image: Michael Sowa, from The Little King
as shared at Magpie Tales
It was 2 in the morning. Robin’s prey flinched once again. Going in and out of consciousness for the past three hours, hands tied by thick barbed fence wires from across the field, the body slumped and hit the floor face down.
A malicious smile spread on Robin’s face.
Bloody bugger! Thought he could have me behind bars .In your dreams, pal-
A bolt of lightning whizzed through the gray night interrupting him. Something clicked in his mind. Aaah!
He now knew how he wanted to kill this one.
Grabbing the curtain rod he hauled it out of its holders. Its sharpness was still not up to his liking. He picked his coffee mug & took a sip of the steaming hot black coffee while deliberating over his weapon. He did not drink when he was on a mission and this was important.
Taking out his machete from his shining leather belt, tongue pulled between his front teeth, he started honing the rod ends. Minutes later he kicked the body in front of him. It trembled and stilled again.
Still not dead? You got guts, man. Good, you will need them.
He kneeled down in front of it and grazed the rod on a battered cheek. He took a deep breath, smell of fresh blood oozing out of the gash filling his nostrils. Ach! This red slimy stuff always brought him dizzy joy. And they say only liquor could make you euphoric. Liquor was damn expensive these days, but this…this was cheap, very cheap…and nasty. He gave a vicious roar of laughter.
Who’s the king? once again? And spat with all his vigor. In your face, loser!
Cocking his head to one side he appraised his prey. Suddenly the body stirred somehow sensing the inevitable. Becoming serious, Robin returned back to business. He wanted this body alive when he did what he was about to do. He stood and raised his hands griping the rod. He was about to pierce it through the body but he gasped. The rod slipped from trembling hands as Robin clutched his heart. Writhing in pain he fell on the body. Both the bodies squirmed and twisted around each other, their torrid breaths mingling. Spitting and panting their eyes locked on each other. Hearing the impatient huffing, one would think that a full-on make-out session was in progress.
It started raining outside and an hour later the cottage went silent.
Morning’s Daily read: “Underworld King-Robin died with a massive cardiac arrest after torturing the corrupt Coffee King to death”
The unknown shrugged.
Confused souls! At least now they should know who the king is, mused the Divine being.
Raising His coffee mug He offered a toast to flatter Himself. Any wonder the coffee mug read “Try me”?
***Check out other entries written for Magpie Tales #86 here .***