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TITLE (EDIT)
Snakeyes Part Two |
DESCRIPTION
The battle begins.
[305 words] |
TITLE KEYWORD
Science Fiction |
AUTHOR
David Con |
ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
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[December 2004] |
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
doc5946@yahoo.com |
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (4)
Love Is Blind (Poetry) You figure it out. [131 words] [Horror]
Pain Is My Friend (Poetry) A man realizes with depressing clarity that pain is his closest companion. [52 words] [Health]
Snakeyes - Part One (Short Stories) A futuristic martyr plays games with death for recognition and money. [366 words] [Science Fiction]
The World Keeps Turning (Poetry) - [60 words] [Mind]
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Snakeyes Part Two
David Con
The snake, in all it's fury, sank it's teeth
into Taslow's right shoulder, missing the catorid
artery by at least eight inches; Taslow, in quick
retaliation, sank his filed, razor sharp teeth
into the snake's throat, ripping and jerking away
at the stinking flesh like a rabid pit bull.
Scaly flesh ripped, bone crunched, blood sprayed.
The snake, although still twisting and turning,
fighting for it's life, finally fell limp in
Taslow's grasp, his thick, beefy fingers squeezing
the beast's body in a death grip, it's last,
used-to-be-human meal spewing from it's guts.
Taslow let it quit breathing, spewing, struggling.
Then let it drop to the ground.
The crowd cheered, spat, booed, drank.
Then just sat murmuring boringly.
Then Taslow, anticipating the next battle,
the next cheer from the crowd, wanting to feel
special; wanted, craved, idolized, glanced over
to the left side of the arena, watching another
mutant creature, this one a mutant spider the size
of a dog, crawl over to the opposite side of the
battle ring, it's eyes transfixed on Taslow's,
his eyes transfixed on the spider's.
The ring announcer started to bellow again.
The crowd began cheering.
Taslow sat concentrating on the kill.
Thinking about what he USED to be.
In another life.
A long time ago.
Before the bombs dropped.
The world changed.
Before he came what he is now.
A sideshow attraction in a freakshow.
A gladiator in a arena full of bloodthirsty
butchers, thirsting for any kind of entertainment
there was left to break the boredom of a dead,
decaying world.
Taslow's eyes suddenly began to water; the
memories to much to bear.
The concentration was broken.
The spider lunged at him.
Ate his face.
Taslow's last battle was over.
He actually died smiling.
The sick crowd cheered.
And the world, as Taslow had once known it, in
all it's infinite madness, kept turning.
The show must go on.
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READER'S REVIEWS (4)
DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"outstanding....that's more like the DOC we know" -- km.
"I don't care where you were... I'm glad you're back in the saddle again. " -- D. G. Williford.
"Bleedingly pleasing!" -- e. rocco caldwell.
"The snake, in all it's fury, sank it's teeth into Taslow's right shoulder, missing the catorid artery by at least eight inches; Didn’t you mean carotid artery? Also, eight inches is a large area. That’s roughly twenty-four centimetres. Taslow, in quick retaliation, sank his filed, razor sharp teeth You’ve already mentioned that his teeth are filed. Taslow's grasp, his thick, beefy fingers squeezing the beast's body in a death grip, it's last, Cut either thick or beefy. Both do a good enough job. Then Taslow, anticipating the next battle, the next cheer from the crowd, wanting to feel special; wanted, craved, idolized, glanced over to the left side of the arena, watching another mutant creature, this one a mutant spider the size of a dog, You’ve used mutant twice. That’s lazy writing. Before the bombs dropped. You’re hinting at backstory here. Unless you are going to give more explanation, you can cut this line, as it does not move the story forward and is not needed for the reader to understand what is currently happening. And the world, as Taslow had once known it, in all it's infinite madness, kept turning. The show must go on. I think you need to decide if you want to write a poem or a short story. There was no dialogue between characters, no real plot. This is a vignette, not a short story. " -- Brandyn, London.
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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2004 David Con |
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
October 2004 |
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
2077
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