A mother’s love by Sam.Simon

Birth by Angela4 on DeviantArt.com

Her face contorted.

Her husband encouraged, “Breathe! The doctor, “Push!”

She howled. Blood sprayed the doctor.

A nurse shrieked, “It’s coming out hands first … not hands… what are those?!”

Her husband fainted.

She felt calm. She hadn’t dreamed it, that night when that skinless horde tore their way inside her.

Blood pooled beneath her as their spawn tore its way out.

She reached between her legs, grabbing skinless claws, and yanked.

It snarled, snapping at her face.

“My child,” she cooed.

She bit through her baby’s throat, bleeding out with the coppery closure, sweet as nectar, on her tongue.

Vengeance is Mine by Carlos Soca

Cracked by bmiles on DeviantArt.com

You gunned it through the crosswalk.
Sixteen hours on a ventilator so she could be spare parts for other parents’ kids.
Doubt you registered the impact; tracks didn’t swerve or slow down.
Outside your house, eyeing the gun that took her place in the car beside me, I imagine how long I’ll take.
They say there’s only two stories, one about love and one about revenge. I only read the Good Book and don’t worry I’ll see you in hell when I’m done.
What I’m going to do to you is biblical, and that makes me God.

Not my argument by The Despot

Blood, Blood, Blood… by remains on DeviantArt.com

You drag me into an argument that doesn’t even exist.

Fists start flying. Two on six.

You pop Frat Boy’s nose. He’s down.

Wide Shoulders charges. I trip him, teeth meeting table. He’s down.

Big Chuck throwing knives, inches from your nose.

You bing him with a glass mug. He’s down.

Tweedle dee and Tweedle dum vamoose.

Only this behemoth left. Mohawk. Arms like pythons.

Grabs a bottle. SMASH! Jagged edges, slashing.

“Down boy!”

He jabs. I pop his elbow. The bottle jams his neck, fountaining blood. He’s down, down.

“Whatda we do now?” you ask.

“I was never here.”

The Lord Provides by Vincent Crampton

BRUTE BOSS | Pork Chop by RPstaff on DeviantArt.com

War brought hunger. Brannon abandoned the battlefield, walking north through wilderness, eating roots, mushrooms, his boots.

A clearing. Brannon saw smoke, smelled pork.

A cottage. He knocked. A grandfather answered. “Skin and bones you are.”

“Had none to eat.”

“Come. Sit. I’ve plenty, raising hogs for soldiers.”

“How’d you feed hogs during famine?”

Smiling, he brought sizzling chops to the table. “The lord provides.”

Brannon gorged. His belly ached. He farted. “Too much too quickly.”

Grandfather pointed. “Outhouse’s out back.”

Brannon strained over the stinking hole. Grunts echoed below. Tusks rose between Brannon’s legs.

Grandfather heard screams. “The lord provides.”

Don’t mess with Fluffy by Austin Malcome

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.

Cross on the Concrete by Austin Malcome

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.

Kids are for Trxxks by Katherine J. Parker

Monster Breakfast by The Despot

“Don’t play with your food, honey,” Lrglphmp gurgled.

“But it’s more fun when I gotta catch’em.” Hrglphx gave the scrabbling bipeds a poke. They scattered, clambering up the walls of his bowl.

“Hm, a bit underdone.” Lrglphmp leaned over and delivered a glob of corrosive mucus to her son’s meal. “Better let them ferment.”

“Boooorrring,” Hrglphx groaned as his playthings grew lethargic. “They’re better raw.”

Lrglphmp thrust a tentacle behind the salt shaker, snatching an escaped morsel. It screamed as she tossed it into her gaping maw. “You’re right, humans do taste better raw.”

Point, Smertz by The Despot

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 Naomi Butterfield

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.”

Respect Your Elders by The Despot

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.