That Guy With The Shoes
I Tied up Cindy with some rope
I found in my basement. I hung her from a wooden peg in the
wall, and began tearing off her clothes. Her body looked great.
She had soft tits, a belly ring, and a cute fuzzy pussy. I
found it hard not to touch her. I think I managed to play with
her asshole, but dont quote me. I was on my third pint of rum,
and having trouble seeing.
Cindy was squirming around like
a dirty worm on hot pavement. Her eyes looked like a sexually
abused five year-olds, after being forced , into a hot soapy
shower with her drunk grandpa. I was amused as I watched her
body bang into the wall behind her, but the laughs soon got old.
I picked up a crowbar from the
floor, and gripped it like a baseball bat. I gave her a smile,
and then powerfully rocked back on my left foot. I swung with
full force, driving the metal bar into her stomach. Cindy arched
forward in pain, and started gasping for air.
I stepped back, and took little
time to think. I swung again, hitting her twice with the hooked
end of the crowbar. It cut through her stomach like a knife
through warm butter. Parts of her organs appeared from the wound.
They looked like wet pieces of beef that had been defrosted
in the microwave.
Cindy's bloddy body hung like
a wet rag from the wall. Icould still hear her trying to breathe.
She had stopped gyrating around like a porn star, and it was
starting to turn me off. I was no longer tempted to play with
her cute and fuzzy pussy.
I got angry, and took a batters'
stance. I quickly rocked back, throwing all of my weight into
the motion. My body was like a tight spring, coiled with rage.
I carefully aimed at what was left of her gut, and fiercly swung
the crowbar. Whap! It sunk deep into her abdomen tearing apart
some more skin, and causing a thick stream of menstrual blood
to pour out of her vagina. It accumulated, in a small pool of
blood, on the rug beneath her. Lying beside it was a pink and
bloody feetus, still attached to its umbilical cord. It looked
like a slimy newborn mouse.
I looked at it for a, quick second,
then split it in half with my crowbar. When I did this I thought
I was making a statement, but I don't know what the fuck it said.
I dropped the crobar, and slowly
walked into the other room. I had her husband, Tom, bound and
gagged in a chair facing the wall. He needed some time to think
about what he did. I slowly approached him, and placed the barrel
of my .38 caliper pistol against the tip of his brain stem.
Before squeezing the trigger, and sending parts of his skull
across the room, I handed him a cigar, and yelled:
"Congratulations Tommy, It
was a boy!"
-This is a passage from a short story, "twas a Boy."