"Please help me. I'm so hungry. Please help me. Please put me back together." The slimey mouth pleads.
My back hits the alley wall, and I feel bile rising in my throat. This can't be happening. People don't explode into slime. They don't keep talking afterward.
"What the fuck are you?" I whisper, unable to look away from the disembodied features.
The slime-suspended mouth forms into a smile, unsettling and otherworldly. "I'm Amy," the mouth articulates slowly, purple goo bubbling with each syllable. "And I hunger, Benjamin."
A cold chill runs down my spine. "How the hell do you know my name?" I demand, voice cracking with tension.
The eye floating in the purple mass rolls dramatically, and the mouth releases what can only be described as a gelatinous sigh. "I've been following you around all day. Watching you. Learning you."
"That's not creepy at all," I mutter sarcastically, though my hands are trembling.
"You need to help me," the mouth continues, desperation seeping into its tone. "Please, Benjamin. I'm... scattered. Disintegrating."
Something about her pathetic tone breaks through my shock. Maybe it's the bizarre absurdity of the situation, or maybe it's just that helping a talking puddle of goo is marginally better than confronting my failed suicide attempt.
"Okay, okay," I say, panic rising in my chest as I glance around the alley. Anyone could walk by at any moment. My hands fumble with my backpack zipper, yanking it open. "I'll help you. Somehow."
I begin frantically scooping up handfuls of the purple slime, wincing at the cold, gelatin-like texture as I stuff it into my backpack. It's like handling sentient Jell-O.
"Can I eat what's in here?" the mouth asks as I push it into the bag, still connected to a glob of purple.
I look down at the nearly empty bag. "It's literally just pencil shavings and some crumpled paper. Nothing edible."
The eye blinks slowly, floating to the surface of the slime I'm holding. "Sooooo... that's a no?"
"I don't know!" I snap, anxiety making me irritable as I desperately continue gathering up every bit of purple I can find. "Maybe you can? I have no fucking clue what you eat! I don't even know what you are!"
My fingers slip through a particularly viscous patch, and I grimace. "I don't care what you do. Just stay inside the bag."
After several minutes of frantic scooping, I've gathered what appears to be most of Amy's gelatinous form. The backpack bulges unnaturally, purple ooze threatening to seep through the zipper.
"How can I fix you?" I ask, wiping my slime-covered hands on my jeans. "How do I put you back together?"
"I need food," comes the muffled reply from inside the backpack. "Real food. Sustenance."
"For fuck's sake!" I throw my hands up in exasperation. "Let's get you to my apartment before someone sees this weird shit. I can't believe I'm talking to a fucking slime in an alley."
I zip up the bag with more force than necessary, struggling with the bulging contents.
"Oh my, it's nice in here," Amy's muffled voice comes from inside. "Cozy. Dark. Your pencil smells like cinnamon."
"That doesn't make sense," I mutter, slinging the oozing backpack over my shoulder. I look around nervously, half-expecting campus security to appear and ask why I'm covered in purple goop.
I start walking back to my apartment, every step making me feel more like a crazy person. People pass by, completely oblivious to the fact that I'm carrying a fucking slime monster in my backpack. A girl smiles at me, probably thinking I'm just another normal guy, not someone who just tried to kill himself.
"Are we there yet?" Amy's voice bubbles from the bag. "I'm getting hungry."
"Stop moving around so much. You're leaking through the zipper." I hiss, trying to look normal while talking to my backpack.
I'm barely halfway across campus when I spot a familiar figure walking toward me. Catrina Walsh, with her vintage-inspired suit and messy auburn bun, is heading straight in my direction. Great. Just what I need right now, social interaction while I'm smuggling a talking puddle.
She waves, amber eyes lighting up with recognition. "Ben! Hey there!"
I freeze, feeling purple slime dripping down my back. The backpack gives an unnerving wiggle against my spine.
"Who's that?" Amy's voice bubbles from inside the bag. "Can I eat her?"
"What the fuck? No. Shut the fuck up," I whisper harshly, trying to smile at Catrina as she approaches.
"Oh hey, how did your business go with Liz?" Catrina asks, adjusting her leather satchel. Her eyes narrow slightly as she notices the purple stains on my clothes. "Are you... okay? You look like you've been through something."
"Fine!" I say too quickly. "Everything's fine. The meeting with Liz was... It went great."
The backpack trembles against my back. "You're lying," Amy whispers loudly enough for Catrina to hear. "I saw the whole thing. She rejected you, and that mean girl threatened you."
I cough loudly, slapping the bag. "Just my phone notification! Super loud, right?"
