Archive for the ‘A.J. Malcome’ Category

Battle Hamster Goes South by ursulav on DeviantArt.com

The hamster leaped from his cage and sank his teeth into Harold’s neck. Harold screamed, and tried to pull Fluffy away.

“Damn you, Fluffy!” Harold screamed. “I’ll teach you to bite me, you fuzzy bastard!”

He ran to his gun locker and pulled out a shotgun.

Fluffy’s eyes widened.

“Hey, wait man,” he muttered through a mouthful of neck. “Let’s talk about this!”

“I’ll see you in hell!” Harold replied.

He pointed the gun at Fluffy and fired.

Fluffy jumped out of the way. Harold shot himself in the face.

The hamster packed his suitcase and left.

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You try to see no Evil… by Abz-J-Harding on DeviantArt.com

Emma gripped her cardboard sign. Her stomach groaned. She needed a new begging spot.

She found the perfect place—a concrete median at a busy stoplight. A cross and wreath rested there; Emma kicked them into the road and took their place.

Cars passed, all day, while she begged—alone, sixteen, and pregnant.

The sun sank. A shadow stretched across the asphalt. Emma gasped. The earth surged and split. Hot air rose from the chasm. Emma screamed. Terrible hands dragged her into the pit.

The ground closed. The Caretaker returned, with a cross and wreath to mark her grave.

Seppuku by Rlkahwe4kl on DeviantArt.com

“You fade, Lord. Allow me to do what I must.”

“I cannot!”

“You would die in bed? It is not fitting!”

The daimyo clasped Yamatso’s hand. “I will die. It is enough.”

“Leave my husband be,” the Lady hissed.

Yamatso grimaced. “Out of respect, I have stayed my blade, oni. No more!”

His wakizashi flashed and found her stomach. The Lady screamed. Her face twisted; a snake’s tongue whipped between her fangs. Yamatso twisted the blade. She collapsed, spewing yellow blood.

The daimyo stirred. “What have you done!?”

“Now you shall recover.”

“Commit seppuku!”

Samurai commission by Brolo on DeviantArt.com

If you slash a man’s face, urinate on it, and trample it with straw sandals, the skin will come off.
–HAGAKURE

These samurai treat us like dogs, kick us and beat us because we’re common. “My Master” is drunk on sake and snoring like a bear. I creep into his room and stab and stab …

and …

and …

something sharp pierces my back. I look down: a katana protrudes from my belly. I fall. I see now, on his futon, an empty pile of blankets. “My Lord” raises his bloodied blade. I chuckle. The irony! I die like a samurai.

Monster by Disse86 on DeviantArt.com

I hate artificial gravity. Blood tastes best in zero-g. I love watching the wet globs twirl in the air; I love slurping the hot crimson beads as they float by. The thought of it makes my stomachs growl.

I can smell them now. They reek of sweat, and I wonder if they have showers on this freighter. They come into view, three pink fleshy dinners, and without warning my son leaps past me.

I curse his foolishness. He’s undisciplined. Still, my heart swells with parental pride as he slashes them open. Wasted blood paints the decks; I hate artificial gravity.

Golden Interdimensional Serpent Redux by GuthrieArtwork on DeviantArt.com

“Bogie on your six, Slick!”

“I see him.”

Slick dropped his speed and rolled into a dive. He maneuvered the enemy into his crosshairs and fired.
The enemy ship exploded.

“Not bad, Slick!”

“Thanks, Jules.”

Alarms blared; the cockpit blazed with warning lights. Jules’ voice crackled through the intercom:
“… unidentified …”

“Come back, Jules. I do not copy. Jules?” Something slammed into the side of the fightership. It spun in frantic circles. The engines bled plasma.

Slick saw the thing now, and his mind broke. It was too big, too hideous—and its tentacles reached for him.

Cut-throat razor by orchid-fabric on DeviantArt.com

The straight razor kissed my throat and hovered there, level in spite of his trembling hands. He was excited, aroused.

“Wait! You’re making a mistake! I can help you!”

Every breath echoed in his mask. He kept the razor below my chin, but eased the pressure. Blood streamed.

“Help me? How?”

My heart banged against my ribs.

“This is a big operation for one guy, and I need a job! I can clean the torture rooms, help you dispose of the bodies.”

“Do you have a solid work history?”

“No …”

“That’s too bad. Sorry.”