|A Graboid's Lament
Author: kingcaruso PM
Burt uses a bit of "Native American ingenuity" to fight the Tremors in this one. Rated T for violence. Please R & R!Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror - Words: 455 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 3 - Published: 05-05-08 - id: 4239424
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The Lament of a Tired Graboid
Burt Gummer Peered out from under his straw hat. Ahead, an endless paradise, or at least his kind of paradise. It was a dry sandy plain, fuckin' empty, as usual. The sun had almost begun to rise, so it was really early, and a little cold. Burt looked up to the heavens and said a prayer, crying out to the gods for just one more day of his favorite "pastime".
Miles away, a whispering Tremor worm lazed about, moving at practically a snail's pace. "Now here's a life I can sink my teeeeth into", he thought, trying to bite at a passing dirt-snake to illustrate his point. His bite missed the dirt-snake, and a large rock made its way into his mouth as he fumbled underground, mouth ajar. The stone tumbled carefully into his cheek, and waited there anxiously. This was the craziest thing.
"Alright m'boy, let's see how you'll treat me. Let's see how I'll treat you." Burt stumbled into a grass-patch, and sat down Indian style, farting a little. No one was there to smell that. Gummer knew that this was the last day of his Shit Life. He wanted to make it an occasion. Withdrawing a withered Indian's Bone from his thigh-satchel, he began to sharpen it on a stone, making almost no progress.
Couple Hours After
"This bone is a sharp tool now. I'm ready to use it, I'll soon use it." The words danced from Gummer's downy gums. They seemed to slow dance with a warm breeze, and drift into the clouds, where they would become raindrops.
That old graboid was close to his prey. He could smell Burt's stinks, his areas had a smell. He approached the rancid cowboy, and neared the surface, racing higher and higher with all of this worm's muscles. Finally, he reached the surface, and broke free directly beneath Burt Gummer's Limp body. As he shot up out of the dirt, he felt himself fly all the way out. He could feel his ass out of the dirt, his ass now felt air. Consequently, Gummer had already taken his own life, the sharpened Indian's bone protruded wetly from his organs, killing him. This was all in the Tremor's mouth, and Burt's body, flopping, pushed that rock into its throat cavern. Rolled luckily into the worms tiny gills, it began to asphyxiate him, midair. And all at once, the graboid and his tired owner had passed away, and the two came crashing back down to earth, in an eruption of sand and dirt.