Day 208 – Frail – Where It Ends

“I promise, on everything I hold dear, if you don’t feel mighty different, rejuvenated even, after you take a sip of this here elixir, I’ll give you one thousand dollars. In fact, you can hold it while you drink it, to know I’m not pulling the wool over your eyes,” he says, holding out the crisp, new, one hundred dollar notes in one hand, and a bottle of blue liquid in the other.

“Don’t take me for a fool boy,” the old man says, as he pushes the shot gun’s barrel into his face. “I’ve seen scum like you come to our town, promising shit like this before, and you know what, they’re always full of lies, like you are.”

“P-P-Please, honestly, I’m not lying, this her eli…” But he doesn’t get to finish, as the old man fires the shot gun, removing his head.

“I said I would, you piece of shit,” he says, drawing back saliva in his mouth and spitting a large wad onto the mans headless remains that lie on the ground before him. “Leroy, come get out here and clean this fucking mess up,” he yells out.

“N-No-N-N-Not ye-yet, w-weeeeeee hav-av-haven’t finish-ish-sh-shed ou-ou-our conversation-n-n-n,” the man says as he awkwardly get to his knees, as his head, seems to rebuild itself.

“W-W-What in the blue blazer are you?” The old man says, as his eyes grow wide with fear.

“Everything you want to be, and can be,” he says, as his hand holds out the elixir again. “Do you believe me now?”

“This, this blue stuff, does all that?”

“And more,” he says with a smile, his head, now, back to how it was before the shot. The old man looks a him with hesitation, the man shakes the bottle, and nods his head. “Go on, you know you want to try it,” he says. The old man grabs it from his hands, rips the lid off, then quickly drains the contents into his mouth and swallows, letting out a loud, grotesque burp soon after.

“I don’t feel any different,” the old man says with a grunt.

“Give it time tiger, it will happen soon enough,” the sales man says with a smile, as the old man burps again, and then once more before exploding like a balloon overfull with water. “There we go, see, don’t you feel, different?”



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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