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He ate mindlessly, spooning in the thick soup in an unending aerobic of hand to mouth motions. |
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His wife, who by her own admission found it necessary to recite a lengthy prayer of grace before commencing, was just starting to take in her first spoonful when her husband asked for more. |
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The woman got up, went to the stove, refilled his bowl and set it in front of him. As she did, her face lightened. |
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"Oh, I just remembered. I brought you something." She scurried back into the kitchen and reappeared with a brown paper bag. She opened it, pulled out a shoe box and set it next to his bowl of soup. "I hope you like it." |
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Fred Markle was a man completely lacking in the social graces. Being that way, he snatched the lid off the box and peered in at his new possession. |
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The severed hand closed around his massive face, stifling the guttural screams at their source. Bones shattered, skin ripped open, things Rosemary Markle couldn't describe erupted from his splitting skull. It lasted no more than a few seconds. When it was over, he toppled like a great giant oak, pitching his ponderous weight to the floor and writhing in a pool of black, red and green fluids. |
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That few seconds was all it took. |
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