hasn't read a single page this week.Now that he has his chance, he's not going anywhere.Maybe immersing himself in the book would relieve the pain of whether or not to think about the soldiers coming to save him (and, if he did, how terribly the Triangles would have screamed). But first, he had to wipe the gravy off his face and hands.Dinner was a bit of a mess.Apparently, he could tolerate a stain on his sweatshirt, but the sticky, wet feeling on his face was distracting.He slowly got up from the couch, jumped into the bathroom, and considered whether to take some painkillers, even though the last round of medicines was still weak.The pain in his leg was getting worse.

He turned on the faucet and waited until the water was almost boiling hot before washing his face and hands.Staring at his wet face in the mirror, he couldn't help but think again of Giorgio Romeo's classic stage play "Night of the Zombies".He was almost a walking dead: pale, sickly skin, bloodshot eyes, heavy dark circles, and dirty strands of twisted hair. But not everything is so bad.His beer belly was gone, and his muscles were more defined for the first time in years.Over the past few days - he's lost at least 10 pounds - and all that loss has been fat.He waved his arms and saw the deltoid muscles under his skin bulging high.

What a fucking great diet plan.I'm going to take on Richard Simmons, the famous American slimming star. There's a lot more to him than muscles.He hadn't noticed a triangle in a piece of skin for a while.He wondered if he really wanted to see what they looked like now.Maybe they grew bigger, expanding themselves as they continued their climb up "Perry's Peak." He had to watch. The piece near his neck is the easiest to observe.Perry tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt, exposing the triangle underneath.It is above the clavicle, which happens to grow on the trapezius muscle.

It was the first muscle name he learned.When he was a kid, his father would pinch his trapezius with such force that it would dwarf the "fatal jab" of Mr. Spock, the pointy-eared alien from "Star Trek."Oh my gosh, that hurts so much.The father usually said something while pinching, "This is my family, you must obey my orders", or more often, "You must have self-control". Perry shrugged off thoughts about his father and focused on the triangle.It's bluer now, more like a new tattoo.It's stiffer and has sharper edges.As if his bulging muscles had become more defined over time, the rough texture of the triangles had begun to show beneath the skin.He tried to poke it with his hand, it was quite hard.He rubbed his way across the sink to the mirror again, almost touching it, so he could get a good look at the little intruder.

