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WARNING: Stories on this site may contain mature language and situations, and may be inappropriate for readers under the age of 18.

UNTITLED PART 2 by Clitoris Rex
July 13, 2007  Short stories   Tags: , ,   

I came to in a muddy stupor. Screaming, fucking screaming was my alarm clock, on the hood of my car, someone was being devoured. How I was still alive I had no idea, the G was picking Prick up and slamming him down on the hood by his ribs, I shook my head as clear as I could and grinned as the first thing I saw was the G’s greasy fingers dug completely into Prick’s ribs, to the first knuckle. His head cracked the windshield. He was still alive.

I heard a rib crack and decided I needed to get back on the job, the ether left me in a drunken useless state so I dug for my cocktail of uppers and blow. I dipped into my bag and stuck a lump into my face, inhaling deeply as I grabbed for my gun. More would be coming, and I need to be on my shit if I was going to make it.

As my hood slammed and my windshield went red I realized something was wrong. The shit that went into my nose hurt waaaaay too much. I knew this burn, this was not any kind of upper, it was K, Ketamine, horse traquilizer, and I was fucked.

My senses ran screaming from me and I clenched my gun, falling over into my front seat, I heard Prick scream his last scream, and the sound of dead fists tearing a wet rib cage in two. Surprisingly, a sound like that is nowhere near enough to rocket someone out of a K-hole.

I laid there, with the back of my head against the passenger door grinning at my drivers side window that I had punched out hours ago, drooling, anxiously awaiting the moment when that fucker tore me apart, so the disassembly of my body that I was feeling would be both literal and metaphysical. I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t move. Then again, I thought, as the tiniest mutation of survival instinct swam through the blackness and tapped me on the shoulder. My subconscious being way smarter than I ever could be. I decided I was going to try and kill this thing from a coma tunnel 4 thousand miles away from Now.

I propped my gun up as well as I could and waited for the bitch to come to the window. I would do my best to blast her, or I would do my best to die, either way. I kept my mind almost awake by thinking of the huge nut I was going to blow all over the dead G bitch if I made it out of this. Any second now, as the time dragged elastic across my eyes, nothing happened. I heard her coming, drooling, making all kinds of dumbfuck retard noises.

It happened, but not like I had planned. She came to the door, but not the side I had my gun pointed at, the door I had my head leaning on. She ripped the fucker straight off the hinges, and still ready to react, my trigger finger coiled despite my attempts to stop it and I went right ahead and put three in my kneecap without breaking a sweat.

Then she had me, by the collarbones, that fucking grip. I was fucking useless. I was fucked, so fucked. My knee was obliterated, three slugs from my desert eagle from no more than 9 inches away, and I couldn’t even feel it…

To be continued.

1 Comment

  1. The style is so gritty, impossible to imitate. I would love to see the story continued.

    Comment by Tom Hamilton on April 19, 2008 @ 8:57 pm

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