The Tool Shed

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
Open ended short story about a sadist in a garden shed.

Submitted: July 18, 2015

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Submitted: July 18, 2015



The Tool Shed


Meanwhile in a distant shed, this young man held a gun in his hand.

Marveling the metalwork and the overall finish, the Glock sidearm weighed heavy, but he held it firm. Slowly, after contemplating a while, he raised the gun to his head and cocked it. It was loaded and now it was armed. For a while, the gun remained silent and cold, but then the boy smiled. "It's not that easy." He levelled the firearm to his only companion in the tool shed; a bloodied up middle age man, clothes torn and eyes teary. His head was bald with burn marks, as the boy had previously burned his hair off, and several digits were missing from his left and right hands.

The young adult seemed amused at the other’s signs of desperate panic. He took a step forward, gun still aimed at the man’s forehead. Another step, he laughed and cracked a joke but the man didn’t make sense of it. He was crying now, pleading for mercy as much as he could. He didn’t even know what he did to deserve this. His captor was in front of him now, teasing him with the gun. “Looks like I’ll give you three seconds to pray to your god, Mr. Walowitz.”
“Three. Two. One.”






The young man held the gun up playfully, and produced a magazine with one bullet in it. He dropped the gun and the magazine in front of the man, who was sobbing and bleeding, the salty tears stinging his wounds. The boy left, and shortly after, the man heard screams from the nearby house, HIS house with his wife and daughter. By the time he could undo the ropes with his remaining fingers, he lay slumped on the floor next to the gun, the area silent.

Not having any strength to limp to his own house to see what has become of his family, he took the gun in his hand and held it bitterly.

He loaded the magazine and aimed it at his temple. Going on wouldn’t be worth it. His family was probably dead, and his captor would never be seen again, he was certain of it.

 There was nothing left to do. He gritted his teeth and braced himself as his remaining finger felt the steely cold of the trigger.







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