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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
Part of a story I want to connect. Lemme know what you think, if it made you laugh.

Submitted: April 25, 2019

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 25, 2019





Fire walked into and was immediately assaulted by the rancid stench of rotten flesh and waste. He froze: there, on his couch, the chopped up, brutalized corps of his mother lay unceremoniously sprawled out. His face went white. He took a step toward her and fell, barely catching himself on one knee. Dizzy, light headed; he couldn’t breathe. He stared at the gutted carcass of the woman who’d raised him. “Satan,” he spoke aloud, “am I going mad? I could have sworn I left her in the armchair.” Fire new his dementophobia was irrational, his doctor had told him it was not sound to constantly fear he was going insane; but he had no control over it - he was paralyzed, struck cold. “Am I losing my ability to remember?”

Before he could respond to the thought, he cried out in acute agony. A piercing line of white hot pain - lancing into the bones of his spine - tortured him face first to the floor. He screamed. Another scornfully-cleaved lesion toar through his flesh as he violently thrashed about the the floor, screaming in trauma.

And like that, the assault was over. Fire laid crying and twitching as the breeze throbbed his exposed nerves. The pain was such that he couldn’t even lift his faced from the sticky, blood-soaked floor. As he marinated in torment, heavy steps stamped down behind him, and he heard a large body plopping down on his lazy boy chair. A deep chuckle full of cruelty came thumping from the assailant.

Fire managed to look over his shoulder at his torturer, but his eyes were so full of tears he could not see anything, except, for a bright flash, followed by a high-pitched building whir - a camera?

“Hahaha!!! You are mine now, fleshling!” the sharp, deep voice rang out. “Now I shall saw off your arms and impale these nails into your thighs!” his anticipation was tangible, almost giddy. “I shall make a fortune of these snuff photos! You will be raped, skinned alive, butchered, and fed to swine!”

“Azarod!” exclaimed Fire, “Stop! This isn’t how you treat your friends!”

“What?” The tall, red demon raised one of its eyebrows higher above its black eye, “But, I thought friends pranked one another?”

“This isn’t a prank! This is just torture!” screamed Fire, still profusely crying from the pain.

The demon frowned as he stamped his cloven hooves about to kneel down near Fire’s head. “But, I caught you off guard. I surprised you! And you are terrified and in agony, are you not?”

“I am!” cried Fire, “but what the fuck does that have to do with a fucking prank?!?!”

Azarod paused. “I do not understand, Fire. You humans are so particular in your customs. My brothers would hold me down and skin me over and over when I failed to pronounce an unfamiliar tongue.”

Fire waited for Azarod to continue and explain why this information was relevant, but Azarod just stared at him as thought it was self evident.

Fire tried calming himself despite his broken state. “Friends do not inflict damaging physical wounds to one another.”

“Ahh. I see,” pondered the red devil. “I will burn down your house.”
“NO!” exclaimed Fire. “Friends do not damage one another's property either!”

“But your mother - “

“I had no choice in that matter!” Fire interjected.



“For fuck sake, everything is ok. Focus” the young man thought to himself. “Just smile. Everyone is an old friend. Everyone likes me.” As he walked through the lobby, he repeated his mantra of social positivity to keep his anxiety in check. For the first time in months, he had decided to leave his house to see an old friend.

Black jeans and an open black and red trench coat over a white T-shirt. From his neck hung a necklace ornate with a single red crystal.

“Theater 8, The Husks; they must be in there.” He paused before entering the theater. “It’s happened so many times now. No! That was the past, I’m not that person anymore, and I’m not that monster. I’m a good person now, not a killer.”


He took a deep breath, held it for a few moments, and released it, stepping through the doorway. The hallway was dark. He could hear the movie playing already, “I am 20 minutes late after all.” As he came to the end of the hallway, the screen came into view, the scene was of a woman in army fatigues being gored in the torso by several wild boar, both the soldier and the animals screaming or squealed in agony or delight, loud gunshots and explosions in the background. The young man turned the corner and searched the seated crowd for his friends.

Someone in the very center of the crowd jumped to his feet and yelled “Fire! Fire!” The crowd jerked their heads in alarm.

“Oh no,” the young man contemplated in horror, “not again!”

“Fire?” several people asked, rising from their seats. “Fire!” several others answered in blind ignorance, leaping from the rows of cushioned chairs towards the exits. The whole theater contracted as one, the occupants screamed and sprinted, trampling one another in their doomed rush for self-preservation.

