Day 204 – Solvent – Where It Ends

The acid burnt, not that he knew, as he was long gone, his dead, empty eyes just stare forward, as the corrosive liquid begins to slowly eat its way through his flesh and bone.

“How long?”

“An hour, maybe less, it’s different for everyone, and then, he’ll be in the past, permanently, where he belongs.”

“A-And, y-yo-your sure he won’t ever bother me again? That thing, w-will keep him from escaping?”

He laughs, “Lady, I tried not to laugh when you said we needed to destroy the body, I really did. But, you saw it all, you saw what I did, I mean, I put three bullets in the back of his head, then, as you asked, I cut it off, chopped him into little pieces, and then stuck him in this drum of acid, which is sealed shut, and we’re about to bury. I think, any sane person would know, he’s gone, but, for you to ask, if he’ll ever bother you again, well, my first, second and third answer to the above question would all be the same. He’s never going to bother anyone, ever, again.” He says as he drives the shovel into the dirt, shaking his head. “Anyone would think you don’t believe he can die.”

“Your not the first to try,” she says softly.

He thrusts the shovel into the ground and looks over to her, “What do you mean, I’m not the first to try?”

“Exactly what it means chubby,” a voice says from behind him, as hands grips his head and twist it violently around, almost completing a full 360 degree turn, a snap, a gasp, a groan, all fill the air at once, and then, his lifeless body flops with a thud to the ground. “Honey,” he says with a smile. “You’ve really gotta stop hiring these worthless oafs, they’ll be the death of me one day.”

“That’s the fucking point Vincent.”

“Oh sorry, did you not get the sarcasm?”

END

Published by

Matthew Tonks

People are surprised when reading Matthew’s stories that he’s a sane forty something year old, happily married, father of one, employed full time and dream of dark disturbing things that any sane person would never even contemplate thinking of. But it's true, he’s toyed with writing for most of his adult life, but has always found the peg a writer must fit into is not the shape he wished to be. His writing can be described as lamenting, long, concussive (yes it smashes you in the head), compulsive, and stuffed with rhythmic communication and violence, let’s not forget the violence. His own opinion on his writing is this, “You see, I don't just want the words to seep into your mind, but into your soul, showing you images of blood and beauty through, volatile language, violence, sex, love and sin. My muse takes different shapes, and every now and then you can see her shining her wicked smile in some of my stories, tempting you with her promises, but ripping your heart out instead.” So have a look, and take a seat in my wayward ride, as you join me while I purge through, this twisted road of madness.

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