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Wanna hear a horror story?

Happened to a friend of mine.   Cross my heart.

Goes like this.

 

Once there was this guy who’d been doing the same old shit for way way too long.   Finally up and moved to a remote area, dug himself in a bit and pretended to be a local.   Retired, in a way.   Got chummy with the resident chum, just playing at being one more of the plenty of fish in – a small pond.

Until the eating disorder kicked in.   Went right off his food.   Because suddenly – they all had names.   One in particular, apparently.

So he comes home one night to find the door ajar.   Just a little bit.   The house cold, and his breath smoking, but the smell – still warm.

At his feet was laid out the slaughtered catch of the day.   His prize, gutted; the wooden floor awash with crimson.   Another, bled out through the monstrous wound in the fleshy part of the forearm; a third, its throat chewed open – and still coughing blood.   When it died in his arms, he went, blood-pocked and bloody-minded, and checked neighbours, store, bar – school…

But the net had been spread wide.

A colleague had done a little – intervention.   Picked off every last one of those little fishes, and picked her teeth.   Left him high and dry.

Maybe, somewhere, was relief.   But the insult? – un-fucking-forgivable.   For, in time, it seemed to him likely his old hungers would have floated to the surface, and he would have relinquished the diet, and gone fishing again.   She trawled in marked waters, and the hate spawned is fresh and unquenched still.   She took his kill…

 

Deducing, are you?

Wrong.   Not about me.

Yet.

 

This – was Py.

 

NEXT ENTRY…

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6 Comments

  1. I know it’s not wise to feed the monstrous ego of a murderous munchkin but…you are magnificent.

  2. Excellent usage of “spawned”.

  3. Oh now you’re just pissing me off. I liked Py, wanted him to be one of the sneaky SOBS behind some of this.

  4. Um…point taken.


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