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.

Hell’s Kitchen by Carolyn Eichhorn

Imperceptible recitation by Blossom-Lullabies on DeviantArt.com

Anise, black peppercorns, cinnamon, dill.

Beth whispered as her dirty fingers nudged the bottles wedged in the narrow cabinet.

Extract of … something.

Tears salted her lips.

Allspice, basil, coriander, fennel, foxglove, garlic, hellebore.

“Elizabeth, bring me those spices!” Her stepmother’s voice stabbed at her from the kitchen above. Beth bit her lip, glancing at her brothers confined to the dank cellar. “This stew won’t season itself!”

Arsenic, bay leaves, cardamom, cloves, ginger, hemlock, mustard, oleander, thyme, turmeric.

“Now, you useless stupid girl!”

Cyanide, strychnine.

Beth clutched six vials at random and trudged up the steps. Now sounded about right.

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.

Baby Bron by The Despot

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.

Hold on Tightly by Jennifer Kalison

ZOMBIE by Metalinvasor on DeviantArt.com

The knob jiggled; Katie positioned herself near the door. There was a second of silence before it flew open in an explosion of splinters. Katie swung her bat, but the intruder ripped it out of her hands, and smashed her skull with one nauseating crack.

I buried my axe into his neck before he could turn around. He dropped beside her, bleeding out onto the floor.

Another man entered. We quickly assessed each other.

He held out his hand. I grabbed my supplies before accepting it, and followed him out.

And that’s how I met your father.