Day 269 – Padti – Short Story

“Scandalous!” He shouts at the small room of people, they all look at the ground in shame, their faces red, one man shuffles his feet clumsily into the ground, and bits down on his lip, as he mumbles to himself, suddenly he feels a shadow cast down upon him, and he feel something drive into his stomach, sending him to the ground in agony.

“YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME!” He yells at the fallen man, his fists shaking with anger.

“P-P-Please Lord Wilton, I-I-I-I, I meant no disrespect, there was no challenge, I was just, well, I was just disappointed in myself, as you are, I never meant anything else, and definitely not disrespect,” He mutters, as his clutches his stomach.

“But you did, you did Chance, and, in doing that, you showed the others how you can not be trusted, you are not one of us, for if you were, you would not hold bitterness towards me, the one who saved you,” Wilton hisses as he looks up, over the group, and holds his arms in the air. “Am I not the one who saved you? Am I not the one who showed you the light? Am I not the one you worship with all that you are?”

“YES MY LORD!” They all call out in union.

“Then, show me your faith, take Chance, and remove him, from life,” he says.

“NO, PLEASE! NO!” Chance yells.

“The time is over for begging child, today, you face your tomorrow,” he says, with a smile as they drag Chance from the room, screaming. “TODAY, IS YOUR TOMORROW, EMBRACE IT CHANCE, EMBRACE TOMORROW!” The door closes and Chance’s cries are muffled, Wilton turns to his followers who remain. “Now, let us continue, for, my disappointment is still not quenched!”

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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