Same as last time. One story in exactly 59 words.
Unwilling to put you through the ritual again, I turned the knife on the fish instead of your trembling arm. Diced, deprived of your blood, and flushed, it couldn’t be resurrected.
Two pain-wracked days later, the package arrived. Fear in your eyes confirmed the contents. I retrieved my knife. You bared your arm. At least this brought temporary relief.
SPOOKY: Alright, which of you bastards knows me? I fear fish. Aside from that, I also have a mild fear of cults. Still, this story is only partially realized. It makes me wish I could read more, which isn’t really the object here.
3 points out of 5
BEAU: I’ve read this three times and I’m still not exactly sure what’s going on there at the end, but I’m delighted all the same. The final sentence seems to kind of dangle, unfortunately, which keeps this from a perfect score.
4 points out of 5
I condensed this from my earlier Zombie Fish story, so I can totally understand the feeling that this is part of a larger narrative. Pleased, but not overjoyed with the showing in this one. We’re off!