The last thing he remembered was having his toes eaten by a transparent squid.

Then: darkness. And then: a gradual awakening followed by the smell of cinnamon. Christ, is that mom’s apple pie?

When his eyelids finally unshielded his eyes completely, Billy Roanoke was faced with an unfamiliar ceiling. He turned his head to the right and saw an even more unfamiliar dresser covered with perfumes, face-creams, and all sorts of cosmetology goop. Billy turned his head to the left and saw a door.

Where am I? What the hell is this?

He was agitated. Regardless of any pain he had experienced during his life, he always was reassured if he knew exactly where he was and where he could go to get away from the situation.

He was also confused. The room was alien to him. It didn’t resemble anything he’d ever encountered. Billy thought there was something off about the room, something under the surface that made the reality of the room all the more terrifying.

Billy swung his legs to the left and stood up.

He fell to the ground face first, chipping his front teeth on the mahogany wood floor. “Fucking shit!” he yelled but then felt silly. Billy always believed that getting angry was only satisfying when someone was there to witness it. Otherwise, it was just like putting on a play without an audience.

His eyes went down to his feet but then Billy realized that they were gone.

It wasn’t a dream. The fucking squid ate my feet.

He almost cursed again but held it in. Swallowing his pride, he lifted himself up with his arms and dragged himself toward the door.

The cinnamon smell abruptly turned to smoke. Mom, you’re burning the pie!

Billy’s nostrils twitched as he put his hand on the doorknob. He screeched in pain. The doorknob was like molten lava in the shape of a breast.

A velvety layer of smoke slid from under the door and entered the room. Billy almost thought he even heard the flapping sound of flames.

The house is on fire!

With all the energy that fear and adrenalin could provide, Billy dragged himself toward the other side of the room and sat up against the dresser. His shoulder bumped into it and a small vial of perfume fell over, rolled down, and fell on top of Billy’s head, shattering in the process.

One nostril sucked in the sweet fumes while the other choked on smoke.

Billy looked out the window and saw only a few feet of dirt and then a cliff.

Beyond that: grey water that stood still like glass. Billy also thought he saw something tiny out on the horizon.

“Here goes nothing, you stupid son of a bitch,” Billy said. He slammed an elbow into the window, smashing it. Shards fell on him like rain. His eyes were blinded yet again. He dragged himself out the window and tried to look over the cliff. All he saw was water but he thought he glimpsed his own reflection as well as someone else’s.

Is that…her?

Her.

Though his eyes were now wounded by glass and stung by perfume, he could make out her features. He cursed her and leaned over, sending himself into the water. This is what I get for fucking the fisherman’s wife.

Out on the horizon, a boat sat serenely on the water which now shuddered with waves. On board, a man sat at a small table eating. He smiled and nodded to himself, shoving bite after bite of apple pie into his near toothless mouth.

Across from him a squid sat holding a beer bottle in one tentacle and playing cards with another. “So, we playing or what?”

The man put the last spoonful of apple pie in his mouth, looked at the squid, and smiled. “Yeah, Smitty, we’re playing.”

And then they played.

During the first few games the two of them reminisced about their stint in the war. After losing several times, the squid put his cards down. “Hey, lemme ask you something.”

“Yeah, Smitty?” the fisherman said.

“Did that guy really fuck your wife?”

The fisherman smiled and threw up his arms.

“Who hasn’t?

And then they laughed.