Posts Tagged ‘dead’

office worker by ded-kat on DeviantArt.com

“Smertz!”

Oliver Smertz finished sharpening his pencil, then turned casually. Five temps in monogrammed Polos blocked the door. Wendell from H.R. stepped forward, pointing. “That’s my pencil!”

Oliver sighed. “Your point?”

Sneering, Wendell flicked the tip off Oliver’s pencil. “My point.”

Oliver turned away, placing his pencil back in the sharpener. Grinding and woody incense followed.

Grabbing Oliver’s collar, Wendell snarled, “Defying me is pointless!”

Oliver spun, shoving the No. 2 up Wendell’s nostril. Wendell screamed. Blood spurted as the graphite penetrated deeper. Temps scattered. Wendell collapsed, shuddering on the linoleum.

Oliver plucked a pencil from Wendell’s pocket protector. “Point taken.”

 

Crone by Chenthooran on DeviantArt.com

The door’s bell chimed, bringing the clockmaker’s attention to the boy walking in.

“Wanna buy this?” He proffered a battered timepiece.

She took it. “Where did you find this?”

“Twenty bucks.”

She adjusted her eye piece. Under the tarnish, twelfth century, her mark. The front door latched. The boy fidgeted.

“Are you hungry?” His eyes flickered yes. She pulled a cookie from a jar. He snatched it, wolfed it down. She offered another while polishing the silver. “Don’t take this personally.”

The boy dropped to the floor, withered to ash. She swept him up, then turned the shop sign “Closed.”

Laughter, the best medicine by VaggelisFragiadakis on DeviantArt.com

The doorbell rang. Betsy shuffled to the door. As she opened it, rank smoke billowed inward. On her doorstep, a paper bag burned.

“Oh dear.” She stomped on it. The bag burst, smearing her Dr. Scholl’s in dog poo.

Laughter erupted from behind some bushes.

“Dadgum neighborhood boys,” said Betsy, wiping her shoes with a tea towel.

The next day, the doorbell rang. Betsy shuffled to the door and opened it. An open pit had replaced the doormat. She peered down the hole. Two boys wailed as spikes penetrated their intestines.

“Respect your elders, scoundrels!” said Betsy, closing the trapdoor.

Redneck Champion by paulorocker on DeviantArt.com

The sounds of whipping and torn flesh snapped in the dry air. The sun beat down upon the ranch, making a furnace of the countryside.

Bubba slapped a fly on his arm, smearing its entrails. He sniffed and licked his hand. “Mah turn,” Bubba grunted.

Bubba took the whip from Andy and went at it. A trail of red ran down the tree stump. Wind began to howl.

Lisa stepped out from the farm house. “Ya’ll whippin’ ‘melons agayn?”

Thunder rolled in the distance. Lightning flashed.

Lisa whistled, “Ya’ll sher whipped up a storm this taam!”

Bubba spat. “Darn tootin’.”

Bombay Beach Trailer by perry on DeviantArt.com

Bombay Beach Trailer by perry on DeviantArt.com

The old couch had never felt so comfortable. Lazing for hours, Judge Judy on, sipping PBRs. The noon sun shone through the window. He hummed happily. The trailer hummed back, then whirred, then rumbled.

“The fuck!?”

He shot up, scattering empties.

The aluminum walls folded like origami

He grabbed a cold one and raced for the screen door.

The floor pitched. His knees gave. The carpet split.

A funnel opened in the slanting floor.

The couch slid downward. He leapt on it. The floor gave way.

“Well, shit.” He cracked his beer and chugged as the earth’s maw swallowed him.

Cudgel by QueenGwenevere on DeviantArt.com

Cudgel by QueenGwenevere on DeviantArt.com

Twenty years of suckling drove Mama to abandon Baby Bron. He crawled from giant crib, club-sized rattle in hand, diaper reeking. He bludgeoned and ate the cat. Crawled into the street, fed on street dogs.

Urchins beat him until he snatched one. Crying “Mama,” he hugged the whelp with thick limbs, the bones cracking.

Slumdogs wailed, “Giant killer baby!”

Soldiers came with spears, poked at Baby Bron. He sobbed and toddled toward them, swinging his massive rattle. Spears and skulls shattered. One guard backed to the wall.

“Mama,” whimpered Baby Bron.

“Mama,” cried the guard, disappearing in a chunky embrace.

Matador by Darksilvania

Matador by Darksilvania

Look at all these people, cheering and waving for little old me. What an amazing day. I can’t wait to tell my kids.
Ouch. That fucking hurt. What did you poke me for? Right. I’ll fucking show you. Now you’re in the shit big time. You’re not getting away with this.
Stop jumping around, you pussy. Quit waving that red thing. It’s annoying. Stay still and I’ll fucking have you.
Ouch, stop poking me!
So tired. So dizzy. Can’t see anything. Is that blood in my eyes? Knees buckling.
Are you kidding? A sword?!
This is bullshit!

Hell bull by Agusia1986 on DeviantArt.com

The matador shielded himself with the red cape. Fancy footwork wasn’t going to win against this bull. Horns ablaze the bull huffed, grinding his front hooves against the dirt. It charged head down, and set fire to the fabric. The flame singed the matador’s skin. Sizzles and screams echoed against the arena walls as the smell of burning flesh filled the air. When the opponent was nothing but bones the bull raised the skeleton onto his horns to the applause of the audience and walked back to the gates he came from, the gates of Hell.

Supermarket Sunset by FramedByNature on DeviantArt.com

“Get in,” said Jeff, rocking the shopping cart.

Quentin gulped. “That’s steep.”

Downhill, Martin shouted, “Yo, chicken shit!” He removed his shirt, waggling it matador-style.

Quentin growled, “Douchebag.”

“C’mon pussy!” called Martin.

Huffing, Quentin climbed in the cart.

Jeff handed him two screwdrivers. “Your horns.” Then he kicked the cart.

Quentin lurched. The cart careered downhill.

Martin swept his cape.

The cart juddered. Screaming, Quentin clenched the screwdrivers.

The cart hit a pothole. Quentin flew.

Martin’s cackles stopped with an “Oof!”

Quentin rolled off Martin, who gurgled, a screwdriver piercing his heart.

Quentin whispered, “Don’t die.”

Obliviously, Jeff shouted, “Olé!”

 

 

Fighting Bull by dumont on DeviantArt.com

Antonio struggled to breathe.  

His guts were spilling out but he did not panic. He had always fought with honor and respect for tradition. He would die as many of the bulls had, with grace.

A young, spindly man knelt beside him. “So what do you think?”

“He was the greatest I have ever faced. I stabbed him with many swords. I danced with him for an entire day. He never tired.”

“Awesome! It’s all robot bulls from here on out. Thanks for beta testing. Here’s an Amazon gift card for your trouble.”

Antonio wished he had Prime, but alas.