“NO!” the young man screamed toward the hysterical crowd, “THAT IS MY NAME, YOU FOOLS!” They would not listen. As he gazed at the crowd in reminiscent horror, he witnessed a man shouting at a woman to move, but she was blocked by the crowd and could not. The man swung her around forcefully and began beating her face with such force that the flesh of her face and his knuckles was sheared off, exposing white bone as she screamed and choked on her own blood and phlegm while the man vented, hysterically grunting in exhale with each painful swing.

A few rows behind them, a fat woman grabbed her children and hurled them towards the exit behind Fire. They came flying at him with tremendous force. He ducked, hearing a thick crack, and looked back, gazing upon the fractured vertebrae and jaws of two young children twitching in pools of their own blood and urine.

Fire looked towards the ground with empty eyes while the crowd rushed towards him, the panicked apes gouging out each others eyes, biting off segments of meat. His heart sank. “I should have known this would happen.” A old man yelled at him in fear “Get out of the way!”

“There’s no escaping what I truly am.”

The old man attempted to shove Fire out of the way, but before he could touch the young man, he paused and looked down. He was missing his arm. He looked at Fire. Blackness.

Fire sheathed his bloodied katana and holstered his side arm as the elderly carcass collapsed before him. The noise in the theater left the hazed crowd unaware of the discharged firearm. “This is what I was born to do,” Fire whispered allowed to himself. “It has to be this way than. Fine!” He drew his two miniguns from his coat and opened fire. Men, women and children bursted into chunks of gore, bone and sinew. The living were coated with the steaming blood of their family and friends before they themselves were torn and bursted into wet lumps of meat, canvasing the shredded seats and slabs of concrete debri with their writhing body parts.

Pure hatred carved its very essence onto Fire’s face; hatred of these putrid worms screaming for their lives, hatred of himself for the demon the universe fated him to be, hatred for Being itself.

The slaughter only lasted 10 seconds. Well, 9.7 seconds, as Fire had taken note after so many similar incidents. He dropped his guns. His body was warm with coursing adrenaline and the hot blood of the crowd he had just mercied. Fire walked to the center row where his friend had made the foolish mistake of calling him out. There, the top right quarter of a cephalon soaked in bodily fluids. A scar across the eyebrow gave him away. Fire exhaled “Poor shit. The fates are beyond the control of any of us.”

The theater was now silent, except for the occasional wheeze from an already rotting, barely conscious corpse. Fire drew his knife and walked calmly towards the exit as a young usher turned the corner and paused in acute horror. The usher turned white as he closed his eyes and dropped to his knees, breathing deeply through his nose. Fire stood before him and raised his chin to gaze into his eye. The boy’s eyes opened as his breathing rate increased dramatically. Fire frowned and slit the boys throat so deep you could store a small pancake in there. The boy’s spraying blood completely coated the front of Fire’s jeans in dark red. The body slumped over, dead eyes peering into nothing.



“Have a good day, mam.” said Nina with a genuine smile.


The elderly customer waved her cain threateningly, “Fuck you, you little shit! How dare you!”


Nina giggled, “Mrs. Figlebitch, I’m just wishing you farewell.”


The hearing-impaired old-timer was taken aback by her misinterpretation of Nina’s words, “Oh, well fuck me sideways, Nina. Ever since the jackalope incident I can’t hear a mother fucking thing” she frowned.


“No need to apologise Mrs. Figlebitch,” replied Nina tenderly.


“Oh I know deary; I just thought you were telling me to do something rather indecent.”


“Ha ha, no need to explain.”


“I mean, I thought you told me to grab a bleached ebony…”


“Mrs. Figlebitch!” exclaimed Nina, “I’d rather not, please.”


“Oh, hee hee hee.” giggled the old bitch. “When you’ve perused upon as many pulsing…”


“Closing time!” Nina declared, desperate to spare her virgin ears from the atrocious immorality Mrs. Figlebitch was famous for.


“Oh, alright young lady. You take care now,” smiled Mrs. Figlebitch, “I’ll be back for my hot pornography next week.”


“Bye!” exclaimed Nina, relieved the ordeal was finally over, watching the senior exit the building. “Doesn’t get much stranger than good old Mrs. Figlebitch” she jinxed herself allowed.


