There was a peacefulness about it, spangled, all limbs and hair, beautifully interwoven, beautifully planted beneath the dancing bastards, peaceful, just before the decomposition set in.

They thought they had won – they thought they were the last ones laughing. Well they weren’t – and if one of them had put their ear to the freshly dug ground, they may have heard me, laughing, or at least giggling to the best of my ability, given my sticky situation, oxygen was in scarce supply down there.

My head fucking throbbed. To say I had a splitting headache would probably be so accurate it would be ironic-but that’s cliché- Henry doesn’t do cliché. My shoulder was a bit stiff too, shit, so was my calf. I was in a bit of a state to be honest. However, ever the optimist I am, I took comfort in knowing I was at least a couple of shades pinker than the guys around me. And a couple of degrees warmer.

Vibrations and cold fluids oozed through the clumpy clots of clay, releasing pockets of death drenched air for me to feast on. The disturbances serendipitously lubricating the angular branches of cold and stiff flesh that penned me in like I was a marble caught in a sadistic version of kerplunk – before that game was invented, of course.

Thankfully they had removed the tomahawk from my shoulder, they tend not to bury their weapons, the Iroquois, so my flesh had begun to knit back together. My tendons were still intact. I knew this because I could still make a fist. Setting my fingers to the scoop position I started digging, upward.



Slipping past the flailed limbs of my former crew. Each limb of a comrades corpse acting as a rung on the ladder of vengeance, each arm and handle reinvigorated my determination to get out of that fucking grave and take my revenge on the swine responsible.

The ground grew colder and wetter as I neared the surface, the cackle and insidious celebrations blurred on. To my surprise the sun was high in the blue. The sickly slap of sex couldn’t be mistaken. I snatched my hand back as the feel of a persons hot flesh brushed against the top of my knuckles. I heard a high pitched scream, a little one, but it was definitely spooked. Something was said that I couldn’t clearly make out. Followed by a deep French voice booming out, nonchalantly, and laughing before the sticky slap continued above me.

I started to laugh too, adjusting my footing. The sex noises stopped. I laughed harder. The French voice suddenly sounded a little less…nonchalant. Scuffs in the ground above me revealed more of the sky, more of the Frenchman and his Iroquois partner. It was a man. Two men. I wasn’t surprised, he was French.

I closed my eyes as the ground continued to be fingered free from around my face.

There was a strong smell of  ass.

My feet were in position to spring. It was going to be glorious. Like the fucking dolphin of doom.

The laugh began as a rumble deep in my throat…


About Henry Game

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19 responses to “Mud

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