Shrill by Richard Bell
“Worthless, weak, stupid, pathetic, spineless, idiotic, dog shit!”
They pushed, they kicked, they knocked, they accused, they vandalised and slurred. They pushed and pushed and pushed and…
“It is time to show them the host.
Your good nature has suppressed this for far too long and now that nature is torn out of your soul.
There is no restraint on the creature.
You, now, are he.”
His thick fingers bent to meet the back of his hands. The cracking was masked by shrill, agonised screams of unbearable pain. The jaw dislocated and moved to the side of his head forcing his underbite to shear off the tip of his nose. Gargling and gasping for breath, the neck distended and lunged back with the head to the shoulder blades. As they met, he spat blood down the back of his legs and heaved as the spine snapped and folded him in a neat half. His feet facing east and his sawn off nose, to the west. All around the baying group, bones snapped like dry branches and blood fountains spattered the concrete yard. It was as though a hundred invisible strong men had moved among them all and began to fold the callous tormentors.
Silence like the centre of a cloud bank ran through the onlookers, only broken by the occasional crack or snap of joints and ligaments.
The great horn sounded and the folded mess of broken bullies rose to the feet and began to dance and shuffle as though they were hideous marionettes. The carnival music, supplied by a gramophone wound in a fury by bald cats, made the scene utterly absurd.
The blasts began on the horizon and moved ever closer, tearing up huge mounds of populated earth and vaporizing it in mid-air. Giant chariots carrying gods and waving royalty streaked above the blast clouds under a stampeding herd of white buffalo.
My body was liquefying and draining into the mouth of a bullfrog. I was glad to slide into his innards and the quiet dell filled with ferns and mossy trees, small waterfalls and great hosts of bluebells.
The last glimpse of the world was everybody as they were before the attack. They walked into the bright lights and were no more.
“Your true nature won the fight and here is your eternal rest. Not in the flames of horror but the pond where your family lost their lives when the car careened off the road.
Fill your lungs with the green water and sink into heaven, dear child.
You have earned that peace.”
Original written story by Richard Bell aka Rick Nightmare.
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