A loud “Hmph!” came from the entrance and Nina turned her head to look. A thin figure came dashing through the doors with arms stretched out behind him. The figure paused abruptly, still hunched over with arms gayly thrown back. It turned its head sharply to one side, than the other and locked eyes with Nina. Nina froze in confusion. The figure wore a black outfit covering its entire body and face save its eyes. At first, Nina thought it was a burqa, but the thick black belt and sword gave it away: this guy was wearing a ninja costume. The ninja squinted for a moment, then - his movements lightning fast - shot up straight, darting one hand across his body with the other held palm to his face, fingers stretched out as he smiled widely with with closed eyes in deep self satisfaction. Nina was about to ask if she could help him when another figure, this one large and muscular, barrel rolled through the entrance behind the ninja, landing in a kneeling position with one hand holding his other. He curled his fingers to make his right hand look like a gun. This man was also dressed in a costume: full-face gas mask, black tank top, camo fatigue pants and combat boots. He scanned the store with his finger gun before rolling into cover behind a perfume cabinet, holding his finger gun above the counter, “Perimeter secured” his gravelly voice declared, obviously trying to sound cool.


The ninja hadn’t moved a millimeter. Nina was taken aback and now uncomfortable with the peculiar duo. “Ca-, can I help…” , before she could finish a third character came squatting in, this one by far the most concerning of the trio. The creature - perhaps human - was spherical. It had massive eyes, two slits for nostril and a massive, open-mouth, drooling smile revealing only half a dozen teeth. Its arms were held high and bent at the elbows with hands ready to grasp, grubby fingers performing a perpetual squirm for stimulation. The thing’s legs were sticking out sideways, bent at the knees 90 degrees as it moved without bending any joints, wobbling from side to side in seeming chemical bliss. The mutant took its place directly behind the ninja, who was now staring at Nina intensely.


“Wha-” Nina trembled, “wha-what do you w-want?” She held her arms close to her body with legs tucked together, as if a freezing wind was assaulting her. The ninja addressed Nina with a nasally voice “Milk.”


The soldier-looking fellow behind him swung his finger gun at Nina “Sir! Substance spotted!”


The ninja’s eyes widened and he leaped into the air, clearing fifteen feet with a backflip landing on the counter and sporting the same pose. Nina screamed and jumped back, crashing into the shelf, bottles of wine and infant circumcision trainers crashing loudly to the ground. Although the Ninja held his face high, his bright blue eyes tore down into Nina, now paralyzed with fear. The ninja’s spoke a few octaves lower than before “Finklecluster, extract the objective.”


The short mutant let out a high-pitched squawk of delight as it tiptoed towards Nina, who collapsed to the ground, face now a contorted wreck of horror. Finklecluster’s fingers squirmed more sporadically. The Ninja smiled and began laughing maniacally. Nina’s breathing was out of control. The soldier began grunting in anticipation. A loud thud came from the window behind Nina, her head involuntarily and violently snapping to gaze at it. Mrs. Figlebitch gazed through the window in zealful arousal. Finally, Finklecluster stood over Nina, his eyes pure white with euphoria.




“Well that’s highly unfortunate” moaned Gummy Wizgy.

“AAAHHHHAAAA!!!” wrenched the attention of the crowd from the opposite end of the bowling alley. Standing nearly 8 feet tall, rigorously toned, perspiration-covered muscles bulging from the single piece, 2-sizes-too-small lion-stripe latex gymnastics suit, the monster of a man respirated violently, his face a hideously contorted picture of sheer domestic cruelty. He radiated malintent, bent over with chest exaggerated outwards, like a wrestler on cocaine. Several humanoids collapsed under the sheer radiance of his wickedness. One obese 30-year old man, Jonathan, flexed his left arm towards the ground in an attempt to catch himself from falling; the weight of his frame snapping his forearm in two. He screamed pale-faced in agony before dying of a heart attack. Two young girls in ponytails and pink dresses ran to him, screaming “Daddy!” as they collapsed upon his corpse and began feasting.

The crowd’s attention was wrenched back to the malignant villain shining in front of them. “I’M BILL! AND I’LL SHOW YOU HIGHLY UNFORTUNATE!!!”

He sprang forward towards a crowd of people, grabbed a chair and started humping it aggressively. The crowd stared in confusion. Then one guy said aloud to himself “oh, i get it,” and starting humping another chair, “Like this.” Then another person joined in, and then another, and soon the whole bowling alley was humping chairs.

The muscular guy squirmed into the bathroom while humping the chair, making grunting and squealing noises like a pig while on his way, closing the door behind him. A thick, wet crack was heard from within that bathroom. To this day, the greatest scholars and scientific minds linger on the cause of that sound. Adonis entered the bathroom to check what happened. There was neither man nor chair left intact, only diced entrails and chunks of plastic strewn about the floor. Adonis froze in alarm, thinking perhaps some still-present creature perpetrated this art. Adonis took a deep breath and steeled his nerves. He took a step forward to investigate, accidentally stepping on a chunk of sinew and slipping upside down into a metal bench, rupturing his right testicle and fainting.

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