He stared at the edges of the triangle, at the slits, at the blue, at the pores of his skin.Everything is fine, except for that little foreign object under the skin.He noticed several blue tubes extending from the triangle.backflow of blood.Hypoxic state.It looked like a few small veins on his wrist.This explains why the triangles look blue - they draw oxygen from his blood through their tails or something, and then the oxygen-deprived blood flows through the triangle's small body, making the triangle's skin radiate. A blue sheen.It turned out to be like this. The slits were much more mature than the last time he saw them.They're all wrinkled now, almost like thin lips, or maybe more like...more like... Triangle's short words echoed in his ears - no, we can't see... not yet. Not yet. "Oh my gosh, don't be fooled." But this time, God did not hear. As if on cue, Triangle opened its eyes for the first time. That's right, those narrow openings are eyelids.Three long and narrow openings opened, revealing the deep, dark and shining surface within.If one were to ask what they were, the question would be answered when all three eyelids blinked at the same time. He stared at his collarbone, and his collarbone stared at him. "Fuck you!" Perry said, his voice full of panic.When will this dead thing stop growing?What's next?Are they going to grow out of him, little hands, little feet, little claws or little tails? His breath began to weaken, and he began to gasp.His vision was blurred, and his consciousness seemed to have gone somewhere to catch his breath.He was used to jumping around with one foot now, and he returned to the sofa and sat down, still in a trance. His mind began to glide freely like an unmanned spaceship, as if an old movie was constantly scrolling in his head.Perry just sat there blankly, staring at the screen, unable to change the program, let alone take his eyes off the constantly switching screens. He remembered a program he had watched on the Science and Education Channel.It's about a wasp, and what a wicked little monster.It attacked a caterpillar, but didn't kill it, just paralyzed it for a short while...during which time the wasp laid its eggs inside the caterpillar.It's inside a caterpillar, it's fucking speechless.And then the wasp, its mission completed, flew away.The caterpillar wakes up and continues to feed on the leaves, unaware of the evil disease lurking in its belly. What happened next was so horrific that Perry will never forget it.Wasp eggs don't just hatch and emerge from the caterpillar's body... They have gnawed a bloody path. After the eggs have successfully hatched, the newborn wasp larvae begin to feed on the guts of the caterpillars.The wasp larva gradually grew up, and although the caterpillar struggled desperately to survive, it was powerless to deal with the gnawing larva in its body, so it could only sit and wait for death.The caterpillar's skin began to swell, wrinkle, and undulate slightly, while the larva continued to gnaw inside it, nibbling its stomach slowly, rhythmically, and with mechanical precision like a caterpillar nibbling a leaf.It's all daunting, and it's all cancer in the flesh.But to make matters worse, the larvae have a horrible instinct to know what they should eat, so they keep devouring the fat and internal organs of the caterpillar, while avoiding the heart and brain, trying to enjoy this food for as long as possible. A crawling buffet. The larvae are so perfectly evolved that they don't kill the caterpillar until the point at which their growth cycle is fully over—they crawl out of the caterpillar's body, glistening and wet with visceral slime.And their victim is still dying, with amazing vigor, though its guts have been devoured as early as a weekend breakfast fort at a fast food restaurant. Is this the same situation as Perry is now?Are they going to devour him from his body too?But if that was the case, then why were they always screaming at him for food?They wouldn't rule his mind, that was obvious—if they could, they wouldn't need to grow eyes, would they?Maybe this is just the first stage - if they can grow eyes, why can't they grow mouths?Why can't teeth grow? He tried to calm down, forcing himself to concentrate and think clearly.After all, he was an educated man, a college student, in his father's words.All he has to do is think, and maybe he can figure out the answer himself. He just couldn't find enough information to sketch out either scenario, and he couldn't proceed.It is estimated that even Colombo would be helpless when encountering such a thing.Of course, Colombo would have to play the role of a nonsense fool, the exact opposite of his opponent's suave, arrogant arrogance.Colombo would look clumsy on purpose, revealing weaknesses and letting his opponents' self-confidence begin to explode until they showed their feet, tiny details that would normally go unnoticed.But these can't escape Peter Falk's eyes, this is his way, with great wisdom and foolishness, let the opponent lose without a fight. "Hey, idiot." "Hello" "What the hell are you guys trying to do to me?" "What do you mean by thinking?" "Why are you inside me?" "we do not know" After some questioning, there was nothing to do.Only sitting.Sit and wait.So what is the difference between him and a dining table that can walk and talk?Nothing to do but sit.Sit and wait.Sit and listen. You want them to talk to you like that, my boy? Another voice... his father's voice.It wasn't real, it wasn't the sound of the triangle in his head, it was memory.No, not memories, but phantoms.It was Dad's voice, and Dad's soul was with him. "No, Dad," said Perry, his voice dry and husky. "I'm not going to let them talk to me like that." He hooked his index finger around the collar of the sweatshirt and pulled it down roughly, the collar was torn a small tear, exposing the triangle on the collarbone.He couldn't see it, but he knew that those cold, menacing black eyes were blinking, scanning everything in the living room, including the odds and ends that Perry had owned since high school. The fork was still on the plate, with some tomato pate still stuck to the tip.Perry grabbed it savagely, clutching it tightly in his palm like a sharp dagger.He suddenly remembered a pun in a school joke, and giggled. "Hitch you (insert you), dude." With all his might, he drove the fork into the trapezius.The fork sank into the triangle with a sizzling sound, and the center point of the fork just hit a black eye. The prongs pierced the shoulder blades and protruded from the back of the trapezius, and red and purple blood sprayed everywhere and onto the worn sofa cover. He wasn't even sure if he really felt it.He didn't have to scream in pain at all—leave that task to Triangle. It wasn't even a scream, really, it was just a noise.Very loud noise.Like a raging hellfire, and like an alarm being stuffed into the ear, it clings to the eardrum, making a loud and piercing sound.He rolled off the sofa, beating his head frantically in the sudden, boundless pain. He tried to sit up straight, clutching the fork and twisting violently, driving it deeper into his shoulder. Perry didn't know that the second time he pushed the fork hard into his body, the prongs pierced right into the nerve column just below the flat, triangular head, sending it instantly into the sky.But even if he knew, he probably wouldn't care - he only knew that he was not so easy to be taken advantage of by others, and it was not so easy to bow down to others, he was the "Titan" Perry Darcy!He wants to regain power! "You bastards!" Perry screamed louder than ever, perhaps overpowering the screams raging in his head for himself to hear. "Like this? How does it feel?" "Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop" "Bastard, I'll stop! How does it feel? Is it comfortable?" Tears streamed from his closed eyes, and the pain rushed through his body, but he couldn't feel it at all. "Asshole you will pay to stop stop" "Hold it!" Perry was excited about the wave after wave of pain, like an alcoholic who quit drinking and started drinking again. "I'll get this out of the way first, and then I'll call the soldiers to get the rest done!" He twisted the fork again, which penetrated deeply into a tendon, and he opened his mouth, but nothing came out. sound.He finally couldn't bear the pain anymore, and fell to the ground helplessly—his shoulder and the handle of the fork hit the sofa seat, and the fork tip was squeezed even deeper. "stop stop stop stop" Perry tried to open his eyes, but only a few wisps of light came through.The screaming in his head was too overwhelming and he would pass out again, he knew it.But he couldn't speak, even a small word, couldn't "stop stop" tell them he's sorry "stop stop" can't tell daddy he'll listen "stop stop" Can't ask dad to stop digging into his own brain! "stop stop" "stop stop" "stop" He fell to the ground, motionless, not hearing the tense and then angry stamping of feet from the ceiling.