Ficlets

What, You Expected A Happy Ending? (pt. 2)

In an adjoining room, James wife and daughter fell twenty feet and landed on the spikes. James’ daughter, lucky her, had a spike penetrate her left eye and exit the back of her skull, resulting in a nearly-instantaneous death several feet from the floor. His wife, less lucky, slid to the floor, impaled on a long spike that shredded her iliac colon, filling her abdomen with her own shit. Death was slow, painful. And inevitable.

Acid, even a tankful, is a lousy way to try and kill somebody. James’ brother and son plummeted into the vat and suffered severe chemical burns across every exposed inch of their bodies. James’ son shrieked and swallowed a mouthful of acid that inflamed and sealed his throat shut; he sank to the bottom of the vitriolic pool, slowly suffocating. James’ brother flailed to the surface in agony, trying to lay a hand on his nephew the first time and simply trying to survive the second. The third time he went down, as the cliché goes, he drowned and sank.

He died, she died, everybody died.

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