Day 308 – Pale Fact – 50 Word Story Expanded

He grips the blade and thrusts it deep within her stomach, her eyes grow wide, her mouth, falls open, and quivers.

“W-W-Why?” She asks, he smiles and pushes the blade in deeper.

“Why not?” He replies, she grabs all the energy she has left and drives her head into his, sending him reeling backwards, he stumbles and falls to the ground, clutching his head.

“What the FUCK?” He yells, as his lip twists in anger. “I was going to take you quick, but now, I’m going to make this last, a very long, agonising time!” He yells as he scrambles to his feet.

“Grow up!” She hisses, as she easily breaks free of her bindings and catches him in mid-stride, thrusting him against the wall, her face twists and contorts, her eyes glow red, and her hair stands on end. “YOU DARE TRY TO TAKE MY MORTAL VISAGE!” She yells, gripping him by the throat, and ripping it from him. He chokes violently, as his blood gushes out, he jerks around wildly, all the while, she glares at him, and, as his life essence leaves vacates his cold, lifeless body, she opens her mouth and drawn it inside her, then drops his empty corpse.

“Fool, to think, you thought you were enough to better me.”

“That’s not exactly how it was planned, Jester got a bit eager is all,” a voice says from behind her, slowly, she turns around, twelve heavily armed men stand at the ready.

“Is this all for little old me?” She says, running a bloody finger around her deranged smile.

“Lady, when this is over, that smile, ain’t gonna be smiling.”

She laughs, “Do you not realise how stupid that line sounds?”

He raises a shotgun, “Wasn’t my intention to try and be intelligent, just stating a fact,” he says as he pulls the trigger.

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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