Day 275 – Ninety – Short Story

He blinks, feeling the warmth of it run down his face, he spits a wad of saliva, blood, and pieces of several broken teeth the the ground, coughs violently, before spitting again.”Damn,” he says with a chuckle, before looking up, he squints, and places a hand in the air, shielding his eye from the light. “Do you want me to tell you a story?” He says to the small group that stand over his broken, bloody frame.

“Your days of telling stories are done Daniel, you need to accept what’s about to happen, because you can’t talk your fucking way out of this one!” One of the men says as he grips a bloody led pipe in his hand and snarls.

Daniel laughs, “Judgment is a funny thing Simon, for those who cast stones, should be weary of where they’ll land.”

“You piece of shit!” Simon growls as he smashes the pipe across Daniels face, sending him to meet the ground once more.

“Truth hurts,” Daniel mutters as he lifts himself up on all fours, Simon bites down on his bottom lip as he drives a boot into Daniel’s side, sending him to the ground again.

“The time for penance is over, your sins will go with you to your end, and this town will, finally begin, to HEAL!” Simon yells, as he drives the pipe deep into Daniel’s skull, silence follows, as they all stand watching, as Daniel’s blood pools in an ever growing puddle beneath his now still, lifeless body. “Now, we can, begin, again,” He says as he turns to the others, the pipe drops from his hand, and his eyes grow wide as he stares into the cold, dead eyes of….

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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