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It's Bladejob Day
My newest horror novella is here.
Brian narrowed his eyes as Richard turned on creaky joints and reached into the box. He pulled out the piece of parchment Brian had tossed in and held it up.
“It’s the last piece of my skin,” he said. Brian instinctively rubbed his hand on his pants. “Preserved for this moment.” Richard held out the dried flap of flesh. “Eat.”
Brian scoffed. “Fuck no. You just told me it was your skin.”
“It’s no different than your holy communion.”
“I’m not Catholic,” Brian said with a smirk. “Not anymore, anyway.”
“Regardless, if you wish to have a second chance, you must eat.”
Brian looked from the dry and crinkly shred in the skeleton fingers to the swelling and contracting light in the skeleton’s black eye holes. Reagan’s words whispered, again as if she’d pressed her lips against his ear.
You win the chance to take back your life.
What do you have to lose?
Brian snatched the shred and put it in his mouth. It moistened on his tongue and grew thicker, more flavorful. It tasted like blood, too much blood. It filled his mouth, a rising sea submerging his tongue and bottom teeth. He gagged as the fluid drizzled down his throat. With a cough, flecks of the blood pattered on his chin.
“Swallow it,” Richard said. “Swallow and see.”
Every instinct told Brian to spit, but he closed his eyes and gulped down the offensive substance. The darkness behind his eyes lifted to show the night of Superslam 13.
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