‘Ce qui la baise?’ Nerves trembled through each syllable of the question, like the plucking of a harp string, as grubby fingers continued uncovering my head and neck, one small hand at a time.

The rumble of laughter nestled deep within my solar plexus, reverberating in my throat, leaking though my nose. I had waited long enough. And, I decided, either I had grown accustomed to the smell of ass or the epic-ness of the moment was transcending my disgust, either way, thankfully, all I could smell was the sweetness of revengé and that’s a totally different calibre of French cuisine, I’ll have you know.

‘Merde, je pense qu’il respire.’ He continued, suddenly snatching his hand away from my delicately exposed head.

My eyes remained closed, meaning I had to listen to the moment unfolding around me. It was quite exquisite. They knew I was breathing, they could probably hear the croaked laugh buried in my throat, yet, they couldn’t actually believe it.

‘Voyez si vous pouvez le sentir. Vérifiez son nez,’ called the softer one, the more feminine of the two.

I was ready, I could smell shit as his hand approached my nose, I couldn’t help myself, I crinkled my nostrils. 

They screamed, harmoniously. 

I finally opened my eyes, half-laughing, half-growling in a state of hysterical fury, shrieking they shrivelled away from me.

They were both half naked, filthy, caked in blood and shit. Them bastards were seriously fucked up, mentally speaking, they were about to get fucked up physically too as it stands. But of course you already know this, don’t you?

Feet set I pushed up with all of my strength, leaping free of the sodden soil at an angle and colliding with the smaller of the two, some might suggest “the taker” between them, he crumbled like a thin biscuit dipped into a hot cup of tea. Using my thumb I pushed down on his closed eye socket, hissing, spittle and clay clumping around the corners of my mouth as his eyeball burst, clear fluid oozing from beneath his pulped lids. I must have knocked him unconscious because he didn’t even moan, no struggle, nothing. 

I didn’t have the opportunity to see if he was ok, to check his physical wellbeing before the dirty Frenchman was on me, kicking at me, slashing at me with his muddy blade as his chopper sloshed around all up in my face and everything. 

It was all I could do to keep myself from getting clubbed by his erect soiled penis as I slipped and rolled, reeling from the hefty thwack the bastard had struck me with, right in the soft spot, right in the crook of my neck, the bit where your clavicle embeds itself into your throat region, yeah, right there.

This had me flapping as once again I couldn’t breathe, pain lanced throughout my entire body. My vision blurred. Each breath was getting harder and harder to suck up. My neck was on fire, looking down it all finally made sense, as I noticed the handle of an unfamiliar dagger protruding from my skin. I could only guess at how big the blade was. Time was running out for me, the sky was darkening, not literally darkening, no, it was darkening only for me. 

Whipping out the dagger in a frenzied cry I stuck the flailing Frenchmen right in the gooch: the area delicately poised between a mans balls and his arse hole.

His reaction was a simple ‘ooop’. 

I didn’t hesitate. I knew I had taken my last breath. Dragging the dagger handle upward, jaggedly hacking through his balls and cock, I must have nicked an artery cause I ain’t never seen that much blood. In truth, it was more like a mixture of blood and piss. A watery solution, probably goes well on a salad.

The Frenchman stopped living. I rolled my eyes in frustration as I dropped back into the grave I had literally just fucking climbed out of and scrambled as fast as I could, pulling the clay and shit back over myself until the world switched to black and the fire left me, cooling down in my very own version of death, again.

I remember vowing that next time would when I got my revenge. Next time for sure…



About Henry Game

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28 responses to “Spawn

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