Catrina tilts her head, her expression somewhere between concerned and curious. "Ben, I don't mean to pry, but..." Her eyes drift to the purple stain spreading on my shirt. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," I insist, shifting uncomfortably as Amy squirms inside the backpack. "Just a... art project gone wrong."
Catrina twirls a strand of auburn hair around her finger, studying me. "Hey, you're single, right? Maybe we could hang out later? I know this great coffee place off campus."
The backpack against my back vibrates with what feels like... anger? My mind goes completely blank with panic.
"Sorry, I have to go," I blurt out, backing away slowly. "I left a gun in the oven."
Catrina's eyebrows shoot up. "You... what?"
"Oven gun!" I mutter, already turning to walk away from her.
"Do you need help?" she calls after me, sounding genuinely worried.
"No, sorry!" I shout over my shoulder, not daring to look back.
As I round the corner toward my apartment building, Amy's voice bubbles from the backpack. "Why couldn't I eat her? She sounded tasty."
"Amy, you can't eat people," I growl, checking over my shoulder to make sure no one's within earshot.
"Yes, I can," she says with such matter-of-fact confidence that it sends a chill down my spine.
"Can we just wait till we get to my apartment?" I plead, fumbling with my keys as I approach my building.
"Fine," she says, but she sounds annoyed, like a child denied candy before dinner.
I practically sprint up the steps to my apartment. By the time I unlock my door and stumble inside, my shirt is soaked with purple slime and sweat.
I slam the door shut and drop the backpack on the floor. Purple slime oozes through the fabric and spreads across my hardwood floor.
"Shit, shit, shit," I mutter, scooping up the backpack and rushing to the bathroom.
I flick on the lights and fumble with the bathtub faucet, turning it to make sure it's off. I close the drain plug tight and unzip the backpack, tipping it over the tub. The purple slime sloshes out in a thick wave, splattering against the white porcelain.
"Ohhhhh this is cool," Amy's voice echoes in the bathroom as the slime spreads across the tub surface. "Lotta interesting tastes in here."
I watch in horrified fascination as the slime shifts and bubbles, coalescing into something resembling a face, one eye, part of a nose, and that unsettling mouth floating in the purple mass.
"Ben!" the mouth forms the word with exaggerated movements. "Hungry!!!"
"Alright, alright," I say, backing toward the door. "Just... stay there. Don't go anywhere."
I sprint to the kitchen, my heart pounding against my ribs. I yank open the refrigerator door, staring at the sparse contents, some leftover takeout, condiments, and a carton of eggs.
"Do you eat eggs?" I yell toward the bathroom.
"Probably!" Amy's voice calls back, the word echoing strangely.
I grab the carton. "Milk?" I shout, spotting the half-full gallon.
"Sure!"
I start grabbing everything I can, lunch meat, cheese, an apple that's seen better days, a container of yogurt that might be expired. Arms full, I kick the fridge door closed and hurry back to the bathroom.
Amy's slime has spread to cover the entire bathtub surface, pulsing slightly like some kind of alien heartbeat. I dump the food items on the edge of the tub.
"Here. Try this?."
The purple mass surges forward, engulfing an egg whole. The shell dissolves into the slime with a sizzling sound. Amy makes a pleased humming noise.
"More," she demands, a tendril of slime reaching for the apple.
I crack open another egg and pour it directly into the mass. "How exactly does this help you become... whole again?"
"I don't know," she says, her voice stronger as she consumes more food.
I watch as she devours everything I brought, the milk pouring into her gelatinous form and disappearing.
The slime pulses with energy as it consumes the last of the food, then suddenly contracts with an audible gurgle. A loud, resonant burp echoes off the bathroom tiles.
"Mmmmm, that was great," Amy's voice sounds more substantial now, less bubbly and distorted.
I watch in stunned silence as the purple mass begins to reshape itself. The slime rises from the bathtub, elongating and molding into something vaguely humanoid. First, a head forms, then shoulders and arms, the details of Amy's face becoming more defined, those knifelike purple eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. Her top half takes shape, dripping but recognizably human, skin and all. Her bottom half remains a pile of undulating purple slime.
She licks her lips slowly, the gesture both innocent and somehow predatory. "Since I absorbed Amy, I've felt all these new emotions, Ben," she says, her voice a sultry purr that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
I can't help but stare. Despite the alien nature of her half-formed body, she's absolutely gorgeous, like some gothic goddess stepped out of a nightmare fantasy. Her features are hauntingly beautiful, with that purple-black hair framing her face in wet, glistening strands.
"Amy had a penchant for watching something called 'blow job' videos," she continues, tilting her head curiously. "Cum seems absolutely irresistible."
"Maybe you could feed me some of that?" She says, pointing to the thing slithering in my pants.