Dave

Gurth sighed as he heard the clatter behind him. He turned to see Dave fumbling to pick his spoon up off the floor. He bent down and picked it up himself, and set it down on the table. "There you go," he said cheerfully.

Dave twitched and grunted, and Gurth's eyes met his for a moment. Gurth shuddered at the hate he saw there, and turned away. The accident hadn't been his fault. And how was he supposed to treat this invalid, this wreck of what had once been a normal man?

He heard the door slam as Avril returned. "You want to help me with these bags, Gurth?" she said. "These plastic straps kill my hands."

Gurth helped her carry the groceries into the kitchen, where Dave still sat. "He hasn't finished his lunch yet?" Avril asked.

"He kept dropping his spoon," Gurth said. Avril tsked and took the spoon from Dave, who had been trying, with little success, to get a spoonful of pudding into his mouth. She started spoon-feeding him. Was the same hate in his eyes for Avril as well? Gurth was afraid to look. Instead he started putting the groceries away.

"They didn't have any steak, so I got a loin of beef instead," she said. "There, all done." She wiped around his mouth with his already drool-sodden bib. Then she sniffed. "Time to change your diaper, Dave," she said, releasing the brakes on his wheelchair and wheeling him into the bathroom. He knew that Dave would be heavy for her, but he couldn't bring himself to go in and help.

Instead he went to look at the sheet of paper Dave had been trying to draw on earlier. It was blank. No, wait, he'd just flipped to the next page on the pad, somehow. Gurth flipped it back to the beginning, curious to see if Dave had progressed any.

The first few pages were covered with scribbled lines, some faint where pressure was barely holding the pen to the paper, others deep and gouged. Nothing recognizable.

Gurth went several pages further before he realized there was a slow improvement. Some recognizable letters appeared, and a few shaky shapes.

He kept flipping forward until he reached the last page, the one Dave had been drawing on that morning. On it was nothing but a rhombus with ruler-straight lines, with writing inside it. Calligraphic letters spelling out "Die, Gurth. Die, Avril."

Gurth wheeled to see Dave lurching towards him with an already bloody knife in his hand. Then Dave straightened, the spastic twitches of his muscles stilling. "Die, Gurth," he said in a clear voice as he plunged the knife into Gurth's neck.

Two days later, a neighbour who had noticed a strange odour coming from the house called the police. All they found were two dead bodies and a poor terrified palsied man who could barely speak, let alone tell them what he had seen. With extensive therapy, he even recovered most of his motor ability.

<Based on the words: Spoon Rhombus Loin Odour
With the additional condition: At least one character must be named Dave. >

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The Den of Ubiquity / Aaron V. Humphrey / alfvaen@gmail.com