Thanks for the feedback, and there's definitely more coming (albeit slowly, college can be a bitch sometimes.)>>8620
Thank you, I'm glad I'm not the only one who likes it. Necrophilia can be arranged, I'll put it on the list.
Sorry for the absence. Here's a one-shot (in more than one way), with some sci-fi elements because I just can't help myself. A bit too similar to the first story, I know, but I've got more variety in the pipes.
[Loli, head destroyed, 2nd person]
Look now, child, just there on the horizon. See that little ball? Watch as it skims on the air toward you, hear that faint whzzzzzz
as it approaches. That drone is quick. That drone has intentions.
You put up a hand to shade your big brown eyes as they draw a bead on the hovering robot. It skims behind tumbling green hills, across gurgling streams, and over long swathes of rich black farmland. Finally the machine buzzes up the nearest hillside, and you smile at the way the sun glows on it’s smooth shell.
It’s in front of you now, and you stand up from your work to get a better look. You can see it’s eye, that gleaming black lens. It’s staring at you.
Head cocked, you wipe your hands on your grubby brown smock and take a step closer. You can see yourself reflected in its eye. Long brown hair caresses your bare shoulders, it’s fuzzy and a little mussed up from your day in the fields. If you squint, you can just make out the circlet of daisies your older sister made for you.
“Hey little guy,” you chirp, then venture a second step toward the hovering drone.
It floats backward but keeps level with your head. The sides of its spherical body click and spin, then open outward and upward like two hatches. A pair of polished black shotguns is mounted to the underside of each hatch.
“Vitae aut mortem.” The machine growls, its voice inhumanly deep and edged with metal.
You hop back, hands reflexively clutched to your chest. What language was that? Whatever it was it sounded nasty – and those guns look like they mean business.
“What’s a mortem?” you quaver.
“Intelligo,” it says, then adds in your native tongue, “I give you Freedom.”
The four shotguns fire. Their muzzles flare orange, and your head jerks backward. You stagger a few steps then stand rigid, hands groping at a spot where the rest of your head should’ve been. A ring of daisies tumbles from the sloppy remains of your skull.
Your little body shudders and its legs begin to kick, causing you to topple sideways. The roughly tilled soil greets your struggling corpse and begins to soak up brains, blood, and urine alike.
For a moment, your legs continue to pump. They’re trying to run. Your body is too stupid to realize its head has been seduced to a burbling mass of blood, brains, and matted brown hair.
Watch now, child. Watch from above as the last spasms of life leave your pathetic corpse. Watch and ascend to Freedom.
More soon, hopefully. I like to shorts like this one, but longer stuff is in the works.